Page 29 of Danny Hall Gets a Lawyer (Goose Run #1)
MILLER
“ M iller, good to meet you. How was your flight?” Ezra Fisk extended his hand, and his grip was firm and commanding as I shook it.
I’d talked to him over Zoom, but he was far more imposing in person.
He was taller than me and his solid build made me think of the quarterback on my college football team.
But his smile was wide and genuine, and I felt myself relaxing. This was really happening.
I flashed him my best smile and said, “It was fine, thanks. And the hotel’s great.” The hotel was adequate, but that saying about gift horses and mouths also applied to hotel rooms that a potential employer had paid for.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “Shall we go up to my office?”
See, this was how you ran a law firm. No dog baskets, no cousins dropping in for chats, and no interns with flamingos on their shirts. Just straight down to business.
“I’d like that.”
We took the elevator up, and then Ezra led me along a series of corridors, past rows of cubicles and then offices, until we reached a set of glass doors and he ushered me through to his office.
It was a big, open space with soft lighting, dominated by a large wooden desk covered with neat stacks of files.
Over in the corner of the room there was a leather couch that probably cost more than my car and a side table with a potted plant.
This high up the constant traffic noise was muted, and views of the city spread out in front of me.
Ezra caught me glancing out the windows and chuckled. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“It’s a far cry from Hopewell, that’s for sure,” I said.
Ezra gestured to the chair opposite his. “So.” He pulled a file toward him and opened it. “Let’s talk.”
I nodded. My gut churned just like it had when I’d been about to sit the bar exam, and the stakes felt almost as high.
But my nervousness turned out not to be necessary.
Sure, Ezra asked the expected questions about my experience, my strengths and weaknesses, and my salary expectations—the pay was a lot better here than in Hopewell, but the cost of living was also a hell of a lot steeper, so financially I wouldn’t be any better off.
Career wise, though? There was no comparison.
I got the impression Ezra had already found out what he wanted to know in our initial interview, and this was just a formality.
It was barely ten minutes later when he flipped the file closed, leaned back in his chair, and smiled. “Well, that about covers it. I think I can confidently say we’ll be extending a formal offer.”
“Wait, really?” My mouth dropped open as he confirmed my suspicions that I had this in the bag.
So much for the cool, calm, and collected guy I’d been pretending to be up until now.
Ezra raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Really. I think you’ll fit in well here. Welcome to Winston, Baker and Fisk, Miller.”
His words hit home, and excitement raced through me. “Thank you so much,” I said, unable to stop the grin from spreading across my face. “You won’t regret it!”
Ezra stood, buttoning his jacket, and said, “Shall we go and meet some of the team?”
The rest of the morning passed in a blur as Ezra gave me a tour of the offices and showed me where my office would be.
It was nowhere near as fancy as his, but it was adequate, and it would be mine.
He also introduced me to people whose names I’d doubtless forget by the end of the day, and I gave them all a wry smile when they commented on my accent.
I wondered how long it would take for me to sound like them. Forever, probably.
By the time I was shaking Ezra’s hand one last time and walking out the front door with an assurance that I’d be back the next morning to get my paperwork in order, it was almost noon.
I debated catching a cab back to my hotel since it wasn’t exactly close, but I decided to walk.
It would be a good way to burn off the nervous energy that was itching under my skin.
I’d walked three blocks when my stomach gurgled, reminding me that I’d been too nervous to eat breakfast, so I stopped in at the next coffee shop I saw.
I gave my order at the counter, then found an empty seat and dropped into it.
I tapped my fingers on the table surface restlessly as I waited, and had a sudden overwhelming desire to call Danny and tell him the good news.
I dismissed the idea immediately. I was pretty sure he’d see me calling him to confirm I was leaving as a dick move—and he’d be right.
It had been awkward as hell when I’d told him I was moving, even more so because he’d just finished asking me if I’d think about us being more than casual. The way his face had crumpled at the news had almost had me reconsidering my decision.
Almost.
After he’d congratulated me—which was more than I deserved—he’d said, “I think you should go now.” And so I had, because what else was I supposed to do?
I hadn’t heard from him since. And while I understood, I missed him. I hadn’t been lying when I’d said if he’d asked me the week before, I would have said yes to something more. I liked Danny. It was just that our timing was shit.
Thinking about Danny and how I wouldn’t get to see him any more took some of the shine off my good mood, and when the server brought my sandwich, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I’d thought I would.
The prickling realization at the back of my mind also didn’t help.
An internal voice kept asking why my first instinct had been to call Danny and not my parents or my brother.
Danny . My internal voice looked a lot like a prosecutor from TV, and he was a dog who wouldn’t let go of a bone.
It’s interesting, isn’t it, Miller, that you wanted to call Danny?
Who, as you’ve already told the court, is just a casual acquaintance.
And no, I had no idea who the court was.
Do you tell all your casual acquaintances your life-changing news before telling your family, Miller?
And no, there was no defense attorney there to object to the leading question and no judge to sustain the objection. There was just that asshole prosecutor, so the question hung there while I squirmed in the witness box inside my own dumb brain and tried not to answer.
I walked the rest of the way back to my hotel at a slower pace, soaking up the noise and the atmosphere of the city.
I wondered if I’d be able to find somewhere affordable to live nearby—for New York values of affordable, at least—then shook my head at my optimism.
It was more likely I’d end up spending a good chunk of my day on the subway.
But that was the price of city living, I guessed.
No more five-minute commutes for me. Ten, if there was traffic.
At least now I’d have plenty of time to discover new podcasts, right?
I headed up to my room, which was small but had everything I needed in twelve different shades of beige and far too many throw pillows.
I took my laptop out and opened it on the little table and then sat down to read through the bunch of emails HR at Winston, Baker and Fisk had already sent through.
As I worked my way through the paperwork, reading up on what the company was offering and what was expected in return, it was clear that this would be nothing like working at Fisher Law.
But I was pretty sure I was up for the challenge.
I hoped so, anyway.
It was only after lunch, and I could have killed hours in the city doing a bunch of touristy stuff—hell, maybe I could have even seen a show. But for some reason I didn’t want to go out again.
Snarky internal prosecutor was back: And why is that, Miller? Isn’t New York everything you wanted it to be?
Of course it was. And I’d be living here soon, and I’d have plenty of time to see the sights then.
Between getting up before six to make it to work early and getting home sometime after ten when you finish work, because you just had to stay late for some important client?
I was really starting to hate that guy. And I’d have weekends for fun stuff.
Well, most weekends.
Well, some weekends.
Okay, so my work/life balance was going to be skewed heavily toward work for the foreseeable future because I was the new guy and I had to prove myself.
That was how things were. And it was fine, really.
This was all part of the plan. And it wasn’t like I had anyone to go to those shows with anyway.
Yet.
I didn’t have anyone yet. But I planned to check out the club scene, and I was bound to find someone to hook up with and maybe date.
The thought didn’t sit right, and I got up and took a bottle of water from the minifridge.
Paced back and forth while I took a few swigs and pretended that thinking about some potential future boyfriend didn’t sting.
Some potential future boyfriend who probably wouldn’t wear a trucker cap, and have grubby stains on his jeans, and the nicest hazel eyes I’d ever seen.
Some potential future boyfriend who wouldn’t laugh at my choice in podcasts and make me listen to Creedence instead when we were driving somewhere.
Some potential future boyfriend who wasn’t Danny.
Your casual acquaintance, Dan ? —
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I muttered and took another swig of water. I stared angrily out the window at the brick wall opposite and then paced some more.
This was amazing news, and I was going to do what I should have done in the first place and call my folks. They more than anyone knew how a job at a big New York law firm was my long-time goal. They’d be thrilled.
My mom picked up on the second ring. “Miller? What’s wrong?”
“Hey, Mom. Why would something be wrong?”
“Because it’s a Tuesday afternoon, and you don’t make personal calls during working hours.”
Unless you’re calling Danny.