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“Yeah, because you’d suffer without my money. You might have a very different relationship with it, and arguably it came to you easily, but we’re both filthy rich.” I stand up and pull her to me, kissing away any objection she was formulating.
“Are you planning on doing this every time I might have a different opinion?” Her words are just a breeze on my lips.
“Pretty much.” I dive my tongue into that beautiful mouth, already thinking about other ways I can enjoy it later.
After last night it would be considered make-up sex. I’ve never had that because I’ve never cared to make up with anyone, or to argue with a woman.
Chils moans, and I have half a mind to bend her over the desk here, but there are clients waiting, so I pull away reluctantly.
“I have one more case to take, but I wanted to ask you to help me with something afterward.” I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take her with me on my afternoon mission, but something tells me I’ll be less inclined to chicken out if she is around.
“What do you need?” She packs up the lunch and throws the garbage away.
“I’ll tell you later. See you here in an hour?” I grab my phone. It buzzes again in my hand.
“Okay, I’ll take care of a few things next door and I’ll be back at two.” She kisses my cheek. So normal. So common. So good.
I look at the screen and decide to take the dreaded call.
* * *
Chils squeezes my hand. She probably thinks I’m nervous about our destination. Well, yes, but that’s not the only reason. The reason is Corrado Napolis.
Napolis is a ruthless businessman, a descendant of a crime family that has legitimized their operations over the decades, but that doesn’t mean their business practices are equally legitimate.
Napolis is not above bribes, extortion, insider trading or other shortcuts in building his empire. He’s also a client of mine. I got him off a racketeering and money laundering charge before.
Now he’s been accused of murder. I’m pretty sure this is the one crime he didn’t commit.
He called me because I’m probably one of a few who can get him acquitted. The only one, most likely.
I wrap my arm around Chils’s shoulders and pull her closer. In all our differences and reluctance to make our relationship official, we considered several factors—living in two different cities, our shared aversion to commitment, the fact that we hate each other most of the time.
There is one thing, however, we kind of forgot in the midst of all the pro bono work. My paying clients are shady. My practices are morally gray.
I should talk to Chils about it, but first I called T back in my Chicago office to find out what she can about Napolis. If he really is innocent, as he claims, I’ll take the case.
Uber drops us in front of the civil courthouse. The entrance is guarded by the massive stone pillars, so familiar yet so foreign to me right now. I’ve tried to come here once or twice since I’ve moved to New York, but the suffocating feeling of drowning in an oil tank attacked me every time.
As if sensing the lack of oxygen and nausea rippling through my body, Chils grabs my hand. This is the first time we’ve held hands. I draw a long breath.
She looks up at me. “So how does it work? We can just go in?”
“Yeah, we can look up an open case and sit in the gallery.” I clear my throat, my palm clammy against her small hand.
“Okay, Cressard, should I drag you in?” She teases me, and I think it’s working. I swallow and squeeze her hand tighter before I step on to the first stair.
It’s like climbing toward a Himalayan summit—the air seems thinner, sweat drips down my spine, my muscles are trying to give in. I pant, and we haven’t even reached the front entrance.
It’s not lost on me that I voluntarily chose to have her witness me at my most vulnerable. After the sappy declarations this morning, I don’t even recognize myself. The woman cursed me, and I don’t fucking mind. Jesus.
Several well-dressed attorneys rush around us, the traffic on the street behind us roars, and my breath echoes loudly in my head.
The only peaceful constant is Chils. She holds my hand and doesn’t rush me. Just slowly steps alongside me, giving me all the time in the world with infinite patience.
Finally, we reach the top landing. I glance at her, expecting to see disappointment or mockery. What a wuss I am.
Instead, she smiles at me. There is encouragement in her eyes. The same softness she reserves for her dad or the sick people in her life. It could be mistaken for pity, but I’ve observed her enough in her interactions at the hospice center to know it’s not pity, it’s silent support. She just is, and allows others to draw from her strength.
