Him:Sorry to bother you twice in one day, but I used your argument from this afternoon, and now I just read an emailfrom the opposing counsel claiming the non-compete kills our settlement. Am I screwed??
I huff out a breath, roll my shoulders, and start typing with floury fingers.
Me:Check §7.3(b) in your contract. Geographic restriction is North America only. Structure the new role through their EU subsidiary. Different entity. No conflict.
Three dots appear, vanish, reappear.
Eliot:HOLY SHIT. I missed that completely.
Eliot:You really are the fixer. I owe you sushi at Nobu.
The fixer. God, I hate that nickname.
I set the phone down, wash my hands, and press my fingers into the dough until the butter leaves pale ghosts on my skin.
My screen lights up again, this time with an incoming call.
Mia.
I swipe to accept and wedge the phone between shoulder and ear, hands still working the dough. "It's two in the morning."
"But I knew you'd be awake." Her voice crackles through, warm and amused. Somewhere behind her, bass thumps faintly, a bar, maybe, or a late-night lounge. "What are we sacrificing sleep for tonight?"
"Croissants," I say. "The complicated kind. What's wrong?"
"Wow, rude. Maybe I just wanted to discuss philosophy."
"You own a salon empire, Mia. You don't call your lawyer at 2 A.M. for small talk." I fold one corner of dough with surgical precision. "But your Curl Up & Dye franchise numbers look beautiful. I signed three franchise renewals for you yesterday. So you're probably not calling about business… Oh my god, is everything okay with your alphas?"
She huffs a laugh. "They're fine. And we're doing great. No, this is about Lakeview."
"The urgent email about three hockey players refusing to play at the Winter Festival opening game?"
"Yeah." The bass pulses behind her, and I hear her shift, like she's stepping somewhere quieter.
"So what's the holdup? I told you if the committee wanted a quick resolution, they could throw more money at them."
"I know, and I told them exactly what you said." She lets out a tired, humorless laugh. "Even offered to pay the difference myself."
"And?" I press the rolling pin into the dough.
"And they turned it down. The alphas, not the committee."
I pause mid-roll. "They turned down more money?"
"Yeah." She exhales sharply. "I'm actually stunned. I checked my phone a few minutes ago and saw they emailed me directly, claiming they're well within their rights to refuse to play."
I lean my hip against the counter. "On what grounds?"
"They just claim the date change lets them walk away." Her voice tightens with frustration. "Since moving the game from the twenty-eighth to the twenty-third wasn't explicitly covered, they're calling it a material breach, saying they can sit this one out."
My jaw tightens. "That's flimsy. Any decent contract has provisions for reasonable schedule modifications."
"Exactly. And yet…"
"So they're ignoring the actual words of a contract they signed?" I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, leaving a smudge of flour on my temple.
"Yep. They're very polite about it, though," she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Lots of 'regret to inform you' and 'deep appreciation for the opportunity.' A beautifully worded middle finger."
