Page 37 of Make Me Fall (Water, Air, Earth, Fire 2)

He rubs his glassy eyes as I sit on the coffee table facing him. “What have you learned so far?”

“There’s a guy named Oliver Shaw.”

I curb my impatient response when I notice his fingers folding the fabric of his dress shirt over and over nervously. “Go on.”

“He was on a train near Syracuse six months ago and the railway tunnel collapsed, trapped him in the cave-in for almost a week.” He wets his lips. “I haven’t gotten to the rest, but I assume he’s suing whatever jerk didn’t take care of the train tunnel.”

“In so many words, yes, that would be correct.” I’ve noticed how viscerally his body reacts to even the smallest praise, how his whole posture changes. It does something to me.

“What about the other guy who was trapped? Jackson Moreno?” He taps the papers. “Why isn’t he suing?”

“Because he’s in prison.” I can't help but sound annoyed. Jackson isn't immediately relevant to our lawsuit, but I like to be thorough and sometimes I feel like Oliver is stonewalling all my efforts to gather information on him.

“Oh.” Most law students would dig for details, but he just eyes the papers wearily. “I guess I should keep going.”

I take pity on him. “I need a few things picked up from the dry cleaners and a package dropped off at the post office.” I can’t even finish my sentence before he’s on his feet.

“Please.”

“Fine.” He arches his back, stretching out the kinks as I write a list of instructions and hand it to him along with the package. “Call me if you have any–”

He’s already gone.

“–questions.”

Jonah

“I dropped off the suits at your apartment, and then–” I stop in the doorway of Mr. Freeman’s empty office. He didn’t say anything about leaving. I check the clock, because there was that one time in college where I was five hours late for class because I got distracted helping someone find their cat, but no one lost their cats today and it’s only two o’clock.

I jump when the phone on his desk rings.Shit.Answering the phone is a basic intern task, but I wasn’t supposed to be an intern at all. I was supposed to be flying home to Iowa to get yelled at. I should have told Gray the truth yesterday, the words I haven’t been able to bring myself to say to anyone, and walked out, because this is going to blow up in my face eventually and hurt both of us. But his absolute confidence made me almost believe this could work. I want my problems fixed, maybe more than I want to be happy or honest or anything else, because that’s all I’ve ever been—a problem.

It’s still ringing.

Please try not to embarrass me.

Who the fuck even has a desk phone anymore? Old men, that’s who.

“Mr. Freeman’s office.”

“The fact that I never call you doesn’t mean you’re allowed to never call me, asshole.”

I instantly regret everything. I can just about take a message if I concentrate, but talk to an angry client? “I–”

“Wait a second. Who is this?” It’s a surprisingly young voice, not much older than me but a lot more worldly.

I clear my throat. “This is Mr. Freeman’s intern. Can I take a message?”

There’s a long silence. “His intern.”

“Yes, sir. Can I–”

“Liar.”

“What?”

“Gray doesn’t have an intern.”

Everything’s feeling a little unstable, so I take Gray’s chair, even though that’s rude. “He does. It’s me.”

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