I smirked. “The guy was a two-pump chump.”
I sure as hell wasn’t about to compliment Wesley, fake or not. Knowing that what I was saying would probably give him a stroke made me feel better; he was so arrogant that he’d lose his ever-loving mind if he heard his bedroom stamina was being doubted. He wasn’t exactly a two-pumper, but, as I said, they were both quickies, so I couldn’t really say what he was like to his full ability. And I hadnointention of finding out.
I meant what I said when I told him after the last time that it wouldneverhappen again.
We didn’t talk about it, and both acted like it had never happened at all, which I was thankful for. I still expected him to throw it back in my face during one of our Tuesday and Saturday night verbal sparring matches, but he hadn’t. And I was fine with that. I didn’t need to be reminded of how goddamn desperate I’d been—which was clearlyverydesperate if I let it happen not once buttwice—because I thought about it enough on my own.
And I was determined toneverbe that desperate again.
Chapter 12
“Mr. Callahan?”
“They’re here?” I asked, not looking up from the papers on my desk.
“Yes, sir,” my assistant answered.
“Who came on Colson’s behalf?”
“Vance Hawthorne. And Preston Colsonhimself.”
I glanced up, a slow smirk curling on my lips. “Oh, Annie girl, you just made my day.”
Preston Colson was a grade-A douche. He grew up in Cliffside and went to school with me, Lucas, and Blake, and we’d hated each other since elementary school. I was never one for grudges, but in Preston’s case, if he had no haters, it was because I was dead. He always thought he was better than everyone and was one of those “Do you know who I am?” guys because of daddy’s and mommy’s money and last name.
These days, he ran Colson Legal Group alongside his dad, and they were known for their long list of high-end clientele,including hotel chains, like the one my client was suing for retaliatory discharge.
My client, Mike, was a thirty-year-old Bayport local and single father of two whousedto work as a maintenance technician in Isle of Palms for Luxe Resorts, a hotel chain with properties all along the coast of the Carolinas. He injured his back on the job while removing debris from the hotel grounds after a tropical storm. After some time off, his physician told him he could return to work, but only under certain restrictions, including no heavy lifting or prolonged standing. However, when he returned to work, his job duties remained the same because they refused to honor the doctor’s light duty recommendation. Mike’s injury eventually worsened, and his doctor took him out of work for a month to get physical therapy.
Right before Mike was set to return to full-time employment, he received a letter from Luxe stating that his position was being eliminated because they were cutting back on the number of maintenance workers they had on staff. He was terminated.
And that’s where I came in.
Considering Luxe initially tried to deny Mike’s workers’ comp claim—with no leg to stand on, might I add—and then magically got rid of his position right before he was about to come back, it was clear to meexactlywhat they were doing. They just didn’t expect him to take legal action, probably assuming he wouldn’t be able to afford it.
Pro bono can be a wonderful fucking thing.
The day Mike walked into Pierson & Callahan, I just so happened to be well under my pro bono service hours for the year. He was worried about how much it would cost him now that he was out of a job and had two young kids to care for. I wasn’t about to let him worry about that when he was clearlythe one being wronged by a company banking on him not being able to afford to go against them and their big, showy lawyers.
After months of refusing to back down on Mike’s behalf, because I knew we had this in the bag if it went to trial, the hotelfinallyagreed to a settlement. And I made sure it was aheftyone. Mike wasn’t going to have to worry about much for alongtime.
I’d been waiting to see who Colson Legal would send to represent the hotel and sign the final agreement. And it was Preston Colson himself? I was happier than a tick on a fat dog.
I grabbed the documents from my desk and walked out of my office and down the hall toward the conference room. I saw Preston and Vance through the glass windows and tried suppressing the shit-eating grin from my face as I walked inside.
The two men looked at me. Vance’s platinum blond hair was gleaming in the sunlight coming through the window and damn near blinded me. He gave me a curt nod of acknowledgment.
Preston was the same as fucking always—black slicked-back hair that I was sure had more gel in it than necessary, a designer suit, and copious amounts of cologne. He leveled me with his usual surly stare. “Callahan.”
“Colson.”
He looked around our conference room with an unimpressed and critical eye. “Cute setup you got here.”
I knew he was trying to get under my skin, but it wasn’t working. I’d been dealing with him trying to throw in my face that everything he had was better since elementary school. “This settlement is even cuter, don’t you think?” I plopped the documents down in front of him on the table with a grin.
He scoffed as he began looking it over. “Let’s not get cocky, Callahan.”
“I simply can’t resist.”
