A weight cannonballed against his back and sent him stumbling forward.Two arms slung around his neck, squeezing him tight.
“You did so well, superstar!”
Oh, the good things kept on coming.
He freed himself from the chokehold and was met by Eevee’s beaming face.Beneath the eyebrow-length bangs, laugh lines crinkled the warm, coffee-brown eyes she had inherited from their mother.Rude, given that Baz got stuck with their father’s mud-brown ones.
“Hey.”He pulled her into a proper hug and drew a deep breath of her sweet vanilla perfume.The smell of home.“What are you doing here?Don’t you have work?”
Eevee and her husband, Joel, ran a café in the South Loop.Between that and her part-time job at UChicago’s Student Services, she rarely had an afternoon off.
“You said today is important, of course I’m here.I’m so proud of you!”
Importantwas an understatement.This had been his biggest solo case so far, and it had gone much better than he had hoped for.The whole trial, he had been on fire, filled with a righteous passion that spread to the jury, the judge even.
A giggle threatened to bubble out of him; he stifled it before it could embarrass him.
“Thanks, Eve.”
The door to the Daley Plaza separating the courthouse from the street opened at their approach, revealing the back end of the Chicago Picasso sculpture.Somewhere nearby, a car honked.The gray clouds swallowed the top of the downtown skyscrapers, pushed there by the same wind that threw Eevee’s long, chestnut hair into his face.
Baz buttoned his black, double-breasted coat tighter with one hand; the other, hooked around his briefcase handle, was doomed to suffer the cold.As always, the weather had not gotten the memo that today was meant to be a happy day.At least the snow had mostly vanished.
“Right, let’s go to lunch!”Eevee chirped.“I texted Joel, he’s making your favorite sandwich as we speak.”
Baz’s stomach growled at the memory.Hummus with coleslaw, some arugula, mango, cucumber, all on rye bread, all homemade… He swallowed lest he drooled.Not fair that she dangled her husband’s culinary skills in front of his face when she knew Baz couldn’t just take a break in the middle of the workday.This was a critical phase in his career.To get ahead, he had to be seen working harder than anyone else.
“I wish, but I gotta get back to the office.”
“I don’t care.Post-trial traditions ought to be honored.”
That would have been a good argument, except that their tradition was to meet on thedayhis trials ended, not immediately after he stepped out of the courtroom.It was barely twopm.
“I’ll come by tonight instead.”
“He’s already making it!I’ll text Aya myself.”
“Aya’s not my boss.”Not technically.She was only one of the most successful partners at the firm.Baz had all but begged her to polish him to her level of excellence on the first day of his summer associateship six years ago.Her mentorship was an honor he took seriously.He wouldn’t jeopardize it by frolicking to lunch just because he had done well at trial.
“See, that’s the spirit!Come on.You worked hard.You deserve to celebrate.”She pulled him south, the opposite direction of where he needed to go.
One day, when he had gotten his promotion and free rein over his schedule, he would give in to his sister’s whims.Now, Baz had to pull his arm free.Saying no to Eevee was never easy, courtesy of that wholesome puppy dog expression.Her pout might have swayed his mind if it weren’t for the stubbornness gene they both had inherited.
“I’m sorry.But thank you for coming by.It means a lot.”
“I can’t change your mind?”
Baz offered an apologetic smile.She knew him better than that.With a sigh, Eevee hugged him goodbye.
The elevator doors dinged open on the thirty-eighth floor, home to the associate attorneys of Dunkeld Wilson.The floral smell of floor cleaner colored the air.The sun peered past the Tribune Tower through the floor-length windows and glass office walls, creating a catwalk on the polished marble floor.
With squared shoulders, Baz strode toward his corner office, the reward for the last big case he had won.It was a considerable upgrade from the cubicle in the bullpen he had before in terms of privacy, though not in spaciousness.There were parking spaces bigger than his office, but no matter.The associates’ floor was a layover, not the destination.
A dark-brown shelf, bursting with records of Baz’s past cases, covered the glass wall to the neighboring office.Gray, overfilled binders formed a neat pile on the left side of his desk, while his computer was on the right.In between sat a framed photo of Joel, Eevee, and him from a few years ago.
He dumped his briefcase on the office chair and straightened out his navy-blue Brioni suit.The best one he owned.It cost double his rent but, boy, was it worth it.
Aya always said one had to look the part to get the part.Baz refused to let anyone see him as a broke associate figuring out his life, because he wasn’t, and this suit screamedpartner materiallouder than any other.
