by Whitley Cox
“Been waiting to do that a long time, huh?” Zak asked with a deep laugh.
Mark’s mouth split into a wide, knowing smile. “You know it.”
Atlas rolled his eyes again. He’d done the exact same thing to Mark over a year ago when he’d majorly fucked up with Tori and was whining about it. Only in this case, Atlas couldn’t really think of how he fucked up—at least not to the degree Mark had.
“You go to her now,” Mark said, making a serious face.
“I’ll wait until I hear from her,” Atlas said dully. “You’ve been keeping that one in your back pocket for a while now.”
Mark’s green eyes glittered in the sunlight and crinkled in the corners as he smiled. “Believe me, buddy, that was the best damn advice anybody has ever given me, and if I can give it in return, I’m going to sprinkle that shit around like confetti.” He lifted his beer bottle up in a toast toward Atlas. “Thank you. Without your verbal kick in the ass, I probably wouldn’t be as happy as I am today.”
Atlas tipped his bottle in Mark’s direction in response. He remembered that night well, as it had been his first poker game with guys after Samantha had passed. He’d been angry and quiet, hating the thought of being in a single dad group, because that meant he was a single dad. But they’d all welcomed him, let him be grumpy, and invited him back the next weekend, and the next weekend. Despite his snarky comments and sullen demeanor, they accepted him as is, and he was forever grateful to them.
“You want us to watch the kids while you go to her?” Scott asked. “Just change CeCe before you go. My kids are toilet-trained. I don’t do diapers anymore.”
Atlas shook his head, his gaze wandering out to the grass, where Cecily happily crawled after Zak’s eight-year-old daughter Tia, who was also crawling and saying, “Come get me, CeCe.” Aria was off playing with Gabe, Jayda and Mira, the three of them thick as thieves somewhere over in the flower garden. Zak’s ten-year-old son, Aiden, and Scott’s son Freddie were busy squirting water pistols at boats in a kiddie pool to try to sink them. All the kids were happy. So why wasn’t he happy?
“Dude, you need to go talk to her. Figure out where her head is,” Mitch said, following Jayda and Mira with his gaze. The little girls and Aria were weaving their way down the stepping-stone path through the garden toward them all.
Grumbling, Atlas drew out his phone. It said five o’clock. Why hadn’t she texted him about dinner yet?
He hit her number.
It rang. And it rang. And it rang. And then it went to voice mail.
“It’s me. Call me back, please. Want me to bring dinner over later? I can have Kimmy watch the girls.” He hung up. His gaze slid to the side. “That wasn’t needy, was it?”
All the men shook their heads exaggeratedly.
“No, no, not at all. Very manly. Very aloof,” Zak said.
“Very aloof,” Mark repeated.
“Let her know you’re interested, but don’t beg,” Scott confirmed.
Atlas rolled his eyes for what was probably the millionth time that day. “You’re all dicks.”
“Said the king of the assholes.” Scott chuckled, lifting his beer bottle. Then all the men slammed their hands down on the table at once.
“You go to her,” they each said.
22
“Hey Tessa, wait up,” Atlas said, jogging up beside her as she approached the door to the big skyscraper that housed the offices of Wallace, Dixon and Travers law firm.
She took a deep breath and released the door handle to face him. He came to a stop right in front of her, leaned down and pecked her on the cheek. “You okay?”
She glanced up at him beneath her lashes. “Would you be?”
“Fair enough.” He fell in line beside her and reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t want to fuck things up for your meeting with Carlyle, but I’d really like to talk to you about last night. If I upset you by coming over unannounced, I’m sorry. I thought we would have a celebration dinner together, and Liam and Richelle wanted to talk to us.” He squeezed her fingers. “You never let me know about dinner, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. You didn’t go and see your mom again, did you?”
No, she hadn’t gone to see her mom. She’d gone to the drugstore with Carey, then home because she was too sick to her stomach to even entertain the idea of lunch. Carey had insisted on staying while Tessa took the test, setting the timer on her phone as they both stared at the stick covered in her pee as it sat forebodingly on her bathroom counter.
He opened the door and they walked inside.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry I dismissed you the way I did. I wasn’t feeling well, and I just wanted to go to bed. I’m just feeling really run-down right now. It’s not you, it’s me.”
She regretted her words the moment they came out of her mouth. And the way his body went rigid beside her said he took her words just as she hadn’t intended them.
Crap.
“That’s not what I mean,” she stammered. “I mean it’s not you, you’re great. You’re perfect. You’re wonderful. I’m just feeling really off, and I knew I would be terrible company last night. I know I should have been riding a wave of accomplishment and bliss yesterday after earning my doctorate, but today has weighed heavily on all of that.”
He made an animalistic noise in this throat. “As I’m sure Fuckface Rickson had intended it to when he proposed yesterday as our meeting date.”
All she did was hum an agreement.
“Hold the elevator!” Liam’s hand shot through the closing doors of the elevator, and his flushed face and brown eyes appeared right behind it when the doors began to open.
“Why the hell aren’t you in your office preparing for our meeting?” Atlas asked him, his voice stern, accusatory and downright pissed off.
Liam exhaled, hit the button for the nineteenth floor and away they went. “I’ve been working on another case all morning.” He glanced at Atlas. “I do have other clients, you know.”
“None as important,” Atlas grumbled under his breath.
Despite the sinking feeling in her gut, Tessa’s heart warmed at his words, and she moved in closer to him.
Liam rolled his eyes. “We’ve got this in the bag, trust me. I saw Zak parking his truck down the road. Mason was with him, Aaron and Adam in the back. They’ll be here shortly.”
“And Richelle?” Tessa asked, not against all the testosterone willing to help her but looking forward to having another woman in the room with her—a powerhouse of a woman, to be exact.
Liam nodded. “She’ll be—” He stopped, reached for his phone and put it to his ear. “Hello?”
Atlas and Tessa exchanged curious looks.
“Oh shit. Yeah, okay. I will. Fuck … Okay … Okay. Do you want to conference call in if you can? Yep … Got it. Okay, bye.” He turned to them both just as the elevator doors silently slid open. “Richelle’s daughter had an emergency at school. She can’t come to the meeting.”
“Fuck!” Atlas pushed his fingers through his hair.
“We’ve got this. It’s okay,” Liam said, adjusting the sleeves of his gray suit jacket. “We’re kickass lawyers too, remember?”
“If we have to remind ourselves out loud, then we’re not,” Atlas murmured. He detangled his fingers with Tessa’s and wrapped his arm around her waist, the two of them following Liam down the hallway of Wallace, Dixon and Travers toward the big meeting room they’d reserved.
“In here,” Liam said, opening an opaque glass door and allowing them to step inside. One wall of the room was wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows; the other was more opaque glass. It felt like a weird fishbowl. She didn’t like it.
“They’re not here yet,” Atlas said, leading her around the long, wooden oblong table to sit in front of the windows at the middle of the table.
“I told Rickson ten o’clock. That way we could get here first. Best to present a united front when he first arrives than have our reinforcements tri
ckle in after the meeting has started.” Liam set his briefcase down on the table and popped the latches. Like a robot, he began to remove documents, most of which Tessa had already read.
A secretary poked her head in and asked if anybody would like anything to drink. Liam and Atlas both said coffee, black, and Tessa asked for a water, even though the way her guts were turning, she would have much preferred a ginger ale. But that could have been too suspicious.
All three of them took a seat at the same time four men, three the size of Mac trucks and one no slouch, sauntered into the room. Mason, Zak and Aaron all wore tight black T-shirts. Two wore shorts, and Aaron wore jeans.
“Jesus fuck,” Liam started. “Did you fucking bench-press a couple of Fiats before you showed up? I swear I see every fucking vein in each of your arms.”
Zak grinned broadly. “You said to come jacked. We came jacked.” He and the other two musclemen wandered behind Tessa, Atlas and Liam and stood there, arms crossed. Adam took a seat beside Atlas and waved at her.
“What the hell is this?” Carlyle’s voice made Tessa’s head snap up and her stomach hit her feet. Sweat instantly coated her palms, but that didn’t seem to deter Atlas as his fingers tightened in hers. “You think you need bodyguards for this?” He wandered in with Blaire beside him. She was at least dressed like a professional with a black pantsuit and red silk blouse. Carlyle was in jeans, a ball cap and a worn royal blue Atlanta Braves T-shirt, as if he were going to a baseball game.
Meanwhile, Tessa had worn a gray pencil skirt and pink cotton blouse, and Atlas, Liam and Adam were in suits. They dressed to impress—or intimidate.
Did he not have a lawyer with him?
“Where is your legal representation, Rickson?” Liam asked, eyeing Blaire and the surprising confidence she had strolled in with.
“She’s right here,” Carlyle said, tilting his head toward Blaire.
Both Liam and Atlas squinted. “She can’t legally represent you,” Liam said slowly, as if both Carlyle and Blaire were slow themselves. “I’ll report her if she does.”
Well, that seemed to get Blaire’s attention. She snapped her back straight, and fire burned in her eyes as she glared at Liam. “Oh, well, let me just call my dad, then.” She turned to the door. “Oh, Daddy?” As if they’d rehearsed it all, a man with a navy pinstripe suit, slicked-back blond hair and expensive brown loafers swung the glass door open.
“Bertram Tomasino,” Liam and Atlas both groaned at the same time.
Who the heck was Bertram Tomasino?
Liam’s phone rang in his pocket. He answered it and seconds later was setting it down on the table. “Richelle is on speaker,” he said.
“Is everyone here?” Richelle’s gritty voice asked.
“With one more surprise,” Liam said without inflection. “Bertram Tomasino appears to be our opposing counsel.”
Richelle didn’t even bother to hide her groan of discontent.
“Nice to hear your voice again too, Richelle,” Bertram said, taking a seat next to his daughter.
“Why weren’t we apprised of Mr. Rickson’s legal representation sooner?” she asked, ignoring Bertram’s snide comment.
“You know me, Ms. LaRue. I enjoy the element of surprise.”
“More like you enjoy jumping out of the shadows after a fiery car wreck. Fucking ambulance-chasing dipshit,” Richelle retorted.
“My degree is the same as yours,” Bertram replied, appearing completely unfazed.
“Yeah, but I doubt our schools’ rankings were,” Richelle muttered. “What league was yours? Because I’d bet my left tit it wasn’t ivy.”
Bertram clucked his tongue. “You gather far more flies with honey, my dear.”
“I’d gather even more with your hollowed-out carcass. It’s up to you which way we go,” Richelle snapped back.
“I like her,” Zak said with a chuckle behind them. “Pity we can’t meet the fireball in the flesh.”
“Let’s get down to brass tacks,” Liam said, straightening his tie.
“Yes, let’s,” Bertram said, opening a shiny black briefcase on the table and pulling out a bunch of forms, which he passed across the table to Liam. “My client is seeking sole custody of the property in question.”
Tessa gasped. “He’s my dog.”
Blaire sat back in her chair, grabbed Carlyle’s arm and wrapped it around her shoulder with a self-righteous look on her face. “He doesn’t even remember you.”
“You speak dog now, Miss Tomasino?” Richelle asked.
Blaire rolled her eyes.
“Well, she is a bitch,” Zak murmured under his breath behind them.
Carlyle’s eyes flicked back and forth between Tessa and Atlas, who were sitting closer together than the rest of them.
“Who’s he?”
Tessa went to open her mouth, but Atlas dropped her hand and gathered a stack of papers in front of him, tipping them on the end and tapping the lot against the table. “I’m a friend of Miss Copeland’s.”
“You always sit that close to your friends?” Blaire asked snidely.
Richelle cleared her throat over the speaker. “Mr. Rickson, although you and Miss Copeland purchased the property in question together, we are seeking full custody of the canine. Miss Copeland has evidence that the dog by the name of Forest preferred her, was more loyal to her and accompanied her to work every day. We are prepared to settle. Your extensive and expensive comic book and record collection, which is currently in Miss Copeland’s possession, as well as a one-time-only payment of two thousand dollars for full custody of the dog. I think we’re being more than reasonable here. The dog itself did not cost two thousand dollars, but we understand that Mr. Rickson did put out money toward the care and entertainment of the dog over the years, and we are prepared to compensate him for that.” Papers rustled over the phone. “Take this to court, and we’ll go for full custody, the records and comics and emotional damages.”
Carlyle made a rude noise in his throat, and the look on his face turned downright smug.
Atlas wished Richelle was in the room and her venom could wipe that look clear off the douche’s face.
“You’re awfully confident, Ms. LaRue,” Bertram said, though the bead of sweat on his upper lip said he wasn’t nearly as confident as he had been a moment ago. Was the competency and testosterone in the room finally getting to him?
Richelle scoffed. “Come on now, Bertram, you and I both know this is ridiculous. We’re prepared to settle. The dog for the comic and record collections, as well as two grand for expenses and compensation. This is our one and only offer.”
“I think that is more than reasonable,” Liam agreed.
“As do I.” Atlas nodded.
Carlyle’s eyebrow twitched. “She’s not getting the dog back. He’s just as much mine as he is hers.”
“And I’ve represented countless parents who fought for and won full custody of their children. It happens. And it should happen here.” Atlas pulled the top piece of paper from his pile, spun it around and pointed to the highlighted section. “Miss Copeland is the one who did all the inquiry and legwork to obtain Forest the dog. She is also the only person listed as owner at the veterinarian, the pet store, the obedience class he attended. She is the more responsible owner. She takes Forest to work with her, takes him for walks, buys his food, takes him to Earth Dog and agility class. For all these reasons—and the overall well-being of the dog—we find Miss Copeland to be the better-fit owner. We’re prepared to offer visitation if it comes to that.”
“The fact that you’re seeking sole custody is preposterous,” Richelle added.
“I could say the same thing about you,” Blaire replied.
Carlyle’s jaw grew slack as his eyes scanned the paper pushed in front of him.
“Furthermore … ” Atlas pulled the next piece of paper off the pile and slid it in Carlyle’s direction. The man’s hands left sweaty imprints on the table when he reached out to grab it. “It has come t
o our understanding that you have applied to the University of Washington for a position in the biology department.”
Carlyle cleared his throat. “That’s right.”
“But you haven’t signed the employment agreement yet, have you?”
Carlyle swallowed. “No. These things take time.”
“Do they?” Adam asked. “Because as dean of the biology department, I thought I’d done a pretty good job streamlining the hiring process.”
Carlyle’s face went the color of pea soup. “The dean?”
“Dr. Adam Eastwood,” Adam said with a wide, superior smile. “Nice to meet you. Consider this the interview that truly matters.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Bertram asked, his feathers clearly ruffled. “You cart in three meatheads with muscles for brains and my client’s future employer to intimidate us?”
“Potential future employer,” Richelle corrected. “And I’m pretty sure those meatheads have more brains in their biceps than you, your client and your daughter combined. We’re using what we have, and that’s support. These people care about my client and want to see her get her dog back. Particularly after the way your client treated her, I think she could use all the support she can get. We’ve done nothing illegal Mr. Tomasino, and you know that.”
Bertram huffed and squirmed in his seat.
“So are you saying I won’t get the job unless I give her back the dog?” Carlyle asked, his gaze remaining focused on Adam.
Atlas shrugged. “We’re not saying anything.”
Adam turned his palm up and curled his nails forward, examining them with a bored expression. “I’m just here to meet one of the applicants to my department. As dean, I have every right.”
“It’s also come to my attention that the two of you have applied for a mortgage and are trying to get into the real estate market, is that correct?” Liam glanced back and forth between Blaire and Carlyle.
“How does he know this?” Blaire asked like the buffoon that she was.
“I know a lot of things,” Liam said blandly. “I know a lot of people. The right people. Like bankers and Realtors, mortgage brokers and home inspectors. I’m from Seattle. Have worked in this city a long time. My connections are endless. The favors I owe people, and that people owe me are endless.” He pinned his gaze on Blaire specifically. “Something you might want to remember, Miss Tomasino when you’re applying for associate positions, hmm?”
