With a short laugh, Tony waved him out the door. “I heard there was an accident on Central Freeway. You might want to stop by.” He enjoyed playing the role of slimy PI lawyer, but he and Lewis operated an ethical firm—no ambulance chasing, crash site visiting, or trawling emergency wards. They were good employers, savvy businessmen, sharp negotiators, legal aid supporters, and fierce advocates for their clients. Zara had no qualms about recommending the firm to her friends and family.
“You don’t seem happy about taking the case to court,” Zara said after Faroz had gone.
“Trials are long, expensive, and stressful for clients.” Tony leaned against the doorframe, one foot crossed over the other. “They’re also not cost-effective if we’re working on a contingency basis, and there is always a risk that the client walks away with nothing. We hired you for your court experience, but we hoped you wouldn’t have to use it.”
“So back to the settlement table?” She swallowed the fear that Tony would use this as a reason to let her go at the end of her one-year contract. After leaving her two previous positions by mutual agreement, she’d never get hired by another firm if this job didn’t work out.
“Tell Janice to book one of the meeting rooms for tomorrow morning and we’ll go over it together,” he said. “I’ve dealt with that insurance company before. They have no interest in going to court. We just need to find the right pressure points.” He adjusted the custom-designed lightsaber holstered at his side. A big Star Wars fan, he claimed the Force helped him with his most difficult cases, and with his track rate of success, his clients were inclined to agree.
“Thanks, Tony. I won’t let you down.”
“Lewis and I are taking Daniel for a drink to celebrate his recent settlement. Do you want to join us?” He checked his watch. “He should be here soon.”
Daniel King, aka Mole Boy, worked at night and slept during the day as a result of a sleep disorder that he had struggled with since he was young. Whereas other law firms had been unwilling to accommodate an associate who couldn’t work regular office hours, Lewis and Tony had jumped at the opportunity to provide twenty-four-hour service to their clients.
“I would love to, but my dad is coming to pick me up for my cousin’s sangeet in Carmel Valley.” She was grateful for the excuse. Mole Boy’s nocturnal existence meant he was socially awkward at best, and the few times they’d been out for drinks together she’d been forced to carry the conversation for both of them.
“Weddings are the best place to find clients.” Tony started for the door. “Keep a stack of cards handy in case someone falls on the dance floor or chokes on an oyster. Don’t forget to tuck one under the windshield of every car in the parking lot. Who knows what misfortune might befall someone on the way home?”
When he’d gone, she tidied her desk and sent her meeting notes to Janice to put in the file. This was so not the life she’d imagined when she’d graduated from law school with visions of meeting celebrities and doing meaningful work promoting diversity in the entertainment industry. But that path had taken her to two big-city firms that were rife with competitiveness and backstabbing. Cruz & Lovitt had offered her an alternative. Firm believers in work-life balance, and accepting of people who didn’t fit the corporate mold, Tony and Lewis had given her a chance to forge her own path in an atmosphere of mutual cooperation.
“Beta, all ready to go?” Zara’s father walked into her office, a smile on his face. Taller than her by five inches and on the lean side because he often forgot to eat when he was painting, her dad had thick dark hair with only a hint of gray and a beard and mustache that he usually forgot to trim.
“Your receptionist, Janice, told me to come on in,” he continued without waiting for her answer. “She was busy playing Candy Crush. I told her to play the fish candy last because they will go for any remaining jellies.”
“I’m almost ready.” She tossed a few boxes of business cards in her purse, each one bearing a picture of the firm mascot, a growling tiger. Although she had some reservations about handing them out—tigers didn’t scream professional—she was prepared to do what it took to make herself invaluable to her new firm.
“What do you think of my new outfit?” He held his arms wide, showing off a burgundy Nehru vest over a yellow, floral-printed jacket and matching pants. Zara blinked rapidly, trying to figure out who had sold him such a fabulous kurta pajama and where she could buy a pair of the Kolhapuri chappals he wore on his slim feet.