by Kim Fielding
Tully had to ask the obvious. “How come you’re here at Dolly’s instead of back home?”
At first it seemed as if Sage wouldn’t answer. But then he spoke quietly. “Dad got sick. Cancer. He had shitty insurance and he couldn’t work anymore, so the medical bills started piling up. Mom was busy taking care of him—but she can’t stay on her feet too long. The rest of the local family, cousins and all, they got lives of their own. I couldn’t run the Station all by myself. And I couldn’t afford to pay wages to anyone either.”
Jesus. What would it feel like to lose a business your family had run for five generations?
Tully got up, walked over, and stood close behind Sage. He felt awkward about it. He wasn’t accustomed to giving comfort. But he couldn’t sit on his ass and pretend it was no big deal Sage’s world had fallen apart.
After a moment Sage turned to look at him. Tears glistened in his eyes but didn’t spill over. “I kept it going as long as I could. When Dad—when Dad died, the Filling Station was still in business. I managed that much, dammit. But he passed a few months ago, and now all I got is a pile of doctor bills and a shitload of obligations. Can’t even sell the old building, ’cause who the hell would buy it? Whole damn town’s probably worth less than your condo.”
“I’m so sorry. For all your losses.”
Tully meant to pat Sage’s arm, but somehow it turned into a hug. Which was fine, even though Tully rarely hugged anyone. Sage was warm and solid in his arms, his skin and hair smelling of herbs and spices. And Sage seemed in no hurry to end the embrace, clutching Tully tightly and even letting Tully bear a little of his weight.
Then they pulled back enough to capture each other’s gaze. Something sparked so suddenly and so hot that for a split second, Tully thought the stove might have caused a fire. But no—the only fire was smoldering within him.
And apparently within Sage as well.
The kiss was surprisingly sweet and tender, spiced with piri piri and cardamom and lavender. Sage wasn’t grabby. While they kissed, he kneaded his fingers gently into Tully’s shoulders as if he were dough that needed shaping. And Tully liked the feel of him, substantial and somehow… honest.
Then Sage backed up a few inches and gazed solemnly at him. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he said.
Tully hadn’t been sure which of them had started the kiss and was relieved he didn’t have to apologize. “So you do have gay people in Hair Shaker. At least one, anyway.”
“Maybe it’s the big city that’s done gayed me up.” Running fingers through his hair, Sage moved a little farther away. “Look, Tully, you’re a great guy, but—”
“Jesus. Usually it takes a few weeks before I get this speech, but we haven’t even slept together.” Tully smiled to show he was joking, although he wasn’t, quite. He’d heard variations on The Speech for years. Hell, sometimes he was the one who gave it. Breaking up would probably be easier if somebody just wrote The Speech down, and then all the parties would have to do was say something like I’m invoking paragraph four, subsection 3B.
“Can I still stay here?” asked Sage.
“Of course! God, you didn’t think having sex with me was a condition of our arrangement, did you?”
“No. But if I’ve hurt your feelings, I’m real sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He shook his head. “You’re a good listener—and a good eater—and I got carried away.”
“I’m flattered you found me so irresistible.”
Sage snorted. “Well, I’m gonna have to resist from now on.”
“Why?” asked Tully, genuinely curious. If he was willing and Sage was into it, why not take a few tumbles in bed?
“Because it’s a complication I can’t afford. My plate is full, man. Can’t add anything more.”
Although Tully still knew few details of Sage’s life, he understood. Tully’s world had fallen apart once, and all he’d been able to do was keep his head down and his grades up as he waited for the ground under his feet to steady.
With a small smile, Sage gestured toward the dishes he’d dirtied while making cheese. “I should clean up. Have to get ready for work soon. I’ll put the rest of the cheese in the fridge. It should last you until I get back next week.”
“Thanks. I’ll enjoy it.”
But not as much as he’d enjoyed the kiss. In fact, while his mind had accepted that nothing physical was going to happen with Sage, his body tingled. He still tasted Sage on his tongue. He needed to brush his teeth. No, he needed to go jack off, then brush his teeth. And maybe hit a few miles on the treadmill.
“See you later,” Tully said. As he walked out of the kitchen, he felt Sage watching him.
Chapter Five
“MR. Tolliver? Ms. Sharpe wants to see you.”
Tully winced at the voice on the phone, even though Susan—Brenda Sharpe’s secretary—was a perfectly pleasant woman. She often brought baked goods or candy into the lunchroom for everyone to share, she always had fresh flowers on her desk, and she kept track of everyone’s birthdays. But when she called to set up an appointment with her boss, it generally meant problems were afoot.
“When?” Tully asked.
“As soon as possible.”
Even worse. “I can come right now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tolliver.”
Crap.
Tully’s office had a closet barely big enough for his coat, a spare shirt, and a duffel bag containing running clothes, in case he had a midday break. The closet door had a mirror inside, which he used to make sure he looked presentable. He tried out his most winning smile. “Go get her, tiger,” he said to his reflection.
Monday mornings were always hectic at the office, not to mention fraught with more tension than usual. Some of the trial attorneys were getting ready to go to court, other lawyers and paralegals bustled around as they prepared to file paperwork they’d completed over the weekend, and clients called or emailed with whatever disasters had befallen or whatever schemes they’d cooked up over the past couple of days.
Tully greeted people as he wove through the busy hallways and squeezed into an elevator with two law clerks, another junior partner, a client, and the UPS man with his hand truck. Almost everyone exited on the next floor up, leaving just Tully and the UPS guy to travel to the final story. As Tully had risen in the ranks of the law firm, his office had risen as well, so now he was nearly within reach of the rarified air of the building’s highest floor.
The deliveryman took a right when they disembarked, and Tully took a left, heading toward a desk where two vases of lilies and chrysanthemums symmetrically graced the polished wood.
“Good morning, Mr. Tolliver,” Susan said as she stood. “Do you want some coffee?”
“I’ve had three espressos already. I think I’m good.”
“I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Tully straightened his tie and tried not to fidget while Susan spoke softly on the phone.
She hung up. “Go right on in.”
Finally giving up hope that Ms. Sharpe might do a last-minute cancellation of the meeting, Tully nodded at Susan and trudged to the door. He knocked once before entering.
He was surprised to find Brenda Sharpe not behind her desk but perched on one of the leather armchairs near the window. He didn’t know what that meant—good news or bad—but at least she didn’t look angry as she peered at him across an oversized mug.
“Good morning,” he said. Shortly after he became a junior partner, she’d informed him that he could address her by first name, but he was still uncomfortable with it.
“Thank you for coming right way. Sit down.” She gestured at the love seat opposite. “Should I have Susan bring you coffee?”
“She asked already, thanks. I’m good.”
Brenda gazed at him for a long time, blank-faced. Tully stared at a framed diploma on the wall behind her. She’d gone to law school at a time when few African Americans attended—and even fewer African American women—and she’d grad
uated second in her class. When people had attempted to steer her toward family law or criminal defense, she’d ignored them, blazing a trail in corporate law instead. She was smarter than everyone else, tougher, and willing to work harder. And in Tully’s experience, she had the emotional range of a potted ficus.
“What are you currently working on?” she asked him at last.
His workload wasn’t normally her responsibility, although as one of the firm’s most senior—and most respected—partners, she was certainly within her rights to ask.
Tully did a quick mental review. “I have an antitrust case for VibroMate. It’s not a strong case, but the feds are being bulldogs over it. I’m just finishing up some work for Lessing Corp. COBRA research primarily. Um, I’m working with the Park family, who have some annexation issues with the city. Also fighting an eminent domain case over that stupid parking lot the city wants to build. And I’m helping draw up articles of incorporation for a company that supplies signage for food trucks.” He considered a moment. “That’s it.”
“A varied caseload.”
“I like to keep a hand in a lot of substantive areas. That’s not a problem, is it?” Actually, earlier in his career, he’d been told his flexibility was an asset. The firm could throw him in wherever he was most needed.
“It is not a problem. And you prefer it?”
“Yeah, I do. I’d rather not do trial work—other people are way more talented at that than I am. But other than that, I’m pretty much up for it. New things are good.”
“How about environmental law?”
He blinked. “Well, that would be new. I’d be starting from scratch. But I’m willing to learn.”
The slight dip of her head was the closest he’d seen her come to looking pleased. “An existing client wishes to expand into a new area of business. He believes he can manufacture electronically guided manned drones, and he believes he can make a profit from it.”
When she paused, Tully parsed her words. “Manned drones. You mean… small airplanes?”
“Sky pods, he calls them.”
It sounded like science fiction. Something out of The Jetsons maybe. But Tully wasn’t going to point that out to her. “Where does the environmental aspect come in?”
“The client wishes to build a research and manufacturing facility near Wilsonville, but the property includes some wetlands and other sensitive areas. He’s disputing the state environmental impact reports, and he’d also like to negotiate the setbacks. He’s willing to participate in a habitat exchange as well.”
In other words, the client wanted to throw some money around and preserve a few acres of trees or farmland in return for destroying the natural habitat of birds and wildlife. But Tully didn’t say that either.
“He wants our assistance with these negotiations, I take it?”
“He specifically wants your assistance.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Surely the client could find many attorneys with experience in this specific area. And then suspicion arose and he frowned. “Who’s the client?”
“Edison Harrington.”
Tully bit back a string of expletives. “Carrie Filling’s working on his case,” he managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Yes, she is working on his lawsuit, but that is an unrelated matter. He has requested you for his new venture.”
Time to lay it on the table, as uncomfortable as Tully was with doing so. “Harrington and I dated a couple years ago. Briefly.”
She didn’t bat an eye. “How is that relevant now?”
If Brenda Sharpe had a personal life, nobody at the firm was aware of it. A few of the paralegals insisted she didn’t even leave the office at night but instead simply powered herself down for a few hours.
“It’s relevant because that’s why he wants me for this work. He wants….” Tully paused. What did the guy hope to achieve? If he was out for revenge because Tully had refused to go out with him any longer, this was a weird way to get there. Sure, Tully might fuck up the case, sending his career into the toilet, and maybe that would satisfy Harrington. But if Tully did screw things up, wouldn’t Harrington suffer too? He might not be able to build his Jetsons cars then.
“You are a fine attorney,” Brenda said. “You’ve already told me you welcome a new challenge. The client’s underlying motives are immaterial.”
Okay, she’d trapped him. He hadn’t had an excuse to back out, except for his brief personal history with the client. And apparently that wasn’t enough. Brenda was good. Tully was thankful they worked for the same firm, because he sure as hell wouldn’t want to face her as opposing counsel.
Feeling fidgety, Tully abandoned the love seat and paced to the tall windows. The view was identical to his, except slightly higher. The sky had settled into a uniform gray, like thick felt, and it wasn’t likely to brighten much over the next six or seven months. Sometimes he grew tired of the gloom, but then he remembered winter blizzards and summer humidity, and he was thankful he’d settled in the Pacific Northwest.
He turned to look at Brenda. “Isn’t his request sexual harassment?”
She didn’t even scowl. “Only if he makes unwelcome advances or offensive remarks. Which he has not, at least within my hearing. He told me he admires your legal acumen.”
Tully almost snorted. “Can I refuse?”
“This account will bring our firm over a million dollars in fees.”
“Eddy’s been doing well for himself,” Tully muttered.
“Your refusal would create a significant loss to the firm. You would not feel the economic aspect personally, since you are a salaried nonequity partner. But you would disappoint your colleagues in that you were not holding the firm’s best interests paramount.”
In other words, they’d fire his ass. Or at the very least, make sure he got a lot of shit work and never moved up the ladder. Tully could afford to take the money hit but not the blow to his self-esteem and job security.
Dammit.
“I’ll take the work,” he said.
Brenda nearly smiled.
CARRIE swallowed her bite of hamburger and gazed sympathetically at Tully. “It stinks, kiddo. Sorry.”
He sighed as he poked at his sweet potato fries. “Yeah.”
“If you want, I could talk to Brenda. Or Aronson.” Aronson was the senior partner in charge of work assignments.
“I don’t think it would help. In fact I’m pretty sure it would just make things worse. Not only would I be shirking my duty to the firm, but I’d be too chickenshit to fight my own battle.”
With a philosophical shrug, Carrie slurped her milk shake. She was definitely rebelling against Leah’s dietary restrictions today—not that Tully could blame her. He’d get pretty tired of tofu too.
“They probably wouldn’t actually fire you,” she pointed out.
“Probably not. But do I want to spend the rest of my career with Brenda Sharpe giving me the laser eyeball because I let her down? I don’t think so.”
“She’s not actually a robot, you know.”
“Do you have any proof of that? Have you ever seen her eat or drink?”
Carrie considered. “Can’t say that I have. Not even at the Wednesday feasts.” The firm served a weekly catered lunch in the largest conference room for all partners and associates. Select people gave synopses of the cases they were working on, and one of the most junior attorneys would recite a rundown of recent relevant appellate court decisions and legislation. In theory the lunches made the firm more productive. In practice everyone tended to eat too much and then spend the afternoon in an overstuffed stupor. Everyone except Brenda. She sat at the head of the big table with an untouched glass of water and empty plate in front of her and absorbed every word.
“So you can understand why I fear her laser eyeball.” Tully groaned and poked at his rapidly cooling fries. “I don’t get why he’s doing this to me.”
“Harrington?”
“Who else?” He narrowed his eyes
at her. “What does he say about me?”
“Seriously? Do you think I get together with him so we can gossip like teenage girls, doing our nails and chattering about boys? He’s a client. We talk about his case. If he’s mentioned you at all, I don’t remember it.”
Tully wasn’t certain whether that was reassuring. “Well, why do you think he’s insisting on me?”
“Because you’re a good lawyer?”
He snorted. “There are lots of good lawyers in the world.”
“Maybe he figures he’ll feel comfortable working with you. I mean, you guys didn’t have an ugly meltdown or anything.”
That was true. They’d gone out on a few genuine dates—dinner, a play, a day on the Columbia in one of Eddy’s boats. They’d fooled around quite a bit. And they’d had sex exactly once, an experience that wasn’t earthshaking but was far from awful.
But Eddy was too arrogant, too convinced of the correctness of his worldview. Tully had come to realize that his main assets in Eddy’s eyes were that he wasn’t a gold digger and they looked handsome together. A matched set, Eddy had said. As for Tully, he just didn’t feel a spark.
So the next time Eddy texted to suggest a date, Tully said he was too busy, which wasn’t a lie. He repeated the excuse a few more times until Eddy finally called him.
“Why the cold shoulder?” he asked.
“Sorry. I’ve had a lot of work, and—”
“C’mon. Really.”
Tully had scowled before biting the bullet. “It’s not working out. I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect for you, but I don’t feel a connection.”
“You need more creativity in bed?”
“It’s not that.” Tully tended toward the vanilla himself. “I think when two people are going to be a thing, a real couple, something happens between them. The right mixture of body chemistry or something. I don’t know. And you can’t force it or stop it. It’s either there or it isn’t. We… aren’t.” Tully honestly believed that, although he’d also come to suspect it was never going to happen for him.
