Chapter 4
BEN
Two months later
“Not an ocean view, but it’s all yours,” Jack Warner offers, leading me into a tiny, empty office the size of a closet, with a window overlooking the small parking lot.
“Ocean views are overrated,” I throw back with a grin.
That earns a chuckle as my new boss slaps a strong hand over my shoulder. “Glad to have you joining us, Ben. My son credits you as the reason he graduated law school with such high grades.”
“Your son’s a smart guy, Mr. Warner.”
“He says you’re smarter. That’s why I hired you. And call me Jack.”
I’m liking my law school buddy’s dad more and more. After a rather intense interview, I was convinced he was an uptight prick and I had no hope in hell of getting hired. I was surprised when he personally called with the job offer a few weeks ago. What a fucking relief that call was! Given that I’ve been too busy making solid money as a bouncer at a strip club to try for an intern position somewhere, I have zero experience. So many firms won’t even look at you without experience, even if you graduated near the top of your class, which I did.
I’ve obviously pegged Jack all wrong. I mean, here he is on a Monday morning, the sole equity partner of a Miami law firm employing about forty people, taking time out of his jam-packed schedule to show me around.
“Speaking of sons . . .” Jack smiles at someone behind me. I turn to find a tall, lanky guy in nerdy, thick black-rimmed glasses edge into my office. I offer him a smile of my own as our hands find each other in a strong clasp.
“How was your summer?” Mason asks, adding, “Kent said Mexico was good?” Aside from some texts and emails, Mason and I haven’t talked since the day we took the bar exam in July.
“Mexico was great.”
By Mason’s little smirk, I know Kent gave him some highlights that shouldn’t be elaborated on. Especially not right now, in front of my new boss. Mason was supposed to come down with us, but he decided to start at his dad’s firm right away. I told him he was a fucking idiot for doing that. I mean, we’re not even “associate lawyers” until we get our exam results, which are coming in a few weeks. And then what? A lot of fielding client case update phone calls and proofreading briefs and motions for who knows how long before we’re actually trusted to take on our own clients. Why not enjoy the summer?
“Mason, I’ll let you help Ben get familiar with the firm. I’ve got a nine a.m. and court this afternoon. How about the two of you meet me in my office at noon and we’ll go out for lunch,” Jack says, tapping a thick folder. “Some paperwork for you to fill out and hand in to the HR department today, Ben.” With that, the man swiftly exits.
I stroll around my desk and ease myself back into the burgundy leather chair with a big grin. “This place is pretty sweet.”
Mason nods slowly, running a hand through his curly dark hair and then, as if realizing that he’s just made it even messier, he quickly tries to smooth it back down. “I’ve got a call I need to make and then I’ll come back, okay?”
“Yup.” In the three years that I’ve known him, the guy still hasn’t learned how to carry on a casual conversation.
“You’ll be shadowing Natasha in family law for the foreseeable future. I’ll introduce you two when I come back.”
“Natasha?” I raise a suggestive brow.
“She’s engaged,” he quickly throws out.
“But the more important question is, is she hot?”
Mason rolls his eyes. “I already told you about the policy against office romances here, Ben.”
“Who said anything about a romance?” What is it about these fucking cock-blocking employers? First Cain, now Jack? Dropping my hands onto the oversized mahogany desk in front of me, I give it a good pat. “Always wanted to see what a hot lawyer looks like spread out on one of these.” I’m not serious, but I like watching Mason go through his various stages of awkwardness, where he gets all agitated and starts fiddling with his glasses.
And . . . man is he ever fiddling with them right now. I smile. The two of us couldn’t be more opposite if we tried. Standing there in his plaid short-sleeved shirt and black tie, the guy looks like he’s heading for a seventh-grade chess tournament. I didn’t wear a tie today. Dress code states business casual is fine unless you’re going to court or meeting a client and I’m doing neither, so why would I dress like an office monkey?
I let him twitch for another few seconds before relenting. “I’m kidding, Mace! I promise. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“As of when?” His tone screams doubt. He’s known me for long enough and has seen me in action with our friends more than once, so his skepticism is fair.
“As of my going-away party at Penny’s this past weekend. Nothing’s going to top that. I think my dick could use a break anyway.” I shake my head as I laugh to myself. Mercy and Hannah sure know how to send a guy off.
“Oh.” A small, knowing smile curves his lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. “Well, good. Just don’t forget that. Especially around my stepsister.”
Whoa. “Hold up. You have a stepsister? Working here?” This is new information. He’s never mentioned her before. Then again, he’s a private guy. “Is she a super geek like you?”
“She’s nothing like me. There’s probably a pot of fresh coffee in the break room down the hall and to your left.” He starts shifting on his feet. The guy can’t handle being late for anything.
“Go on, Mason. And thanks for the hookup.”
“Sure, Ben. I’ll be back in . . .” he checks his phone, “. . . eighteen minutes.” And he will. On the nose. I watch him take off at a brisk walk and I shake my head. The guy still lives with his father. Most days he’s wearing mismatched socks on account of being completely color-blind. If I hadn’t sicced Kyla from our first-year contracts class on him and witnessed her drag him into a bedroom at a frat party, I’d bet money that no woman besides his mama has ever seen his dick. Knowing Kyla as I do, though, she not only saw it, she made good use of it.
A yawn escapes me and I taper it off with a loud groan and a mutter of, “Yes to coffee.” It’s going to take time to adjust to early morning starts. After years of crashing with the sunrise and taking only afternoon classes, my body is suffering right now. First things first, though . . . I pick up the phone and punch the keys without thought. I memorized this number when I was four years old and I’ve been dialing it every day for years. Normally around dinnertime, though.
I’m hoping she’s on the back porch, drinking her cup of Earl Grey tea and checking her email on her iPad. I smile at the memory of teaching my fifty-one-year-old mom how to use that thing.
Unfortunately, it’s not she who answers.
Knots instantly spring into my neck. “Hey.”
A grunt responds.
“Is mom around?”
“Out in the grove.”
She should be back by now. She’s always up at the ass-crack of dawn to do her rounds, checking the trees. “Have you gone out to make sure she’s okay?” Ever since that mild heart attack seven months ago, I’ve been worried about her being alone out there for too long.
“She’s fine.”
“All right. Let her know I called.” He won’t. I guess I’ll have to call back later anyway.
“Where are you calling from?”
I wonder what the caller display says. Hell, that’s probably why he answered in the first place. Because he didn’t know he’d be talking to his son. “Warner—the law firm I’m working at now.” Mama probably didn’t bother to tell him that I finished law school.
“Never heard of it.”
I bite back a sigh of exasperation. Despite its small size, Warner is one of the most reputable law firms in the state. Five generations of Warners have owned it, holding some prime real estate in the downtown Miami core. According to my research, Jack brought in a partner—his best friend—and for ten years, they worked together as Warner & Steele, exploding the client list by more than double. They parted ways some years back when he bought the other partner out.