“I thought that I’ve already done that?”
He raises a brow in warning, and I know that’s my queue to stop talking. I’ve busted my ass off for the firm. I’m the youngest lawyer in history to make partner here, and it wasn’t handed to me like most would assume given my father owns the place. Iearnedthat title.
I take on the most complicated cases, bill the most hours, and am the most requested out of everyone in our firm. If I haven’t solidified my place here, well hell, what am I doing all this for? I might as well go to another law firm where I’ll be more valued.
That’s laughable.
My dad would never let me leave and I enjoy working as an entertainment lawyer, though the clients and constant dramagrate on me some days. Not to mention the long hours, especially since I want to start spending more time with Rhiannon.
I nod, though the thought of another year dealing with this childish client makes my blood pressure spike. Maybe there’s a way to cut back.
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
My father studies me for a long moment, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly before he leans back in his chair. Then, to my utter shock, he says something I’ve never heard in my thirty-five years of life.
“Take the rest of the day off to rest. We can regroup on the case over dinner later tonight.”
For a fleeting second, I think he might actually care about my well-being. But then he adds, in true Maxwell Prescott fashion, “You’re useless to me if you’re falling asleep in court.”
And there it is—the father that I was hardly raised by but know too well.
“I have dinner plans already,” I mutter, rising from my seat and grabbing my laptop and bag. Because I’m going to see Rhiannon tonight. “But we can catch up tomorrow.”
And then I turn and leave, headed to my office to catch up on all the work I’ve neglected.
Four hours later, after two unavoidable meetings and a mountain of paperwork, I’m dragging myself out of yet another conference room full of paralegals.
My exhaustion has reached critical levels, and my frustration isn’t far behind. By the time I reach my office, I’m practically running on fumes, knowing that I should go home and takea power nap before I head out to Brookhaven to surprise Rhiannon.
I pull out my phone and glance at the screen. One missed call from Rebel. I hit redial, pressing the phone to my ear as it rings. Once, twice, three times. It takes him five rings to pick up, his voice groggy and thick with sleep.
“Yeah?” he mutters.
I glance at the clock on my wall. It’s almost noon.
Nice of you to finally wake up.
“Hey Rebel. It’s Cain Prescott your lawyer calling.”
“What’s up, Cain?”
I think the question over, wondering how much confidentiality I’m breaching and deciding I don’t care anymore. I’m too tired, and too obsessed with Rhiannon to think this is a bad idea.
“A client of mine says they saw you out on a date with a model a few nights ago,” I lie. “Did everything go okay with that? Anything I should know about from a legal perspective?”
Yeah, sure. A legal perspective is what I care about right now.
He lets out a breath. “Can’t go anywhere without people noticing me. Yeah, it was fine. I wanted to scout her for my new merch line. Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. We need to go over the trademark and shit, right?”
“Yeah. Let’s get an appointment on the calendar with Dave.”
“Cool. I’ll ask him to hit you up.”
“So, nothing happened with the model?”
“Nah, man. She was pretty as sin. Thought I might have had a chance to sleep with her. But the bitch ended up getting sick, so I left her at the restaurant and bounced.”
“Sick?”
