Selfish and deceptive? Maybe. Probably. But I have it in my mind that I want Berlin, and I won’t be deterred from exploring that with her.
Part of me is hoping she won’t actually take my suggestion seriously and just write it off as ridiculous and counterproductive. I’m hoping she’ll think it’s a waste of time since the head of a multi-billion dollar company probably wouldn’t take the time out for her.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” she muses. “Maybe if I appeal to them in person rather than throw legal papers at them straight out of the gate, it will look better. Perhaps it will make them a bit more sympathetic.”
Shit. It was a stupid suggestion to make in the first place. I’ll need to tap dance around it. This is definitely not one of my finer moments, I admit, and one of the reasons I will sit with a situation and think it through thoroughly before I make any decisions. In the meantime, while I review the financial impact of delaying the project, I’m going to have to try to dissuade her from actually taking a visit to Compass.
“Yeah, maybe. But I think more than likely, you’re going to have a hard time getting to the people you need to talk to,” I mutter weakly. “There are so many layers of interference that it’s tough to get some face time with the decision makers. And then, by the time you do, it might be too late to file your injunction. I don’t want to discourage you; I’m just giving you an honest lay of the land – I kind of have an idea of how these people operate.”
I hate to see it, but she seems to deflate right before my eyes. Berlin’s face falls, and a frown creases her face as she lowers her gaze to the table, looking almost forlorn – which makes me feel like a bigger asshole than I already do.
“But hey, if what I saw you do in the borough board meeting is any indication of your skill, I have a feeling you’ll do great in court,” I encourage her through nearly gritted teeth.
Berlin settles back into her seat with a look of disappointment but a steely resolve on her face. As I sit there knowing we’re headed for a confrontation that seems inevitable, I can’t help but admire how passionate she is about it. Her strength and conviction is really something. Even though I don’t share her views about the current situation, I can at least appreciate that about her. I don’t agree with her position and will fight like hell to keep her from winning her injunction, but I appreciate and admire her for fighting for what she so obviously believes in.
“So how do you like working at the public defender’s office?” I ask, just to get the conversation headed in another direction.
“Some days are tough,” she responds. “But it’s rewarding work.”
“You’ve always had such a strict moral code – doesn’t defending criminals wear on you?” I muse. “I mean, I thought you would have been more likely to work in the DA’s office, punishing the criminals.”
Her eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches – which tells me I have probably just touched a raw nerve inside of her. Clearly, this is a case of me not knowing her as well as I thought I did – or that I want to.
“Yes, I have to deal with my fair share of genuine scumbags. But you would be surprised how many good people – innocent people – get caught up in the machine for no other reason than how they look, or how much money they have,” she sniffs. “I do what I do for those people – the ones who have no voice and are just fodder caught in the wheels of the system.”
“That is quite a campaign speech,” I tell her. “Planning a run for public office?”
“I deal with fewer scumbags in the PD’s office than inhabit political offices these days,” she rolls her eyes.
“You’re probably not wrong about that,” I smile softly. “But maybe if you were, say, state Attorney General, you could change things from the inside.”
“Are you offering to finance my campaign?” she smirks.
“Maybe I am,” I shrug.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Politics aren’t for me. I feel like my place is helping out the little guy.”
A smile curls my lips upward. “That’s one thing I remember about you from school that hasn’t changed – your idealism.”
“Yeah well, if I weren’t idealistic, I couldn’t do what I do,” she retorts, a hard edge to her tone.
“I didn’t mean any offense,” I tell her. “I’m not judging you. I actually admire that about you.”
“You don’t have to patronize me.”
“I’m not patronizing you,” I respond. “I mean it. I admire your strength. Not many people have the courage of their convictions. It’s more than clear that you do. I really respect that in you, and I think it’s really… attractive.”
As my words settle, our gazes lock, and I swear to God, I feel like a big jolt of electricity is shooting through my body. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced. And judging by the look on her face, Berlin felt something too. Her large doe eyes are wide, her full lips are parted, and she looks like she’s having as much trouble comprehending what she just experienced as I am. She quickly looks away, her eyes moving around the restaurant – she is very obviously avoiding my gaze again and trying to look casual as she sips her iced tea.
The air between us is suddenly infused with a tension that wasn’t there before. It’s like somebody flipped a switch and saturated the air with a sense of – anticipation. And as Berlin continues looking around the restaurant and very
