Page 117 of Maverick

"It's one hundred percent natural. It's because I live in the land of 'don't give a fuck'. But I have a feeling you live there, too."

I consider Becca's words, turning them over in my mind. Do I really not care? That doesn't feel right. I care deeply about my family, about Nan, about the rescue and all the animals we help. When I tell Becca that, she just waves her hand dismissively.

"That's not what I mean. Of course you care about that stuff. I love my husband and this family. I would do anything to protect them. But I don't bother pretending to be anything other than who I am. And I think you're the same way."

I pause, mulling over her words. There's truth in what she's saying. I've never been one for putting on airs or trying to fit into someone else's mold of who I should be.

"I guess you're right," I admit. "I've always been pretty straightforward about who I am. Take it or leave it, you know?"

Becca grins, nodding enthusiastically. "Exactly! That's what I'm talking about. You don't give a fuck about what people think of you. You're just... you. Unapologetically."

"I suppose I am. I've never really thought about it that way before." And really, who else would I be?

"That's because you're too busy being yourself to analyze it," Becca laughs. "But trust me, it's obvious to anyone who knowsyou. It's one of the things I like most about you, actually. That and your spinning back kick. That fucker is a thing of beauty."

38

MAVERICK

Ilean back in my chair, rubbing my temples as I scan through the stack of contracts on my desk. The constant buzz of the office fades into the background as I try to focus on the file in front of me.

"Mr. Walker?" My assistant, Sandy, pokes her head in. "Jake has a question about the Thompson Street agreement."

I nod, waving her in. "Send him in."

Jake, one of our junior lawyers, enters with a sheepish grin. "Sorry to bother you, sir. I'm stuck on clause 7b."Sir.How long is it going to take for him to remember to call me Mav? He's new, just passed the bar, but smart. He just can't bring himself to be informal, and I'm not sure if it's because of the size of my bank account, or because of my job title. Either way, I don't correct him…again.

"No bother at all," I say, gesturing for him to take a seat. "What's tripping you up?"

As Jake explains his confusion, I listen intently, jotting down notes. When he finishes, I lean forward, tapping my pen on the desk.

"Alright, let's break this down. The key here is understanding the interplay between sections 3 and 5..."

I walk him through the intricacies of the contract, watching as understanding dawns on his face. By the time he leaves, he's confident and ready to tackle the rest of the document.

Just as I'm about to dive back into my work, my personal phone rings. Unknown number. My stomach clenches. I know I should let it go to voicemail – I'm already spread too thin. But what if it's important? What if someone really needs help?

With a sigh, I answer. "Maverick Walker speaking."

"M-Mr. Walker?" A woman's trembling voice comes through. "I... I'm sorry to bother you. I didn't know who else to call."

My chest tightens as I listen to her story. Single mom. Unfairly fired. No money for rent or food. My free hand clenches into a fist as I fight the urge to promise her the world.

"I'm so sorry," I say, my voice heavy. "But I'm afraid I don't have the capacity to take on any new cases right now. I'm stretched too thin as it is."

The words taste like ash in my mouth. I can hear the desperation in her voice as she thanks me anyway, and I feel like the lowest form of scum as I hang up.

I push back from my desk, pacing the length of my office. I can't fucking do this. How am I supposed to turn people away? It doesn't sit right with me. At. Fucking. All.

But I've already had to cancel a couple of dinners with Cadence in the last week. Too much on my plate, too many fires to put out. And that's not sitting right either.

Every other lawyer and non-profit I have a contact for is as swamped as I am. So what the fuck do I do? Because I don't think I can live with this. I can't live feeling this fucking guilty. Being a lawyer was supposed to be about helping people. When did I start turning them away?

I leave my office, my mind still churning with guilt and frustration. My feet carry me towards Cara's desk, where I lean against the wall, my gaze fixed on the glass boardroom in the center of the space. Inside, Colton, Ransom, and Cara are deep in conversation with a group of suits I don't recognize.

My fingers fidget with my phone, turning it over and over in my hand. The woman's desperate voice echoes in my head, and I can't shake the feeling that I've failed her. I'm so close to finding Declan, asking him to track down that number, when the meeting breaks up.

Cara escorts the suits to the elevator while Colton and Ransom head my way. Ransom stops short, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my expression.

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