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I hold downward dog, rocking my hips back, shifting my weight in my palms. The space is too cramped to do full sun salutations, but familiarity of the position calms me almost instantly. “So, which is it?”
“What?” he asks in a strangled voice.
“Which is it? Soulless businessman, greedy finance guy, or evil lawyer?”
“What makes you think it’s any of them?”
“That smirk you gave when I said it the first time.”
“I didn’t smirk.”
“Pul-ease. You’re the kind of guy who only ever smirks. You probably think it makes you seem cooler. Or that smiling is a sign of weakness or something ridiculous. Or that?—”
“I’m a lawyer. Before you can make any more sweeping assumptions about my character.”
“Of course you clucking are.”
“Did you just … say ‘clucking’?”
I blow out a breath, but don’t answer. “I should have known.”
“Known what?”
“That given any three horrible options, you would be the worst.”
He gives another one of those snort, almost laughs. “Glad I could live down to your expectations. What do you have against lawyers?”
“You mean besides the fact that they prey on people’s vulnerabilities for four hundred dollars an hour?” I step back into a forward bend and then straighten to mountain pose.
“Do you have some kind of tragic backstory where your parents were murdered by a ruthless gang of lawyers, or do you just believe all the stereotypes you’ve ever heard?”
I should let this go, right?
I mean, I don’t have to respond.
I can just inhale and exhale. Drop back into downward dog. Wait for the elevator to start back up.
Find my center. Release the emotions that are threatening to get the better of me. Let my?—
“Or maybe it’s just your overactive imagination that?—”
I spin back to face Martin, hands propped on my hips. “My dad died without updating his will, which allowed my dick of a half-brother to cheat my mother, my sister, and I out of our inheritance. That’s why I think lawyers are evil.”
Martin, who had been in the middle of talking when I turned and cut him off, is sitting there on the floor, mouth agape, staring up at me. He snaps his mouth closed and scratches the back of his nails down the stubble on his jaw as he slowly stands up. “See, that sounds like more of a problem with your father than with lawyers in general.”
We’re facing one another now, standing only a couple of feet apart. His brow is furrowed, his smirk gone. His eyes are such a dark brown, I can’t see where his pupils bleed into his irises. If I didn’t know he was an evil lawyer, I might even think he was concerned. I’m not sure how, but he seems even taller than he did when I was slumped in the corner, leaning against the wall.
“Oh, I agree. Definitely a problem with my father, first and foremost. He absolutely should have handled his shit better. But don’t worry, I still have plenty of reasons to be pissed off at the lawyers who took advantage of the situation. Like the probate lawyer my sister hired who convinced her she has a case against my brother and who is slowly bleeding her dry. And also my father’s lawyer who knows this isn’t what my dad really wanted but refuses to even meet with me. And his receptionist, who says he can’t do anything about it since my dad never got around to writing a new will.”
Suddenly I’m aware of two things. First, my voice has been rising, so by the time I’m done talking, I sound banshee-level shrill. Second, I’m near tears.
My throat is closing up, my hands are shaking, and the tremble in my voice is unmistakable, despite my banshee shrieking.
You know the one thing I hate more than being in a bad mood?
Crying in front of other people.
Ironic, isn’t it?
