I hear him before I see him. The elevator dings at seven-thirty — he's early, which is new — and then footsteps down the hall, and his scent reaches me through my open door before the restof him does. Everything tightens. My palms go flat on the desk. The bruise throbs.
He walks past my door and I don't look up. I'm reading email. I'm very busy reading email that I've already read twice.
A moment later, there's a soft sound on my desk. A paper coffee cup, set down carefully at the corner nearest me. Black, one sugar. From the place two blocks over that's better than the lobby cart — the place I mentioned exactly once, weeks ago, in a conversation I didn't think he was paying attention to.
The cup is warm. He went out of his way.
"Morning." He's leaning in my doorway. Casual, easy, like nothing has changed. But his eyes are careful. He's watching me the way you watch someone who might bolt.
"Good morning, Garcia." I don't look up from my laptop. "The debrief with Aldridge is at eight. Conference room B."
He's still standing there. The pause stretches out long enough that I almost look up, almost meet his eyes, and I catch myself and keep staring at the screen.
"Cool," he says. "See you there."
He leaves. His footsteps go down the hall and I sit there with the coffee six inches from my hand and I don't pick it up.
Conference room B is glass-walled and fluorescent-lit and it smells like carpet cleaner and stale air. I pull out my chair and sit and open my notebook and arrange my pen parallel to the edge and wait. Through the glass, I can see the associates filtering in at their desks, the slow ramp-up of another Monday at McKenzie & Randall. Normal. Orderly. I was part of this machine for years before the resort and I'll be part of it for years after and nothing has changed.
My shoulder throbs.
Ray comes in and takes the seat across from me. Not next to me. Across. I don't know if that's thoughtful or painful. Both. He's got a legal pad and his shirt is actually tucked in, which isnew, and he's wearing the navy tie — I've never seen him wear it before, and the effort of it, the intention, makes something tighten behind my ribs — and I look at that tie and I see the hallway outside the bathroom and his grip on my wrists and his voice saying this is about you and I have to look away.
He catches me looking. I can tell because the corner of his mouth twitches — not a smile, not quite, just this tiny movement that says I see you — and I want to throw my pen at him.
Richard arrives exactly at eight. Richard Aldridge has never been late to anything in his life. He sits at the head of the table and places his folder down with the deliberate precision of a man who runs a three-hundred-person firm through sheer force of organized authority.
"Miles. Excellent work at Linden." He opens the folder. "I've had calls from three potential clients who saw your panel. Henderson Logistics wants a meeting. So does the Pryce Group."
"Thank you." My voice sounds right. Professional, measured, maybe a touch of restrained pride. The version of me that Richard expects. The version of me that exists in this building, in this suit, in this life. "I'll set up calls with both this week."
"Good. But I have something else for you first." He slides a folder across the table. "Whitfield-Crane merger. Whitfield is looking to acquire Crane Manufacturing. Both sides want it clean and efficient, and both sides are willing to pay for it. The complication is that Crane's outside counsel is the Shaw firm."
I pick up the folder and flip through it. Corporate acquisition, multiple stakeholders, regulatory considerations, due diligence requirements — the kind of complex, high-profile matter that tests every skill I have. Partnership material. The kind of case that, six months ago, would have made my heart race with ambition.
It still does. Just not only that.
"Richard Shaw," I say, scanning the names.
"The man himself. He's handling it personally, which tells you the size of it." Richard folds his hands on the table. "We'll need someone sharp on our side who can match his pace. That's you. I want this wrapped in six weeks. Clean, efficient, no surprises."
"I know him," Ray says.
Richard and I both look at him. Ray is leaned back in his chair — relaxed, unbothered by two senior lawyers staring at him — and I'm annoyed by how little the scrutiny affects him. I'm also annoyed by how good he looks in that tie. I'm annoyed by everything about him and the annoyance is so familiar it almost feels like relief, like putting on a coat I used to wear every day, except the seams are wrong now. I'm a different shape than I was before him.
"Richard Shaw?" Richard asks with an arched eyebrow.
"His son, actually. Lawson. He's bonded to a friend of my brother's — they're in the same circle. I've been at family dinners, birthday parties, that kind of thing. I've met the old man a couple of times. He's..." Ray pauses, choosing his word. "Formidable."
I didn't know this. I didn't know that Ray's messy, complicated, baby-filled family extends to include the son of one of the most prominent attorneys in the city. I didn't know he had dinner with Richard Shaw. I didn't know any of this because I never asked, because I spent months treating him like a replaceable cog in my machine instead of a person with a life, connections, a brother who is bonded to someone who is apparently friends with Lawson Shaw, and what the hell kind of tangled web is his family?
Richard's expression shifts. I can see him recalculating — the way he does when a new piece of information changes the shape of a case. "You have a personal connection to the Shaw family."
"Casual. But yeah." Ray shrugs. "Lawson's been working on the relationship with his dad. Last I heard they were in a pretty good place."
Richard looks at me. "Bring Garcia onto the case. The Shaw firm values personal relationships, and having someone they've broken bread with can only help us."
I should say no. I should say I'll handle it alone, that I don't need an assistant for this, that Garcia would be better utilized somewhere else. I should say anything other than what I'm about to say, because what I'm about to say is going to chain me to Ray Garcia for six weeks, and I know exactly why I'm doing it, and it has nothing to do with the Shaw firm's feelings about personal relationships.