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“I bet you did, darling,” Byron said, real slow. “How do you own anything about any of that, huh?”
“I went to law school at Penn,” I said, bristling a little bit. His simpleton act apparently included a nice little detour through some casual sexism, which was fun.
“You’re a lawyer?” Byron frowned then spit in to the fire. “Hate damn lawyers. Always end up taking my money and giving none of it back.”
“I’m not a lawyer yet,” I said. “Haven’t taken the bar.”
“What’re you waiting for? Busy being this asshole’s assistant, huh?” Byron leaned forward, watching me.
I looked away, toward Rees, and a thousand excuses occurred to me, but for some reason, I decided to go with the truth. “I’m afraid I’ll fail it,” I said simply.
Rees’s frown tightened. But Byron laughed.
“Well that’s the dumbest god damn thing in the world,” he said.
I stared at him, anger rising. “I don’t think it is. You don’t know where I come from. I’ve been through a lot, to get where I am.”
“So what?” He smirked, shaking his head. “The god damn bar isn’t a one time thing. You can fail ten times before passing.”
“That looks bad,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Fuck looks. You think I care about looks?” He gestured around him. “You don’t need looks, sweetheart, not if you got brains.”
I bristled, shifting in my chair. I didn’t need this fake cowboy giving me crap the bar. He didn’t know me, and didn’t know what I went through to get to this point. He had no clue how much was riding on me succeeding, and how much would come crumbling down if I failed. I had Grandmom to worry about, and I was already starting ten rungs down the ladder. All my peers at Penn had some rich daddy, or were smart than me, or had better internships than me. If I failed the bar, that would basically destroy my long-term career. I could look forward to working ofr some midlevel firm the rest of my life settling divorce cases or something equally depressing.
“Where did you come from?” Rees asked, the question cutting through my anger. “Why should Byron here listen to you?”
I glared at him, since he knew damn well what happened in my life—and let it all come rushing out. My parents, dying when I was little. My grandmom taking me in, going back to work, and breaking herself to keep us both fed. I owed everything to that woman and so much more—which was why I worked hard, got scholarships, made it to Penn, graduate top of my class.
“That’s why you should trust me,” I said, staring at Byron across the fire. He stopped laughing, stopping smiling—his face was neutral, but fascinated. “I’m the same s you. I came from nothing and made myself something. And I’m telling you, I’d give Rees my life savings if I could, right here and now, but I have no life savings. I don’t have a dollar to my damn name. So help your daughter out, do more for her than my dead parents ever did for me, and write a check, preferably a very, very big one.”
Byron let that hang in the air, not answering. He took a long drink. Rees looked at me, his face caught between awe and something else—something like desire. It sent a little thrill through me, and I took a sip of my whisky to try and tamper down the flame I felt in my chest, the excitement of telling my story, and the intense need I felt flowing from Rees.
“Well alright then,” Byron said, breaking the spell. I sat back, blinking a little, and finished my drink. It burned, but felt good. “I feel convinced. If you two don’t fuck up over dinner, I think I might invest.”
“I can drink to that,” Rees said, holding up glass, and knocked it back.
Byron leapt to his feet. “Let’s go see what Alba’s got cooking. That woman’s a god damn dream. If she were twenty years younger, I’d be fucking her right now, might even marry her, bet you I would.” He laughed and stormed back to the house.
I couldn’t look at Rees. I didn’t know why—maybe it was opening up like I did that left me feeling vulnerable, even though he knew my story already, or at least must have heard most of it from Lori. I don’t think I ever talked about how much I struggled, or how hard it was watching my grandmom work herself dry to give me a decent life, but even still.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” I forced myself to smile at him, pushing away all those feelings. “Byron seems to like me.”
“Byron’s a lot smarter than he seems.” Rees glance toward the house and stood. I felt a little relieved—at least I didn’t have to warn him. “Come on, let’s go eat that disgusting bird, smile a whole lot, and get him drunk enough to give me all his money.”
