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Finally, after I finished half of my beer, Oscar made his way over to me at the end of the bar. “Sorry for making you wait,” he apologized. “What’ll it be? The Cannonball or Torpedo?”
I smirked and decided to mix things up. “I’m going for something different this time,” I replied, taking him by surprise. “Give me the Missile Burger.”
Chuckling at my decision, Oscar shook his head in amusement. “All right then, your gut knows best.” He gestured toward my empty mug. “Another beer while you wait?” he offered.
Nodding eagerly, I watched as he grabbed a frosted mug and expertly filled it to the brim, letting some of the foam spill over the sides. It was moments like these that made me grateful for my friendship with Oscar and for this cozy little bar that always felt like coming home.
~5~
Harper
Who the hell was this guy? I seethed with rage as I read the name on the top file of my never-ending stack. River Stevenson. The arrogant prick who had blatantly rejected my invitation to lunch, despite the fact that I was his assigned attorney. My stomach churned at the thought of having to work with this man, and the idea of being ignored by someone so full of themselves only added fuel to the fire. He was just another successful businessman, just another top account for our firm. And there was no way I was going to let him continue to snub me.
I forcefully pushed aside thoughts of River Stevenson and grabbed the next file in front of me. Roland Jackson. A kind, grandfatherly figure in his sixties with a round belly and a gentle demeanor. Out of all my clients, he was by far my favorite. As I perused his case against the company that owned the building he leased, anger toward Stevenson still boiled inside of me. With each note I jotted down for Mr. Jackson’s case I made a silent promise to make Stevenson regret ever ignoring me come Monday morning.
Before I had a chance to finish preparing my argument against Turner Investments, which would seal a win for Roland, Drake sauntered into my office with a cocky grin, as if he owned the place. His confident stride and casual demeanor irked me. He never bothered to knock, even after multiple reminders from me. I gave him the evil eye as he plopped down in the chair in front of my desk.
“Don’t you ever knock?” I spat out, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.
“When have you ever known me to knock?” Drake retorted with a displeasing smirk, leaning back in his chair.
Never, but that was beside the point. “Maybe you should start. What do you want, anyway?”
“Sidney told me Mr. Stevenson turned down your lunch invitation. I thought since you had no plans, we could have lunch together.”
Was he for real? Instead of telling him where he could stick his proposal, I took a deep breath and replied politely. “I’m good. I have a lot of work to do for the Jackson Sporting Goods case.”
“Okay. But it’s your loss,” Drake shrugged nonchalantly before getting up and leaving my office.
Rolling my eyes at his audacity, I refocused on the task at hand—convincing Judge Matthews that Turner Investments was in the wrong. This wasn’t a jury trial, so it all rested on the judge’s decision. Thankfully, Judge Matthews was known for being fair and just. Still, I couldn’t let my guard down.
Roland had signed a binding five-year lease with Turner Investments, specifically stating that the rent would not increase. Yet here we were, one year into that lease, and Turner wanted to evict Roland so they could bring in a larger company willing to pay higher rent. It was greed at its finest.
According to our calculations, Jackson Sporting Goods would have to pay an additional $15,000 per month if they wanted to stay in their current location. That was a 105% increase from their current rent—an outrageous and unfair amount. If anything, this was a clear breach of contract on Turner’s part. And that was the case I would present to the judge, along with a request for punitive damages of $1.5 million. It was time to fight for justice and stand up against corporate greed.
The words on Roland’s documents blurred together, causing my vision to double. I rubbed my tired eyes and pushed away from my cluttered desk. I shuffled down the hallway and into the small employee kitchen. Retrieving a frozen Lean Cuisine, I ripped it open and shoved it in the microwave. It was my go-to meal whenever work consumed me and I couldn’t spare any time for lunch. As I waited for the microwave to heat my food, I couldn’t stop wondering why Sidney had shared my lunch dilemma with Drake. There had to be more to their conversation. Sidney was never one to take sides, so it seemed odd that he would give the Triage account to me instead of Drake.
My mind raced with questions and suspicions as the microwave beeped, signaling that my food was ready. As I took it out, I decided to eat at the small kitchen table instead of at my desk, needing a change of scenery. The silence in the kitchen allowed my thoughts to run rampant as I ate my meal. Maybe too much silence, as all I could focus on was River Stevenson and his account. Shaking him out of my head, I shifted my thoughts to the upcoming dating game.
I wondered how many participants there would be. Who would I be paired with? The concept was ingenious—like speed dating with a twist. Instead of multiple dates, I would have one potential match in complete darkness. In just five days, I could meet the man of my dreams. But would he feel the same way about me?
These thoughts lingered as I ate my lunch, making me unaware that I had finished the entire tray. Knowing there was still work to be done for Roland’s case, I pushed from the table, quickly discarded the small black tray, and headed back to my office. I was determined to finish Roland’s file before the end of the day.
~
Today was the day that I was going to kick ass and beat Turner Investments. As I walked into the courtroom, all eyes were on me. Even though I could count the number of people inside the courtroom on two hands, I felt like they were judging me as I walked past them through the swinging gate. Roland was already seated at the table to the right while the team of lawyers representing Turner Investments were seated at the table to my left. I couldn’t understand why it was necessary to commission three attorneys to defend Scott Turner, CEO of Turner Investments. I had only met Scott Turner once during depositions, and even then, he looked as arrogant as he did now, sitting in his designer suit and Tom Ford shoes. It didn’t matter how good he looked; he would not win.
“All rise,” the bailiff announced, as Judge Matthews entered the courtroom.
The judge took his place at the front of the room on the bench. Sorting through his court docket, he looked up, diverting his eyes to me and then to Brett Masters, who was lead counsel for Turner Investments. “I would like to get through with this as soon as possible. My grandson is celebrating his third birthday and I would like to be there. Ms. Scott, you may you may begin your opening statement. Keep it short.”
The courtroom was filled with the low murmur of voices as Brett Masters rustled through a stack of papers, whispering something to one of the other lawyers with a furrowed brow. From my seat at the plaintiff’s table, I could see the confidence in their eyes and it made me feel unsure about our case. Brett’s behavior gave me pause. Was there something I had overlooked? Something that could jeopardize our argument?
But before I could dwell on my doubts for too long, it was time to stand before the judge and deliver our case. Approaching the podium, I took a deep breath and began to make my opening statement.
“Your honor,” I started. “I would like to begin by stating the indisputable facts of this case.” The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward me. “Roland Jackson, owner of Jackson Sporting Goods, entered into a binding lease contract with Turner Investments one year ago. And in that contract, it explicitly stated that the lease would remain in effect for five years without any changes.”
I could sense the tension in the air as I continued. “This means that Turner Investments cannot alter the terms of the contract in any way, including increasing the lease amount or evicting Mr. Jackson for not paying an inflated 105% increase.” With a confident stride, I approached the bench and presented exhibit A—the lease contract—to Judge Matthews.
