No Love Allowed(17)

Eight


MANY WOULD KILL for an internship at Parker and Associates. In fact, the rest of the interns had already shunned him for the obvious nepotism involved in his taking the spot from a more worthy candidate—one who had the credentials to match the position, other than sharing the boss’s DNA. Not that he had complained. He wasn’t there to make friends. Do his time and get out. That was the plan.

Once he punched the button for the fortieth floor and the elevator doors closed, he sent up a brief prayer for strength. He wasn’t particularly religious, but after the hijacking of his summer and potential loss of his gap year, he felt the need for divine intervention. God only knew what hideously boring task he would be given today.

In exchange for the morning off, he had to work until the office closed for the night. Michael, his father’s assistant, took great plea sure in giving him the news. If Caleb hadn’t known better he’d have thought his father’s assistant enjoyed torturing him more than his father did.

At the distinctive ding and opening of doors, he was met by said uptight assistant, who wore the most pretentious wire-framed glasses known to man. At least he could appreciate the man’s impeccable suit, daring to mix thin pinstripes with a checkered shirt. Nathan would have been proud.

“You’re late,” Michael sniped, his eyebrow arching. Caleb wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the man plucked.

“Lay off, Mike,” he said, using the nickname he knew the guy absolutely hated. The way the assistant’s entire body clenched was hilarious. “There was an accident on Main. Took forever to get around it.”

“He wants to see you,” came the clipped reply.

Caleb didn’t need to ask who Michael meant. He veered left from the elegantly appointed reception area, with the firm’s name emblazoned in bronze letters along the wall behind the receptionist, and headed straight for the largest corner office. The door was open, so he didn’t bother knocking as he went in.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Where have you been?” JJ asked without looking up from the file at his desk. He spun a Montblanc pen in his left hand.

“Business lunch,” Caleb said, the humor of the idea tickling the back of his throat. He barely suppressed a laugh when his father glanced up in surprise. The pen in his hand dropped and rolled across the page he had been reading. That had gotten his attention.

“Business lunch?” The incredulity in his tone was obvious, yet no real emotion colored the ice in his eyes.

A long pause followed the question.

Feeling generous, he decided to give the old man a break by saying, “I was securing a date for the events you’ve asked me to attend.”

That got him an eyebrow raise so similar to his own that Caleb vowed never to lift his eyebrow again. Matched with a cold gaze, it was disconcerting. “I’m surprised there’s still someone in Dodge Cove you haven’t dated.”

It didn’t surprise him that his father knew this. He might not be pre sent in his son’s life, but JJ made it a point to stay connected.

Biting back a sigh, Caleb said, “I’m outsourcing the job.”

A blank stare was the response to his attempt at a joke. What? Had he actually expected his father, the ice king of DoCo, to crack up? Not in this century.

“Don’t bore me with the details.” JJ picked up the pen once more. “So long as you are there it doesn’t matter to me who you bring.” Then he pointed at a large stack of folders. “Make ten copies each and pass them out to everyone involved in the case. Michael has the list.”

Before Caleb could open his mouth to confirm the instructions, JJ had already gone back to his reading and pen twirling. Biting down on the sarcasm that would surely get him into trouble, he slid his hands beneath the heavy stack and stalked out.

When he exited the office, Michael slapped the list on top of the stack, then gestured at three more boxes filled with files with a head tilt.

“Those too,” he said, not bothering to hide a smirk.

Caleb groaned. At ten copies apiece, that was a lot of dead trees. Law must be one of the least environmentally friendly professions, he thought.

As he dropped the folders onto one of the boxes, Michael handed him another list.

“What’s this?” he asked, scanning yet another piece of paper.

“Dinner, obviously.” Michael sniffed as if he had just been asked a stupid question. “When you’re done making copies, you’re running out for those. Make sure to check the gluten-free options. Last time you forgot.”

He exaggerated the eye roll he gave the assistant. “That was one sandwich.”

“Yeah, my sandwich.”

“Oops?” He had switched out the gluten-free option for something else. How could he have known Michael was allergic to gluten? He thought the guy was just being uppity. Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty for sending the man home with a severe case of diarrhea and vomiting.

“Just get it right this time.”

He gave Michael a mocking salute, then rolled the dolly full of case files to the copy room. In his head he reminded himself to collate. The first time he had made copies no one had told him he had to combine the files in proper order. Oh, the nasty stares and bracing mutters he had gotten from the entire firm then.

Learning his lesson, he had come up with a system. Once he finished the first set and had the second in the machine, he began collating. And staple. Staple. Staple. Lawyers liked their files stapled.