Page 73 of Ambiguous
Tool.
“Whatever,” Terrill says. “Just make sure we get an album out of him.”
“I will.” I get up from my desk. “I’m going to grab a bite.”
A short elevator ride later, I’m standing in line at Southwinds Coffee, which has a branch in my building’s underground mall. The shop was founded by some surfer, and he’s opened up a bunch of them. Their drinks beat any other brew I’ve found.
As I wait my turn, I try not to be frustrated at the time I’m not billing. But I suppose if I work on emails while I’m in line, then I can bill.
I pull out my phone.
Two guys get in line behind me. One is tall, confident, and Latino, with a sharp fade haircut and a square jaw. Totally handsome. The other’s shorter, more delicate, and White, with blond hair and a face kind of like Colin Jost’s.
“I can’t believe Anderson ruled against us!” the taller guy says.
“I know,” the shorter one groans. “I mean, we can appeal—Velvet has deep enough pockets. But I really thought Anderson was our best chance.”
I subtly turn to get a closer look at the guys and realize I know who they are: August Ramirez and Noah Weston, the founders of a well-known local firm that specializes in LGBTQIA+ causes.
And they represent Velvet? As in my favorite porn star?
Cool.
“Anderson’s known for making some wild-ass rulings these days,” I volunteer.
They turn to me. “You’ve appeared before him?”
“Yeah. I filled in for a partner recently and watched his whole morning calendar. I don’t think many people left his courtroom happy. Others in my firm had similar experiences.”
“Pretty hard to piss off both sides in a lawsuit,” August says.
“I know, right?”
I turn back to the counter because it’s my turn to order, but I really want to ask him and Noah if they’re hiring. I didn’t know they were in this building. But, in a building this big, I don’t know all the firms—just the major ones. Noah and August’s firm is a boutique.
I make a note to myself to start scouring their website for their hiring partner.
CHAPTER27
Jules
After a particularly long day of recording—following several days of marathon sessions—I’m knackered.
I stumble into my house, grungy and worn out. My vocal cords need a break, and my brain is tired from working relentlessly on lyrics. I dunno where my brother is, but I’m glad the house seems empty.
Checking my phone, I see that both James and Sam texted me earlier. I check James’s first because I want to savor Sam’s.
Winterthorn: What’s going on with the album?
Jules: Almost done
Winterthorn: When can I hear it?
Jules: Buy a copy like everyone else
Winterthorn: Pouts
I grin and rub my face, then yawn, turning to Sam’s text.
