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“No, she wants to stick it to her ex, so she’s using this lawsuit as a weapon,” he spits out.
“I’m not her fucking ex,” I say.
“Okay, fine, her former fuck buddy, whatever,” he spits. I turn to him and look at him more closely. Who the fuck is this guy?
“What the fu—”
“Barry, you’re about to cross a line,” Remi says and shoots me a warning glance.
“You’ve already crossed one, Remi. I know this is your firm, but I’m a partner, too. And I won’t sit here and watch all of you be hypnotized by a nice ass and a smile,” he says.
“You better shut the fuck up,” I growl and Confidence stands up, her shock apparently worn enough to loosen her tongue.
“Hayes, I don’t need you to fight my battles—”
“Remi, this is highly inappropriate. You shouldn’t have hired her in the first place. But to assign her to this case—it presents a clear conflict of interest.” He cuts her off and rakes his eyes over her body in a way that nobody but me is allowed to look at her.
I walk over to him and get in his face. “You’ve got one more time to interrupt her, insult her, or look at her,” I growl.
“Or what? You going to beat me up?” he asks. “I heard you like to do that,” he says with a small smirk.
“All of you, stop it!” Confidence shouts angrily. Her fists are balled at her sides, her shoulders are hunched, and she’s squeezed her eyes shut. “First of all, stop talking about me like I’m not here,” she says. “You’re arguing about who gets to have their way. Who gets to decide. And while you’re doing that, people are living in limbo at best. At worst, they’re sheltered in homes with walls breeding mildew. They are terrified that their children are breathing mold spores when they put them to sleep in the only home they can manage to find for them.” She slaps her hands down on the table and leans forward. She looks between us.
“They’re not greedy, grasping idiots that we should pay off so we can get back to defending white-collar criminals and helping banks find new ways to screw their customers,” she hisses. She looks at Barry and shakes her head. “Do you think I want your job? I don’t. There’s a whole slew of things you know more about than I can ever hope to, but this is my specialty. And the size of my tits, the color of my hair, or the man I love, have nothing to do with any of it. This is not about you and how you feel about women or me,” she snaps. She is vibrating with passion, and she’s never been more breathtaking than she is right now.
I’m struck by the certainty of a few things. One, this woman loves me. She’s trying to forgive me. But, I also know that if her clients end up with less than what they deserve, her estimation of me will always suffer for it. And my estimation of myself, as a man who is worthy of leading this family—with her by my side—into a future we can be proud of, will suffer too.
She looks at Remi and her voice softens. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. Thank you for trusting me with this,” she says and then glances at me.
“But, I will not work in an office where you allow your employees to talk to people like he’s been speaking with me. So, if this is the culture of your firm, then as soon as this case is over, I’ll be resigning,” she says gravely.
“Confidence—” Remi starts. But she’s already turned to me.
“Hayes. What Kingdom offered is woefully insufficient to compensate the victims of the company’s negligence and disregard. You have suits that cost more than what you’re offering the individual families.”
She casts her damning eye over me again. “If you can afford to buy clothes like that, you can afford to make those people truly whole. And that’s not going to come with some cookie cutter settlement in hopes that this will go away quickly. Because that’s all that money i
s designed to do.” She condemns me with her honesty. What I see in her eyes is much more than disappointment. It’s disenchantment. Distance. I feel my first real pang of panic that she knows that I’m not good enough. That she really won’t forgive me. The thought grips my gut in a fist of fear. My collar is suddenly too tight and I can’t think of a single thing to say in my own defense.
She shakes her head at all of us. “None of you have even been to the sites. Talked to the people. They’re just some figment of your imagination right now,” she chastises us.
“You know what, I’ve had about enough of this. This is a business,” Asshole says in a harsh dismissal of everything she just said.
But Confidence is not easily dismissed, and while on her soapbox, with her shield held up in protection of someone else, she is persistence personified. “You’re wrong,” she insists. Her voice is bolstered by her conviction.
Asshole’s eyes narrow.
So do hers. And so do mine. My chest tightens and I tense and keep a close eye on him. His animosity for Confidence is rolling off him in waves. If she’s concerned, she doesn’t show it. She keeps pushing.
“This is the practice of law. We are lawyers. Social engineers. Or least, we should be. We are here to ensure the best possible outcome for our clients. And you want to settle because you don’t think they’re worth the price of seeking justice on their behalf,” she accuses him.
He leans toward her. Her lip curls in disgust when he speaks, his voice is a snarl.
“You’re damn straight. I am not going to worry about people who, when they die, no one will care. We represent people who are captains of industries and who will be remembered forever. The fucking flood didn’t go far enough, as far as I’m concerned.”
The woman at the table, a thirty-something blonde in a nondescript black suit, gasps.
“Jimenez,” Remi calls his name. That thread of steel is now a fully woven rope.
