Dream On(67)

“Wait. Is your boss Frank Carlson?”

I blink. “How do you know Frank?”

Devin’s face pales. “He’s been consulting with my dad on something. Wait, I thought you said you were assigned to the litigation group. Frank doesn’t do litigation.” His voice is entirely too sharp, and I balk.

“I was, but I’m doing a rotation for a few weeks in public law. Why does it matter? What’s going on?”

Devin closes his eyes briefly and curses under his breath. When he opens them again, his usual, charming expression is back. “You know what? Why don’t we just get out of here? I’ll ditch my dad and you can call in sick from your work meeting. Maybe we can—”

“Cassidy, is that you?” Roger Szymanski’s graying eyebrows flick upward as he approaches, tucking his cell phone inside his blazer. Except for the formal gray suit, he looks the same he did at the Fourth of July party—same perfectly styled hair, imperious air, and cold, calculating expression. “Did Devin invite you or… that’s right, you work for Smith & Boone, don’t you? Will you be joining our meeting today?”

“Meeting?” I repeat, blinking. Is the client we’re meeting with… Roger Szymanski?

Frank pulls up in his car then, a navy Cadillac, and parallel parks along the sidewalk next to us. Cutting off the engine, he steps out, briefcase in hand. “Ahh, Cass. You made it. And I see you’ve already met our clients. This is Roger Szymanski, founder and CEO of Szymanski Enterprises, and his son Devin.”

The gears start turning in my head. The memo I wrote was about eminent domain, which involves real estate. Devin’s dad is a real estate developer. I frown to myself. But that still doesn’t explain why they’re here. Eminent domain can’t be used by private companies to seize someone’s property; it can only be used by the government to take private property when it’s needed to serve the public good—like widening roads, building schools, or burying utility lines. So why are we meeting with Szymanski Enterprises to talk about eminent domain unless… wait. Didn’t Frank say our client is proposing something to a Cleveland City Council member? Could the proposal involve eminent domain somehow? It’s a bit strange, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Devin edges closer to his father until they’re elbow to elbow. “Hey, Dad, are you sure Cass should be in this meeting? She’s only a summer associate. She doesn’t need to be bothered with this, does she?” His voice is quiet, but I can still hear his words—and so can Frank, because he’s standing right next to me.

My jaw goes slack even as ice slices through my lungs like a spear. I can’t believe Devin just belittled me in front of his dad and my boss. I narrow my eyes at him even as unease crawls up my spine. Why the hell is he trying to keep me out of this meeting?

Frank adjusts his briefcase under one arm. “Ms. Walker is a bright young attorney with the firm and has researched the relevant case law thoroughly. If it’s all right with you, I’d like her to sit in.”

“Of course, Cassidy is welcome to join us,” booms Roger, shooting a frown at his son. “Shall we?” He motions toward the restaurant. Frank opens the door for Roger before following him inside. I toss a withering glare over my shoulder at Devin, whose eyes widen.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs in my ear as we wait in the entry for the hostess to seat us.

“Are you serious? You just talked down to me in front of my boss,” I hiss under my breath.

His cheeks go pale. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to get you out of a boring meeting. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“Well, you weren’t.” Even if his intentions were noble—which I’m not certain they were given how shady he’s been acting since he got here—his words were completely thoughtless. I rub my temple before the hostess shows us to a round table in the back where a fiftysomething Black man is already seated, reading a menu. He stands when we approach.

“Councilman Truman, good to see you,” says Roger, shaking his hand.

“Likewise. How have you been, Roger?”

A brief round of introductions follows, and we take our seats. My gut hardens when I end up sitting with Frank on my left and Devin on my right. Devin tries to catch my eye, but I ignore him. I can’t let my annoyance put me off my game. I’m meeting with a prestigious client and a prominent local politician. Professionalism is a must… even though I’d like nothing better than to haul Devin out back and strangle some answers out of him. A few minutes of innocuous small talk follows before a server comes over and we place our orders.

“Are you sure you only want a salad, Councilman? Please, order whatever you like,” says Roger. “My treat.”

Councilman Truman folds his hands over the thick maroon menu and peers at Roger over his wire-framed reading glasses. “Now, Roger, even if I wasn’t watching my cholesterol, you know I can’t do that. I don’t accept gifts from constituents, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. Propriety and all.”

“You and your propriety.” Roger chuckles, but there’s an edge to the sound. Like glass mixed with gravel.

Once the server takes our menus and leaves, the councilman leans back in his cushioned chair. “Now, what’s this big idea you wanted to discuss?”