A thousand scenarios have played out in my head since reading that, each one much worse than the last and all of them ending with Rebel either doing something that would land him in legal trouble, or worse, hurting Rhiannon.
He better not have touched her.
My temples throb as I rub them, trying to calm myself before my blood pressure hits dangerous levels. The exhaustion that’s permeated my muscles isn’t helping either. Between the red-eye flight, 24 hours with practically zero sleep, and two days straight of wrestling a case and client from hell, I’m running on fumes.
I should be heading straight to my penthouse to crash, but there’s no way I’m resting until I know what’s going on and check in with my father.
“The Law Offices of Prescott and Associates, please,” I tell the cab driver as I slide into the back seat outside of the terminal. He nods and barrels into the flow of early-morning New York City traffic, weaving through it with practiced ease.
As we approach the office, I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial Rebel’s number for the fourth time since Rhiannon’s text. The phone rings once before going straight to voicemail. No answer, not that I expected one this early. He’s probably still asleep or nursing a hangover.
Stepping out of the cab, I prepare myself for whatever I’m about to find when I enter my dad’s firm. I know he’s going to be anxious for an update on the L.A. case, but Rhiannon’s text continues to kick through my mind, making me uneasy. Sleep and Brookhaven will have to wait for now.
I dial Rebel’s number again, this time leaving a voice mail. “Hey Rebel, it’s your lawyer fromPrescott & Associates, Cain Prescott. Give me a call when you get this, please. Need to touch base on a couple important things.”
I step inside the sliding, gold doors of the law offices, jamming the elevator button repeatedly while a single mantra pounds in my head like a drumbeat:He better not have hurt her.
I pull out my phone, debating whether to call Rhiannon or at least respond to her message, but my thoughts are interrupted the second that the elevator doors slide open because my father is already there, waiting for me like a lion ready to pounce.
My eyes narrow at him, trying to figure out if he’s been tracking my location. “Good morning, father.”
“I need you to debrief me in Conference Room C on everything that went down in California this week,” he says, his tone clipped without even a question about my flight.
He steers me toward the glass-walled room with no room for debate. I suppress a groan, forcing my exhaustion to the back burner as I fall into step beside him while he rattles on about the upcoming office holiday party that one of the interns is planning and already screwed up.
Inside the sleek conference room, surrounded with windows, my father dims the glass, frosting it over so that no one else from the firm can see us.
I want to ask him if that was necessary, but no one defies my father, even his only son and the man expected to take over his law firm one day.
He takes his usual seat at the head of the table despite me being the only person in attendance. His sharp gray suit and colder eyes are the embodiment of control, power, and everything thatmakes him one of New York and California’s most sought-after entertainment lawyers.
To his credit, we get results at our firm. Even if they sometimes come at the cost of some unusual methods. I used to look up to him and the way he did business. I think I still do. At his core, he’s a good person who cares about his people. He pays our employees well and he only takes on clients that he feels we should be representing.
But since meeting Rhiannon, I see him with different eyes. I notice how lonely he is and the way that he masks that emptiness with work. I wonder if he even realizes how he’s feeling.
I drop into a chair across from him, loosening my tie as he stares me down.
“Talk,” he commands.
I take a deep breath and place my palms flat on the table, feeling the cool wood settle into my bones. I didn’t always know I was lonely either. For years I’d convinced myself I was content spending every waking moment working. But now ImissRhiannon. And finally, she wants to talk to me. Hopefully about how she wants to date me. And that thought’s enough to get me through this meeting so I can get to Brookhaven as soon as possible.
“The short version? The whole case is a damn circus. Our client is every bit the Hollywood nightmare you’d expect. He thinks he can put his dick in anyone he wants without consequences.”
“Wasn’t that the point of sending you there on a red eye? To scare him straight?”
“Sure, but I wasn’t expecting him to blow up every chance I had to fix things. He skipped mediation twice, and when he finallyshowed up, drunk and high, he walked out after twenty minutes because, and I quote,‘This whole situation is cringe.’”
My dad’s grey eyes narrow, his face remaining unreadable. “I assume that’s when the opposing counsel filed that motion to escalate?”
“You got it.”
My father’s jaw tightens. “So, the settlement?”
“It’s dead. He’s refusing to pay a cent, and unless I pull off a miracle, this is headed to trial.” I lean back, folding my arms across my chest and hating the way this expensive suit feels against my dry skin.
“If you want my honest opinion, we should drop him as a client. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
His steely gaze weakens just slightly, a rare flicker of disapproval. “You’re getting soft. He’s a high-profile client and when you win this, it’ll solidify your place at the firm.”
