“See you tomorrow, angel,” I call to her back.
A minute later, Harrison steps sedately into the room after seeing her to the front door.
“Angel?” he wonders.
“Sure.” I raise my glass to my lips. “It was an angel who brought the plagues down on Egypt.”
“Ah, I see.” He nods. “But something tells me the frogs and locusts were easier to handle.”
And I don’t disagree.
6
The next morning, I get to the office early to make up for being sidelined yesterday. I get lost in motions and appeals and before I know it, the building comes alive around me—midmorning sunshine streaming through the windows, the sound of Mrs. Higgens’s footsteps, the smell of coffee in the air . . . the resounding thump that comes through the wall, rattling my desktop dart game in its box.
What the hell?
Before I reach my door, the thump comes again, this time accompanied by a muffled yell—shocked, pained, and distinctly male.
What the fuck?
I jump up and run into the hallway, and realize the sound came from behind Sofia’s office door. Jake and Stanton come out of their offices at the same time, their concerned expressions matching mine. When another thump sounds, Stanton’s mouth presses into a hard line and his eyes look like two nukes about to detonate. He takes the lead as we burst through Sofia’s office door.
Sofia’s always had the Brazilian bombshell thing going on, but now she’s sporting an extra curve—the seven-month baby bump across her middle. Which makes the fact that she’s holding a guy facedown across her desk, his arm pulled unnaturally far behind his back, even more disturbing. And . . . kind of awesome.
“Aaaarrrgh, you’re gonna break my arm!” the guy moans.
“Are you all right?” Stanton asks her.
“Dandy.” She actually smiles.
He steps up just as Sofia steps back—then Stanton grabs the guy and pins him to the wall, his big hand wrapped around the guy’s throat.
“What the fuck did you do?” Stanton growls.
The guy’s eyes bulge “Me? She almost broke my goddamn arm!”
Stanton pulls him a few inches from the wall and slams him back against it. “What’d you do that made her almost break your arm?”
“I told him he was going to have to do jail time.” Sofia pushes her long, dark hair back, fanning her sweaty neck. “That there wasn’t a deal I could make that wouldn’t include two to four years, minimum. He didn’t appreciate that, and took a swing at me.”
“You took a fucking swing at my wife?” Stanton’s fingers clench around the guy’s windpipe. “My pregnant wife!”
Sofia becomes the voice of reason. “I’m okay, Stanton. Really. Please just get him out of here.” Then she gives the piece of shit a look that may kill him faster than Stanton’s grip. “I’m dropping your case and keeping your retainer. Whatever lawyer you end up with won’t be good enough to get you even two to four, so have fun with that, asshole. Get out.”
“Let me help you,” Jake says, low and dangerous. Then he takes the bastard off Stanton’s hands—literally—and drags him out the door.
Stanton’s hands run over Sofia’s stomach, her shoulders. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Totally fine. He didn’t even touch me.”
Stanton nods and hugs her. But by the time Jake is back in the room, he’s all fired up again. “This is it, Soph—you’re done.” His hand cuts through the air, his stubborn jaw like a block of granite.
“Don’t start that again,” Sofia shoots back.
You might want to grab some popcorn. Because a good lawyer could argue with himself. Two attorneys going head to head is like a verbal MMA cage match with no rules.
“I’m finishin’ it, Sofia. Maternity leave starts now.” Stanton folds his arms—never a good sign.
“No, it doesn’t, Stanton. I’m not going to feed into your ‘barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen’ fantasy!”
Stanton leans forward. “You’re more than welcome to wear shoes. I’m partial to heels.”
Yeah, that’s gonna go over real well.
Then Stanton—displaying none of his trademark charm—loses it. “You’re my wife, this is our son! I’m not gonna stand by and let either of you get hurt—so you’re done with the violent assholes and drug addicts. You want to sit behind your desk, put your feet up with a nice tax evader or money launderer, be my fucking guest!”
“That’s not a decision you get to make!”
“I just did!”
Under my breath, I tell Jake, “I hate it when Mom and Dad fight.”
He cracks a smile.
Sofia glares smugly at her husband. “Then it’s a good thing this is an equal partnership, and we make those kinds of firm decisions together.”
Stanton nods, unconcerned. “Good point. We should vote on it—since it is a firm decision.”
Sofia’s smug smile falters.
“Jake?” Stanton asks, gaze focused on his wife.
There’s a pause for just one beat, and Jake says, “I agree with Stanton.”