“At least until I’ve taken that one more case?” Margrit asked, the words coming out thin. “The one that’s for show, so I don’t look like I’m abandoning the cause too easily?”
“At least that long,” Daisani agreed. “Think how pleased your parents will be, Miss Knight. Moving up in the world. Focusing on problems that are really more suited for your intelligence and passion, rather than taking on hard-luck cases for a fraction of what you’re worth. Please,” he added, “do tell your mother hello the next time you speak with her. Delightful woman. Uncanny insight into the fluctuations of the stock market. If she were a shade less ethical you’d be absurdly wealthy.” Daisani tapped the end of his nose, winking again. “And I know from absurdly wealthy, Miss Knight. It’s been a delight meeting you. Let me escort you out.”
“That’s all right.” Margrit put on a quick smile and hoped it warmed her eyes. “I can find my own way, and I think your assistant would take umbrage at the personal attention.”
Daisani laughed and gave a half bow, then waved his hand toward the door. “As you wish, Miss Knight. Good afternoon.”
EIGHT
“I’LL TAKE THE case.” Margrit stood in Russell’s doorway again, clenching her fists into knots and loosening them again. Eliseo Daisani’s cool assumption of her reason for being at his offices rankled, driving her to take a stance she wasn’t wholly convinced she should. Still, the decision was made, and Margrit hated second-guessing herself. “I’m going to need help, Russell. This isn’t my area of expertise.”
“You’ve mentioned that several times today.” Her boss put his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, smiling. “I knew you’d come around. I’ve talked to Nichole about being second counsel, and she’s fine with that.”
“Is she? Or is she putting on a good show?”
“Either way.” Russell shrugged. “You’re going to be very short on time with this project, Margrit. Eliseo Daisani is used to getting his own way, and his pockets run deep.”
“So I’ve seen,” Margrit said under her breath, feeling a fresh wash of insult and irritation. “I’ll get started this afternoon, but I’m leaving on time, Russell. I’ve got a date tonight.” Her phone was still in hand, the call from Tony having caught her on the stairs as she’d reentered the Legal Aid Society building. Still bubbling with outrage over Daisani’s offer, Margrit had had to rein herself in to keep from snapping at the detective and refusing his offer of dinner out that evening. It was dismaying that her comfort with him made him the easiest target to lash out at when frustration took her. They’d gotten back together often enough that she must think it safe, but it wasn’t the way to have a peaceful relationship.
Peaceful. The word made her cringe. It suggested no challenges, which was both unrealistic and inappropriate. But certainly there had to be a degree of peacefulness, to let them continue forward. The danger was in only being a couple when there was peace between them, and that seemed too close to what they had.
“Tony?” At Margrit’s nod, Russell smiled. “Glad things are working out.”
She lifted a shoulder and let it fall, dismissing the question of whether things were working out, then sighed. “I’ll be here twenty-four-seven after tonight.”
“Promise me you’ll at least go home to shower,” Russell said. “Please. For all our sakes.” He tipped his chin toward the hall behind her. “Go on. You’ve got a lot of work to do, and I expect brilliance, Counselor.”
“He actually had the balls to say it, Cole. Russell said I was good for the case because I’m black. He actually said that. And then. Then.” Outrage had her in its grasp again, Cole the unwary mark who’d asked how her day had gone. Margrit stood before her closet, eyebrows knit together so hard her head ached. “Dammit, I don’t have anything to wear!”
Cole leaned in her bedroom doorway, watching her warily as he thumped a wooden spoon against his shoulder. “You could go like that. I’m sure Tony would appreciate it.”
Margrit scowled at him. “I am not going on a date in a sports bra and running tights.”
“You going to take all this moodiness out on Tony? I thought you two were trying to patch it up.” Her housemate pushed away from her door and stepped across the piles of clothes that littered the floor. “I don’t understand how someone with a mind as orderly as yours can live in a room as messy as this one. And then what?”
“A clean desk is a sign of a cluttered mind,” Margrit muttered. She sat down on her bed, surrounded by lumps of discarded clothing, and put her face in her hands. “Then I went to see Eliseo Daisani.”
“You what?” Cole turned away from her closet, spoon lifted like a ceremonial spear. “You what?”
“I went to see Eliseo Daisani,” Margrit repeated. “He knows my mother.”
“How?”
“I have no idea! He offered me a job!”
Cole put his spoon hand against the closet as if he needed the physical support. “Eliseo Daisani offered you a job?”
Margrit looked up through her fingers. “Yeah.” “Did you say yes?” “Of course not!”
“Margrit! He’d pay you half a million dollars a year! What’d you say?”
She snorted and flopped violently onto her back. “And move me to the Upper East Side. What do you think I said?”
Cole shook his head and turned his attention back to her closet, rifling through it. “I think you went back to work and said to your racist boss you’d take the case against Daisani, despite it not being your area of expertise, and despite your fears about how it’ll play to the media. Grit, you’ve got more clothes than Cameron and me put together. How can you have nothing to wear?”
“Those ones are all dirty!” Margrit pointed accusingly at her closet without looking at it. “And those ones are all—wrong!” She smacked the pile beside her, then shoved it away as she scowled. “And that’s exactly what I did. He’s not racist,” she added in another mutter. “He’s playing the advantages he has, and it pisses me off.”
“All wrong…” Cole sounded exasperated, ignoring her defense of Russell. “Where are you going for dinner?”
“I don’t know. Moroccan, I think. He knows I like it. So not dressy.” Margrit picked up a handful of clothes from the bed and discarded them again with an overwrought sigh.
Cole snorted. “You’ve been totally played, Grit. Are you aware of that?”
Margrit frowned at his shoulders. “What are you talking about?”
“’Eliseo Daisani is a dangerous man. You might make an enemy.’ Russell might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on the case and loosed you at it like an arrow, Grit. Either he knows you incredibly well or he’s astonishingly lucky. Here, wear this.” Cole pulled out a gold camisole and a red cashmere sweater, tossing them on top of her. “And jeans. It’s not like you have to make a stellar first impression.”
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