Working Stiff:Casimir (Runaway Billionaires #1)(9)

       
           



       

Cash sighed, repeating, "Not for at least a week, perhaps a month.  Watson's representatives need this contract returned by Friday, so  you're stuck with us."

Monty's mouth set in a hard line like he was grinding his teeth, and then he said, "Fine. Let's get this over with."

They started with the first clause on the first page, but Monty dug in  and argued every damn item that Rox and Cash had brought up for  negotiation. He argued about the time frame for payment, which was far  outside the usual window, and all of them knew it. Monty insisted that  each item had already been negotiated, and they knew that they hadn't  been, and everything they brought up was tabled for the next session.

After three pages of getting exactly nothing done, Rox started keeping  an eye on Cash. He never exploded at other attorneys. His rants were  reserved for the office where they were effective tools and amused Rox  and where he and Rox could do something about the underlying problem.

However, on the third page, when Monty insisted that the production  studio retaining autobiography rights was normal and customary, Cash's  negotiating slowed. He blinked languidly, his dark eyelashes fluttering  over his emerald green eyes before he answered Monty's attacks, and he  leaned back in his chair. Bulges appeared at the sides of his square jaw  as he chewed a pen.

Lawyers argue, yes, but they have a specific way that they argue.

If you can argue the law, then you argue the law.

If you can't argue the law, then you argue the facts.

If you can't argue the facts, then you just argue.

Monty was just arguing.

Something was terribly wrong.

Rox stood and announced, "I shall use the powder room, if you gentlemen will excuse me."

Cash glanced up at her. They both had the bladders of camels and could  negotiate for hours if needed. He told Monty, "We'll take a break until  she returns. Call for coffee, if you would be so kind. Rox, would you  like some?"

"Yes, please," she said and walked out of the room.

Monty still glared across the table at Cash as she left.

The admin showed Rox where the ladies' room was, and Rox sat on the  closed lid of the toilet and texted Cash, He's not arguing law and he's  not arguing facts. He's just arguing. Something is going on. Let's go  back to the office where we can get some dang work done.

Rox flushed the toilet and washed her hands, just in case anyone was  listening and just anyway, and went back to the conference room.

Inside, Cash had zero expression on his face, his jaw tight, while he  doodled on the contract. Monty dropped his pen on the contract like a  falling missile, picked it up, and did it again.

Both had untouched cups of coffee in front of them, and another cup steamed in front of Rox's chair.

They argued one more clause, and then Cash checked his phone. Rox saw  over his shoulder that he was reading her text. He couldn't have read it  immediately, of course. That would have been too obvious: the paralegal  goes to the bathroom and then the attorney receives a text. Doy.

Cash nodded. That was for her. He said, "The office has called us back.  There's a problem with one of Valerie's other contracts. It seems that  there is another negotiation that needs to be handled."

Monty dropped the pen one more time and then glared at them. He waited, taking a slow breath, before he said, "Oh?"

"Absolutely," Rox chimed in. "Our whole office is running itself ragged  trying to deal with Valerie's contracts. We may have to hire some  temps."

"You're going to hire outside people?" Monty placed his spread hand over the contract.

"We may have to," Rox nattered on, scooping the too-few pages of the  document together. "Valerie has so many outstanding contracts. She's  such a whiz. She can just whip through them. The whole office is  struggling, but she can't come back for a while. The doctors are  adamant, no matter how much she argues with them, and you know how  Valerie can argue. Cash and I are working night and day, going through  all her contracts."

"You're going to go through all of them," Monty said. "All of them."

"Oh, yes," Cash said, watching the other lawyer closely. "We will review  all of Valerie's contracts, and we need to leave now for the office."

Monty stared at the Watson contract. "Thank you for your time. I look  forward to completing this negotiation. My admin will see you out."

He stood and walked out, taking his notes with him.

Cash watched him go and pushed the last few pages of notes over to Rox. "Let's go."

"That was weird, don't you think?" she asked him.                       
       
           



       

He turned and looked straight at her like he was trying to beam something directly into her head. "Let's go."

Okee-dokee, then.

Cash collected the portfolio case from her and carried it to his car in  the parking garage. He was as conscientious about carrying bags for  ladies as any Citadel cadet, and he reminded Rox of her cousin who had  gone to college there, the gentlemanly one, more often than not.

Rox trotted. Cash had long, long legs, but he usually ambled so she  could keep up. Now, though, he breezed through the garage, smacking his  heels down on the cement, the hard footfalls from his dress shoes  echoing off the concrete and cars.

At his car, Cash tossed the portfolio bag into the back seat as he slid  behind the wheel, watching Rox over the top of the car as she hopped in  the passenger side and closed her door.

"Cash, I don't know what is going on-"

He slammed his door, jabbed the ignition button, and reversed out of the  space, cranking himself around to look out the back window. "You were  right," he said. "Monty wasn't negotiating. He was stalling. We were  wasting our time with him."

Rox buckled her seat belt as he sped out of the parking garage. "So, what now?"

"Looking over Valerie's other contracts is now our top priority. We're going back to work."





GOING DUTCH





Rox and Cash sat opposite each other on the couches in Cash's corner  office with their laptops on their knees, just scratching the surface of  Valerie's many, many contracts that she had been working on. Rox's  laptop battery was getting hot on her left thigh.

The sun was drooping in the sky, glaring reddening light on the glass over Cash's law school diploma bolted to the wall.

Rox glanced at the sheepskin, even though she had seen it hundreds of  times, but scanning the contracts was getting boring. Everything she had  seen for hours was dead boilerplate standard.

The name on his diploma read: Casimir Friso van Amsberg.

She asked, "Where does ‘Friso' come from?"

"I beg your pardon?" Cash glanced up from his laptop, which he had  balanced on his knee crossed over his other leg. Even typing, he looked  athletic.

"Your middle name, Friso. Is that an old English name or something?"

He leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the couch, smiling at her over the top of his laptop. "It's Dutch."

"Like tulips?" The sunlight drew glowing orange streaks on the glass  over the diploma and warmed the dish of fruit in the middle of the  table. The apples gave off their scent.

His smile grew wider. "Yes, like tulips."

"I would have thought that you would have an English name, like William or Henry, or something."

"No, I don't think I would."

"And your last name is funny, too." She squinted at the diploma, reading  the calligraphy yet again. Van Amsberg. "It's not very English,  either."

"It was German, but my great-grandfather made it sound more Dutch when  he married my great-grandmother. It was von Amsberg, but this was within  a few decades of World War II, and anything German was still rather  unpopular in the Netherlands."

"So he changed his name?"

"Modified it to appease my great-grandmother's relatives."

"That's weird. How did you end up in England?"

He laughed and glanced at the ceiling. "You think I'm British?"

"You sure do have a pretty British accent." She flipped a hand up in the  air. "And everything you do is British. You called everyone a  ‘barrister' instead of a lawyer for years."

"That's common."

"It's so British. And you drink tea."

"Occasionally. I drink coffee in the morning."

"You have tea every day at four o'clock. The only thing that I've never seen you drink is hot cocoa."

"Oh." Cash stopped smiling and laid his hand over his stomach. "Don't  even mention hot chocolate. I can't even stand the smell of the stuff."

She blinked at him. "I didn't know anyone had that strong an opinion about cocoa."

"They used to force it on us twice a day at school."

"In London?"

He set his laptop aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his  knees. "I'm not British. I've only visited London upon occasion."