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I understand without his needing to go on. I put my hands into my jeans pockets to stop myself accidentally flipping the incompetent dick the bird. ‘Let me guess. You decided to take on an intellectual property case that you know nothing about. You were slow off the mark registering your client’s rights, and someone beat you to it, trying to claim that they are the real author. About sum things up?’
He stays silent.
‘Who’s the client?’ I ask.
‘Astrana.’
‘Shit. Our biggest real estate client.’
‘Our.’ He snorts. ‘Suddenly you give a shit about the firm when you’re less than four weeks from a vote on whether you make named partner.’
‘Wrong. I’ve always given a shit about this firm. Give me the case and I’ll fix it.’
He sniggers and rubs a knuckle under his nose. I refrain from asking if it smells like he’s been shoving it up his asshole.Be human, Drew.
‘See, there it is. You don’t give a damn about the firm. You want to make a move on my client, like you always do.’
‘You know something, Malcolm; I’ve never taken a client from a partner at this firm who didn’t beg me to do so. Now, if you don’t want my help, show yourself the hell out of my office.’
I’m still seething as he marches out of the office.
Sarah moves into his spot. ‘That wasn’t exactly a lesson in how to buy votes.’
‘He had it coming. He’ll be back with his tail between his legs tomorrow.’
‘Maybe. But you need more than that to get your name on the door.’
She’s right. I drag a hand roughly over my face. When I open my eyes, I catch sight of my wallet on my desk. The wallet I forgot on my non-date with the most ‘human’ person I know.
* * *
Paddy’s is still busy when I arrive. Not like a weekend night but busy enough to have some atmosphere. A couple of guys are playing live music on the stage, just their raspy voices and guitars. I can hear their Irish accents in their words. They’re good. Real good.
A group of women in tailored skirts and blouses are dancing. I guess they had a rough day and need to blow off some steam. I can understand that. Other clusters of people stand and sit around high tables. Feet are tapping, heads bobbing.
The place looks like a typical Irish bar: green, leather upholstery, mahogany bar frame and tables, gold trimmings. I don’t see Becky. My irritation at Malcolm Eddy is suddenly subdued, replaced by disappointment. Maybe she had one drink and left. Maybe she decided not to come.
A broad, inked man wraps his hands around four beers and moves away from the bar. As he does, I see Becky, sitting on a stool, turning a bottle of Bud in her hand. Her hair falls back from around her shoulders as she laughs at something the bartender says.
Has she looked this gorgeous all day?
I make my way toward her and place a hand on the small of her back, glaring at the young bartender like an animal claiming its prey. It’s undeniably territorial, even though I know I have no right to behave like that. That’s how men with girlfriends, fiancées and wives behave. It’s not how men like me behave. Women are never around long enough for me to be territorial. And that’s how I like it. How it needs to be. Look what happened today. I took a few hours off and the shit hit the fan. That’s why men like me, and Marty, we focus on the job.
As I’m thinking that, she blindsides me, flashing me the kind of smile Julia Roberts would flash: big, perfect, hypnotizing. ‘You changed your mind.’
I clear my throat and with it my head. ‘Kind of. I need your help.’
She pats a barstool beside her and I order a bottle of Bud to match hers. ‘What can I help you with?’
I explain my position at Statham Turner. I tell her about the vote for named partner in four weeks. And, for the first time feeling a little ashamed by it, I tell her that half the partnership hates me. When I’m done, I drain my beer and ask the bartender for two more. The whole time, Becky stays quiet. I silently hope that she doesn’t see me the way the real estate team does. And I silently admit to myself that I give a crap about what she thinks of me.
‘Okay, I’ve got it all. I think. But why do you need my help? I don’t have the first clue about being a lawyer, or attorney, as you freaky people say.’ I raise a brow while taking a swig of beer.
‘Freaky people?’
She shrugs, amusing me.
‘I need your help because you’re… you.’ What I want to say is,Because you have a way with people, with me. What I actually say is, ‘You’re human and friendly. You can mix with people in one of the finest restaurants in New York and be equally comfortable stuffing an entire hot dog in your mouth, or sitting in an Irish bar drinking beer.’
