Chapter 2: No Suprise

Brent

Usually, I spend lunch in my office, shoving food in my mouth and looking over briefs. However, the warm Southern California weather and the need for a change of pace have me enjoying lunch on the patio of a swanky L.A. restaurant.

"I can never turn down free food, but I have the distinct impression that you have something on your mind." Uma Love chuckles as she caresses her fluted glass.

I adjust my thick, black-rimmed glasses and stare at Uma.

She's beautiful with her curly black hair and golden brown skin tone.

Uma's also my third, no, second, ex-wife.

Why do I keep getting that confused? I shrug.

"You don't know, or you're pitying yourself and want me to care."

My hazel eyes clash with her brown ones as I give her a dirty look. "I remember why you're my ex-wife. You never consider my needs."

She laughs. "You've been married too many times. You can't remember who filed for divorce."

I throw my head and laugh.

It's true. I can't remember.

Knowing Uma, she spared us the stupid attempts at trying to save a marriage that never had a chance.

I move my head from side to side as I consider telling her what's on my mind. I look at my silver Lange & Söhne wristwatch with a navy blue face. Last month, I turned twenty-eight years old. Family means a heck of a lot to me.

Suddenly, I'm somber.

A waitress takes our empty plates from the table. When she returns, she refills our waters.

"I'm thinking," I pause, watching Uma sip her water, "about having a baby."

Uma covers her mouth, looking like she's about to spit her water out.

"Excuse me. You're planning to give birth."

"You know that's not what I mean," I say, leaning forward.

"That's about as silly as you suddenly wanting to become a father," Uma places her hand over my pale one. Then, she sincerely says, "Sugarcakes, you have the looks of Clark Kent, a heart of gold, and the worst track record with women I've ever seen."

"Your point?"

"You need to focus on making partner, right?" She pulls her hand away. "Isn't law your true love?"

Yes, I'm a lawyer, I want to tell her. It's what I do, not who I am.

"My true love?" I question.

Uma crosses her arms over her breasts and shrugs. "Well, law was your mistress when we were married."

I look away.

No, I've never been a good husband. After three failed marriages, I can admit that. But I'm a great provider. After all, Uma and Alissa, her daughter, were financially provided for during our marriage.

"Okay, maybe I'm not giving you the benefit of the doubt. Has something changed? You've met a woman, yeah?"

"No," I correct her, tapping my index finger on the table. "I haven't been that blessed. My love life—or lack of one—has been a barrier to fatherhood. So, I'm thinking of getting a surrogate."

Uma studies me for a long time. Her brown eyes narrow.

I wonder what she's thinking.

"A surrogate," she repeats the word a few times. "Hmmm."

I lean forward, adjusting my glasses. "Hmmm? That's all you've got."

Uma cocks her head to the side and comments, "You as a single father? That might work if you ditch the law mistress."

I cross my arms and watch Uma stare at me. Then, finally, I give her a challenging look and ask, "You don't believe I'm ready to be a father?"

Uma slowly shrugs. "Nope."

****

I walk into the conference room with my clients, Mr. and Mrs. Renyolds. They are suing one of the hospitals in the Los Angeles area for medical malpractice. Their son, Ame, died due to the hospital's negligence.

You would think tort cases like these would be easy to resolve. But, unfortunately, they're not.

The hospital typically wants to settle for a lower award than a plaintiff deserves. It's my job to ensure Mr. and Mrs. Renyolds get the best settlement or jury award they're entitled to for the death of Ame.

I'm not one of those lawyers you see on television begging for your case. However, I wouldn't mind it. The law firm has partners who own the firm. It's their job to solicit clients.

I'd like to become a partner one day. However, what drives me to fight for my clients every day is righting a wrong. I'm twenty-eight and have been a practicing lawyer for almost two years. Yet, I'm a long way from partner status.

"Mr. Halladay, it's nice to meet you," the defendant's attorney extends her hand to me.

I shake her hand before pulling a chair out for Mrs. Renyolds.

We're meeting in a conference room instead of court, which is a typical start to a case. A judge loves for a case to be settled out of court.

"I bet you she's one of those rich lawyers," Mr. Renyolds says, crossing his arms. "I smell money."

I look at Mr. Renyolds with his dusty blue jeans and a torn t-shirt and tense. He told me he came directly from his work site and had no time to change clothes.

I pull the lapels of my two thousand-dollar dark blue suit together, but I don’t button it.

Honestly, I'm a farm boy. I have more in common with Mr. Renyolds. I know a decent day at work involves a lot of manual labor. Law is my passion. Something else made me wealthy.

When I came to Los Angeles for school, I became a serial entrepreneur and made my first billion at the end of my college freshman year.

"Mr. Halladay," the defendant's attorney says as she opens her file, "We are prepared to off you twenty thousand as a settlement."

Mrs. Renyolds grasps.

Mr. Renyolds slams his fist on the conference table.

"Only if it is the first of one million dollars," I tell her, looking at my notes. "Ames Renyolds suffered a heart attack after your doctor misdiagnosed him, giving him medicine that killed him."

The defendant's attorney rushes through her notes, looking frazzled.

"You killed my son," Mr. Renyolds mumbles under his breath.

Mrs. Renyolds places her hand on his arm.

My phone buzzes, stopping me from advising Mr. Renyolds against another outburst. I read my text message on the sly.

It's from the hiring manager. He's leaving the office early and wants me to interview a potential legal secretary since she will work for me.

I note the name.

A Vanessa Martin.