Pascal made a dismissive sound. “Ben, la vie est compliquée. Quand même.”
He ignored Pascal and focused on MacNiven. He was the linchpin here.
MacNiven stared back at him. Danny recognized the analyzing look on the man’s face—he used to get the same look when he was plotting a path to the goal. “You know, you’ll have to be upfront with us for us to help you. Trust goes both ways.”
“And when you agree to take me as a client, I’ll be completely upfront,” he replied, holding MacNiven’s stare.
“Hmm.”
Another noncommittal sound. That didn’t bode well. Danny studied the man, trying to determine what he could say in his defense.
Before he could figure that out, MacNiven stood up. “I’ll discuss this with the team.”
Danny followed suit slowly. He tried to figure out which way MacNiven was leaning based on his tone, but the guy was a sphinx. “What does that mean?”
“We decide which clients we take as a team. I’ll give you a call once we decide either way.”
“Lottie said thatyoudecide which clients you take.”
MacNiven nodded, hands in his pockets, all relaxed. “True, but that doesn’t mean that someone else on the team might not take someone I don’t feel I can help.”
“How often has that happened?”
“It hasn’t yet.” The man shrugged. “There’s always a first time.”
Danny frowned, jerking his thumb at Pascal. “Does he get a say?”
“Yes, he does.”
He glanced at Pascal, who was smiling like a cat with cream.
Well, shit. He was screwed.
Two
Julianne Emory looked at the plaque next to the closed doors. She could barely see a thing—the lenses on her sunglasses were so tinted that she’d basically found the office by braille. But the bold, embossed gold of the plaque seemed to shine brighter even with her dark glasses.
Winners Inc.
She couldn’t believe she was here. Jules looked both ways down the hall, relieved at the discreet feel of the floor. There was absolutely no way she was chancing taking the sunglasses off. The last thing she needed was for someone to find out that she—Chicago’s hottest up-and-coming attorney—was seeking a coaching service dedicated to winning. It’d put her next case in jeopardy and open her up to scrutiny she didn’t want.
She’d had trepidations about coming here. 110 N. Wacker was one of Chicago’s most exclusive office buildings. Half the businesses in this building were clients of Benington Mayer, her law firm, including the one she was representing in court in three weeks.
It was the most important case of her life, one she was determined to win.
It wasn’t that the case was ground-shaking or socially important—it was a simple matter of a breach of contract. Everyone assumed that she was determined to win because she’d never lost a case and wanted to preserve her record. Or that this was her ticket to becoming a partner.
Becoming a partner was a given—it was just a matter of time and putting in her dues.
No, this case was important because of the opposing counsel.
To most people he was Julian Holland, senior partner at one of Chicago’s most influential firms and her firm’s biggest competitor, a deciding factor in her taking the job.
Toher, he was the father who’d never acknowledged her existence.
Except for one moment—in her first year of law school, when he’d been a guest speaker at her civil procedures class and he’d singled her out not as his illegitimate child, but to tell her she’d never cut it as a lawyer.
She gritted her teeth, remembering that morning. She’d been hungry because she’d used all her money on textbooks, and on the way to class, the plastic bag she’d used for her stuff had ripped, which meant she’d arrived in a flurry of disarray. To make matters worse, she’d walked right into him and dropped her things again. She’d stood there staring at him mutely, caught by his pale-blue eyes—the same strange color as hers.