Finally she snatched the card and stuffed it in her handbag. I smiled and stepped back. The doors closed, framing our BANK as she was going, going, gone.
The smile fell off my face, and I turned and leaned against the wall. They were such rare things. Our last true BANK had been Skopes v. Skopes, which felt so far away from where I was now that it was practically mythology. I was sick down in the pit of me, and it was more than the panic-attack hangover. I hated losing, and I hated letting down my partners, especially Nick. Oakleigh’s brand of ugly put him off his feed, and he counted on me to handle cases like this.
I pushed off the wall, checking my watch, though I wasn’t sure why. There was nothing left on today’s calendar but Birdwine. If the gods had any mercy, he would have brought me nine good reasons to take a pass on this pro bono.
When I opened our door, I saw Julian standing by the coffee table, looking ill at ease. Verona was away from her desk, but Julian wasn’t alone. Birdwine had arrived a little early. He sprawled on the sofa with both arms stretched along the back and his long legs stretched under the glass coffee table, taking up enough room for two of him.
He sat up and grinned as I came in, showing me the gap between his front teeth. I’d always liked that gap. When he first started working for me again, I’d gotten mostly the close-lipped smile he gave strangers. But now? I saw this one on the regular. Something about me screwing my life to the wall had made him comfortable. It wasn’t schadenfreude, though. It was more like one fuckup relaxing in the presence of another.
I smiled back, and then I said to Julian, “I’m sorry. It looks like our receptionist stepped away. Someone should come help you in a sec, okay?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh, sorry. I’m not in a hurry.” He seemed to preface a lot of his sentences with an Oh and an apology, like a verbal tic.
“You can sit down if you like,” I said.
He swallowed, eyeing the sofa. “I didn’t realize it would be so, um, fancy.”
“You want to come on back?” I asked Birdwine. He stood to follow me. I told Julian, “Please help yourself to coffee.”
As Birdwine came around the low table, Julian flushed again and said, “I don’t think I should. I mean, I’m not a real client. I’m here for something personal.”
That was odd. He did seem too young and broke to be a client, but the only creatures who came to see Nick for something “personal” were thirty-something brunettes with Pilates abs and red lipstick. Catherine, a full partner with a husband and three kids, barely had a private life.
“I think we can spare a coffee. Maybe even sugar, if you keep it to one packet,” I said, mock stern.
Julian smiled and turned toward the coffee station. As he and Birdwine crossed paths, Birdwine said, “Are you really interested in this one, Paula? I can dig more, but—”
When Birdwine said my name, Julian whirled back, stepping toward me, and they banged together. Julian fumbled his folder, and all the papers spilled out in a scatter.
Julian didn’t seem to notice. He pushed past Birdwine and came at me, fast. For the second time he grasped my elbow, putting his face too close to my face. “You’re Paula? Paula Vauss?”
“Vauss,” I said, automatically correcting his pronunciation. His grip on my elbow was so tight it almost hurt. He’d gone pale, and I felt something bad, almost electric, prickling in the air between us.
Birdwine felt it, too. He ignored the dropped papers and stepped toward us, purposeful. I gave him a little headshake. Birdwine would break this bendy straw of a boy in two. I felt a threat, but it wasn’t this bewildered kid. It felt like it was rising up around us both, enveloping us.
Birdwine took my hint, backing off, but only by a step. Julian blinked in slow motion, like he was waking up. He stared down at the papers spread across the floor.
“Oh, sorry.” He let go of my elbow. He dropped to his knees, ineffectually swabbing at the mess. He scooped a couple back into the folder, but his crescent-shaped eyes stayed fixed on me. Two hectic spots of bright color burned in his cheeks, and that bad current was still running back and forth between us. “Is there another Paula Vauss?” he asked me.
“I’m sure there must be several, somewhere,” I said.
I dropped to my knees by him, helping him gather his things. I wanted this kid gone. I didn’t want whatever fresh, electric hell he’d brought in with him, tucked into his pocket with his waxy mini candies.
Julian said, “But you’re Paula Vauss, the lawyer. The one born in Alabama? And you went to Emory Law?”
“What the hell?” Birdwine said.
I froze. “Did you have me investigated?” I said, outright belligerent now.
Julian stared at me with such intensity, and the more he stared, the more upsetting I found his eyes. They were so perfectly the color of my mother’s.
He said, “I thought that you’d look different. You know?”
I didn’t know. I shook my head.