Page 26 of Danny Hall Gets a Lawyer (Goose Run #1)

I laughed again, guilt free.

My temples throbbed with an incoming headache, and I remembered Marty had forgotten my coffee.

No surprises there. Although he had dealt with Missy surprisingly effectively, so I guessed he was off the hook for today.

The fact I was getting a headache because I hadn’t had a coffee was a good reason to cut down on caffeine, but after my late night last night and my run-in with Missy this morning, today was not the day to quit.

I decided to go out and get coffee myself and made it as far as the reception desk where I ran into Callahan, Marty, and Mrs. Simmons—one of Callahan’s many cousins—having a friendly chat that blocked my escape.

Mrs. Simmons was about Callahan’s age, and I’d never seen her dress in anything that wasn’t a floral pattern.

“Well, here he is now,” Callahan said. “And say what you want, but Miller’s not one for blatant animal cruelty.”

Great.

“I draw the line at all animal cruelty, blatant or not,” I said dryly. “What’s Missy telling everyone?”

“That you punted Alexander Hamilton across the office like a football,” Marty said.

“He definitely didn’t, Mrs. Simmons. I was there.

Also, even if he did, the windows here at the front don’t open, so he couldn’t have kicked Alexander Hamilton through one like Justin Tucker kicking a sixty-six-yard field goal for the Ravens that time. ”

He could remember the length of Justin Tucker’s field goal but not how to alphabetize? Sadly on brand for Marty.

“I definitely didn’t kick the dog through the window,” I said. “I tripped over him, and he’s fine.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Mrs. Simmons said. “You didn’t strike me as a cruel person, but you hear things and it never hurts to check.”

“The only one Miller acts mean to is me,” Marty added. “And I know he’s just kidding. He likes me.”

Objection.

But I let it slide.

Mrs. Simmons peered at me through her rhinestone-studded cat-eye glasses. “Well,” she said dubiously. “I’m sure you’re right. You do have a kind look about you, Miller.”

Gee, thanks.

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Simmons,” I said, glancing longingly over her shoulder at the doorway to caffeine and freedom.

I’d imagined a lot of scenarios when I’d been at law school, but none of them had involved being held hostage by my boss’s cousin who wanted to check I hadn’t drop-kicked a pug. “If you’ll excuse me?—”

“No, Miller’s a good man,” Callahan said, slinging a paternal arm around my shoulders. “Smart as a whip too.”

I forced a smile, even though my coffee was getting further and further out of reach.

“I got real lucky when I hired him,” Callahan continued. “Small-town law isn’t for everyone, but Miller fits right in. So I’d be obliged if you’d let people know that Missy made a mistake, Nancy.”

Mrs. Simmons peered at me again and gave a small nod. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

And the thing was, I knew she would. Nancy Simmons worked at the local craft store, and her local information network was impressive.

She had the reach of a cold war agent. So when she told Callahan she had to go and get her hair done, I offered her my arm.

Not only would a few minutes of walking give me the chance to really solidify my reputation as a nice guy and not a puppy punter, it just happened that a stroll to the beauty salon took me closer to my favorite coffee shop.

I asked after her children, her cats, and her sciatica, and by the time we parted ways I felt as though she’d make sure Missy’s version of events wouldn’t get too much traction around town.

Callahan was right in that I did fit in here in Hopewell.

I knew exactly how to play the game—I just didn’t want to do it forever.

Over the weekend I’d gone downstairs in my parents’ house in the middle of the night and caught my dad watching a rerun of Cheers .

That old familiar theme song had filled the living room, nostalgic and warm, except no, I did not want to go to a place where everyone knew my name, thanks.

I wanted to go somewhere where people would say, Who the hell was that attorney who just wiped the courtroom floor with us?

And then I’d go home to my apartment, work out while I listened to a podcast, and do it all again the next day without living in fear that a bunch of people would want to drop by for a chat, or with an invitation to church, or a not-at-all subtle hint that so-and-so was still single.

The longer I spent in Hopewell, the more I felt the lure of a big city where my personal business was nobody’s but my own.

The thought of riding the subway with a car full of strangers?

Wonderful. Imagining working alongside someone in an office and not knowing every single thing about them and their six million cousins? Amazing.

I didn’t hate Hopewell. I liked it a lot. And that was the problem. I was worried that if I got too comfortable here, I’d never leave, and I had plans . So, you know, less Cheers and more “Hotel California.”

I was in line at the coffee shop when I got the email from Winston, Baker and Fisk asking me to come to New York for an in-person meeting.

Huh.

I blinked down at my phone and rethought that whole “Hotel California” analogy.

Because it turned out that you could leave after all.

I didn’t have any appointments for the afternoon, so I caught up on some paperwork, rechecked any paperwork I’d given to Marty, and called Chad Thurston-Wallace’s attorney, who was as surprised as I was by what Missy had told me.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“So it’s bullshit then?” I asked.

“I honestly don’t know. I think she’s full of it, but then again so is he, so who knows what they’ve decided to do? I’ll give Chad a call and get back to you. How does that sound?”

“That’s great,” I said. We were technically on opposite sides, but we were more like brothers-in-arms at this point, or at least bonded by shared trauma. “Just one more question.”

“What’s that?”

“When this is all over, who’s buying the beer?”

He laughed and ended the call.

I went and locked my office door before making the next call.

“Winston, Baker and Fisk, how can I help you?” the receptionist answered brightly.

“Hi there, it’s Miller Clarke calling for Ezra Fisk.”

“Let me put you through,” he said, and a moment later soft jazz drifted from the phone as I was put on hold.

The fact that the firm had a receptionist who didn’t call people “bro” seemed like a good sign, and something like excitement fluttered in my chest. This was actually happening. I was one step closer to escaping.

My phone beeped with an incoming call. When I checked the screen, I saw that it was Danny, but I barely hesitated before I hit the decline button. I’d call him back. This was more important right now.

“Miller!” a voice said in my ear. “That was quick! I take it you got my email?”

“I did,” I said. “And I’d love to meet in person.”

“That’s great.” His accent was New York. Definitely something I’d have to get used to if this all worked out. “We’d love to show you around.”

He was a lawyer, so of course he wasn’t going to give anything away and tell me outright I’d gotten the job.

But since Winston, Baker and Fisk was willing to pay for my ticket to New York and my hotel, I figured my chances were more than good.

They sure as shit wouldn’t be doing that for anyone they didn’t like.

“How’s next Tuesday for you?” Ezra asked.

I mentally ran through my caseload. There was nothing that couldn’t wait while I was out of town, but I didn’t want it to seem like I was irresponsible enough to drop everything at a moment’s notice.

“Let me check my schedule and confirm, but that sounds good,” I said.

“I’ll get back to you before the end of the day. ”

“I like a man who doesn’t waste time,” Ezra said with a laugh, and I laughed along with him.

We ran over a few more details, and when I ended the call I stared at my phone in stunned silence.

I wasn’t sure what it was that had made me stand out from the other candidates, and frankly I didn’t care.

It was enough that they’d seen something they liked.

All I had to do was turn up, nod and smile, and seal the deal.

This was something I’d been working toward ever since I decided I wanted to be a lawyer—a job at a top firm in New York and, one day, a partnership—and now it was within reach.

It would make all those long nights in the library at law school worth it.

The long nights, the endless classes and tutorials, and the crippling student debt.

There had been plenty of times I’d thought I wasn’t going to make it—looking at you especially, bar exam—but finally it was all going to pay off.

Now I just had to figure out what to tell Callahan when I asked for time off. I’d just decided to go with the evergreen “a personal situation” when there was a knock on my door. “Hey, Miller, your door’s locked,” Marty called out.

“It sure is,” I called back.

He rattled the handle. “Oh, are you sexting Danny?”

“Marty, Jesus!” Two guys who’d never been mentioned in the same sentence before for any positive reasons. I got up and opened the door. “I’m not sexting anyone!”

But shit, I needed to phone Danny back after rejecting his call before.

Danny, who lived in a town even smaller than this one and who definitely didn’t fit into my New York plans. Because how could he? He wasn’t meant to be a part of any plans.

So why did I get a sinking feeling at the thought of leaving him behind?

Marty held out a coffee mug. “I know I forgot before, but then I remembered. Here. Creamer and two sugars, right?”

Wrong, but close enough. I took the mug. “Thanks, Marty.”

He opened his mouth to say something—there was literally no way of knowing what—and I closed the door again before he could barrel in and make himself at home.

Then, deciding the New York thing wasn’t the kind of news I wanted to break over a phone call, I sent Danny a text apologizing for not taking his earlier call and asking if we could meet up for dinner.