Page 5 of Making It Burn

“An honor we don’t extend lightly.”He released my hand and remained standing, studying me with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen.“I’ve reviewed your file extensively.Stanford Law—impressive.Your trial record in California—even more so.Three consecutive wins in cases most attorneys would have settled.”

“I don’t like settling, sir.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.Not quite a smile, but close.“Neither do I.That’s why you’re here.”He gestured to the empty seat.“Sit.We’re just wrapping up a case briefing, but I wanted you to meet the litigation team before we discuss your first assignment.”

I sat, trying to look calm and professional while my brain screamed warnings.The door was still open.Mason could walk through it any second.

Patsy launched into introductions—names and faces I’d forget in ten minutes—and I nodded along, half-listening.One of the associates, a guy with too much gel in his hair and a Rolex that screamed trying too hard, leaned forward.

“Paul Cramer,” he said, extending a hand across the table.“Welcome aboard.It’s always good to have fresh blood.”

“Thanks.”His handshake was clammy.

“So, Stanford, huh?”Paul’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.“That’s impressive.I went to Georgetown.Excellent school, but Stanford’s obviously top-tier.”

“Both solid programs,” I said diplomatically.

“Oh, absolutely.Though I have to say, it’s interesting—you’re coming in as a senior associate, right?That’s quite a jump.Must’ve had some serious connections to land that.”

The room went silent.

Lisa, standing by the door, rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d fall out of her head.

Before I could respond, Carter cleared his throat.“Mr.Thatcher earned his position through merit, Cramer.His case record speaks for itself.”

Paul flushed.“Of course, sir.I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

The tension hung in the air like smoke.I was starting to get the picture: Paul was the office insecure overachiever, the type of guy who measured his worth in put-downs and Patek Philippe watches.

“Now then,” Patsy said brightly, smoothly redirecting the conversation, “we’re assigning you to a major case right out of the gate, Beau.A merger between two pharmaceutical companies—lots of regulatory hurdles, lots of egos, and a tight deadline.It’s a high-profile case, and we need our best people on it.”

“Sounds challenging.I’m ready.”

“Good.”She glanced at Carter.“We’re pairing you with—”

Mason Price stepped into the conference room as if fate had summoned him.He had a leather portfolio tucked under one arm, his expression neutral and unreadable.His eyes swept the room—polite, professional—and then landed on me.

Time stopped.

For half a second, I saw it: the flicker of recognition, the shock, the something else I couldn’t name.His jaw tightened, and a slight flush crept up his neck.

Then, the mask slammed back into place.

“Apologies for the delay,” he said smoothly, his voice cool and controlled.“I was finishing a call with a client.”

“No problem, Mason,” Patsy said.“Perfect timing, actually.I’d like you to meet Beau Thatcher, our newest senior associate.Beau, this is Mason Price.”

Mason’s gaze stayed locked on mine, and I felt the weight of fifteen years pressing down on us like a collapsed building.

“Mr.Thatcher,” he said, voice clipped.

“Mr.Price,” I replied, matching his tone.

The air in the room felt electric, like a storm was about to break.

Carter leaned back in his chair, oblivious—or pretending to be.“Mason, you’ll be working with Beau on the PharmaTech-MediCorp merger.I want both of you on this.Complementary skill sets, high stakes, the works.”