Page 36 of Before I Say I Don't
“I feel you. You got time to chat? I’ve got about an hour to spare before court.”
I really wanted to eat my damn pancakes in peace, but Marcus didn’t look like he was about to take no for an answer.
“Yeah, I got time.”
We then grabbed a two-top by the window.
“So—you heard about your girl?” Marcus asked as soon as the waitress left, leaning in like he was breaking news.
“Which girl?” I kept it careful.
He smirked. “Kamira. You know she’s the hottest lawyer in Chicago—hell, the state. She landed that four-point-seven verdict two weeks ago. You could hear the defense crumbling like stale cookies.”
I let my mouth tilt just a little. “Oh, yeah, I heard.”
“The firm’s been riding that wave ever since,” Marcus continued, his tone shifting from gossip to business. “Truth is, we’re expanding our white-collar and risk group. Carter wants somebody who can walk into a boardroom and scare people politely. Bloom wants somebody juries will trust if it ever goes that far.”
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“Because we could use a guy like you. We lost one of our big hittas to in-house last month. Partners are putting on their best poker faces, but behind the scenes? They’re scrambling. You walk in with your West Coast shine, and thatI don’t missenergy? They’d back up a truck with commas on the check.”
I smiled, slow. “Again, I’m on vacation.”
“A sabbatical,” he corrected. “And sabbaticals end. Where you landing after?”
I shrugged. “Haven’t decided. I might stay… might not.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed like he was cross-examining me, then leaned in.
“Let me be blunt. This city needs lawyers like you. And selfishly? I want killers on our side, not more ‘circle-back’ boys who fold when the heat’s on.”
“Flattering,” I said.
He grinned. “We’re hungry. And we don’t hire people we don’t plan to feed.”
Marcus slid a card across the table.
“If you’re still around after this little sabbatical, call me. I’ll get you in front of Eleanor. Worst case? Free lunch and a compliment. Best case? You walk away with options.”
I picked it up and turned it once between my fingers. “I like options.”
“I figured you did,” he joked, with a look that carried more history than I asked for. “That’s why you left in the first place.”
I chuckled, easing back. “But again—I’m here on vacation, not for career negotiations or accidental life pivots over pancakes.”
Marcus smirked like he’d expected that pushback.
“Will you at least think about it?” he pressed, his tone casual but his eyes desperate.
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make it clear I wasn’t about to fold quick. Then I gave him the smallest nod.
“I’ll think on it.”
His smile spread, satisfied. “That’s all I ask.”
We ate while the city paraded past the window. Two cops split a muffin and a rumor on the curb. A nurse in scrubs sprinted across the crosswalk like her whole shift depended on green. The waitress flirted with Marcus once and me twice—we both gave her nothing but apleaseand athank youand left tips fat enough to buy her loyalty for the day.
We talked shop without names. Marcus ran through judges who cut side-eye at adverbs, and GCs who play lawyer until the budget shows up. I told him about execs who treated “internal investigation” like a golf handicap, calling their buddy before they call counsel. He told me which associates were worth their weight in briefs and which ones were just good at knowing partners’ coffee orders.
