I stood on the sidewalk, hailing a taxi, when a white car pulled up beside me.
The window rolled down, and Bruce looked at me, his eyes soft with concern. "Get in. I'll give you a ride."
I told him what happened, and he shook his head, anger evident in his voice. "I'll talk to Gabriel about this—he won't stand for this kind of nonsense. You deserve better."
I said, "Don't bother. Cystone's not the right fit for me."
The case they gave me was defending a drunk driver who'd r***d someone.
I didn't care if it was a regular case or a sick joke. Either way, I wanted nothing to do with it.
"Take care of yourself. You've lost weight," Bruce said, his voice gentle, his eyes lingering on my face.
I could see the worry in his eyes—it was more than just friendly concern.
"Thanks. I'm fine," I
