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Still looking at Chase, she repeats, “Are you going to sue for damages?” She waves a hand at his face.
Looking affronted at the idea, Chase scoffs, “No, of course not.”
Not relenting, Leslie continues her attack. “Are you willing to attest to that in writing?”
“Jesus, Bell.” Chase looks at me for help. “Tell your lawyer friend I’d never sue you for accidentally punching me in the face while you were trying to save my cat. Or at all, for that matter.”
Still hurt, both hand and heart, I don’t say anything. Instead, I cuddle Mike closer to my chest, which he seems to love, going by his V-8 engine purr.
Mouth hanging open, Chase grabs a cocktail napkin from the bar. “Anyone have a pen?” Three cocktail waitresses with a front-row seat to my drama thrust pens at him.
And that’s not all they’re thrusting.
Chase grabs one, not even glancing at the copious amount of cleavage, and hunches over the bar, scribbling fast. “Here.” He hands it to Leslie.
She scans it, nods, and pockets the napkin. “Everything’s in order then.”
“I’m not really sure a cocktail napkin would hold up in a court of law,” Chase mutters.
Leslie gives Chase the eye. “Then you don’t know me.”
“Huh.” Chase sits back in his seat, eyeing her like he’s thinking. “You want a job destroying my father?”
I feel my eyes bulge.
Leslie taps her finger to her chin. “Stan Moore, the one who stole intellectual property from my client?” She gestures to me.
“Now wait, he didn’t really steal—”
“That’s the one.” Chase nods.
She nods in return. “Yes. Call me.”
“But you can’t. I gave—”
She presses a manicured finger to my lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see a man about some Elvis impersonators.” She heads toward the side of the bar where the pissed-off bar owner sits. “This is going to be fun.”
Chase smirks. “You can bill me for the hour.”
“Oh, honey.” Leslie laughs. “I’m going to bill you for a lot more than that.” Then she sashays over and starts lawyering the shit out of the mayhem we caused.
“That’s some woman.” Human Mike, who’s been surprisingly quiet and steady through this whole ordeal, takes a swig of his beer and watches Leslie talk down the owner.
With the crowd now dispersed, Leslie handling the damages Mike Hunt caused, and the pain in my hand receding, the adrenaline fades, and my eyelids get heavy.
“I need to go home,” I tell cat Mike, who simply continues to motorboat me.
“I’ll take you,” Chase offers, hope lighting his features.
“I came with Leslie.”
“I got Leslie,” Human Mike says, his own smile telling me how he hopes the night will play out. And as Leslie hasn’t told him to take a hike, I’m pretty sure she’s okay with that.
I nod to him, then turn to Chase. “Fine, you can take me home.” I squeeze the hairless ball of cuddles closer. “But I’m not giving up Mike Hunt.”
Hands up, Chase nods. “Done.”
* * *
