"Leland again?"
"Birdie."
The smile slips from his face.
"That's a first. You always call them by their last name."
"Not this time."
I steal another fry.
"You ever get the feeling the job is starting to feel less like a job?"
"No," he says. "Because I have boundaries. Also, I'm not a masochist."
He points a fry at me.
"What's eating you?"
I've been turning the answer over in my head all morning, testing the shape of it before saying it out loud.
"Leland's entire case is built on grievances that boil down to 'she didn't do what I wanted.' He never describes her as a person. It's all about what she failed to deliver."
Cassian studies me over the rim of his beer.
"Controlling people never think they're controlling. They call it management. Or protection. It never sounds sinister when you're telling yourself the story."
"Exactly."
I reach for my glass and somehow miss it entirely, my hand landing flat on the table instead.
"She's scared of him, Cass. You can feel it. And she's got that... way about her."
I search for the right words.
"Like she's constantly threading a needle between survival and collapse."
He gives me a sideways look that lands somewhere between concern and sympathy.
"So why not bring her in? Collect the check. Wash your hands of the whole thing."
“Oh, so we’re doing the tough love routine?” I ask, my voice lighter than I feel. “What do you think I am, a criminal?”
Cassian laughs, nearly inhales a chunk of chili cheese dog.
“No. I think you’re a glutton for punishment.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “But you’re also pragmatic. If I handed you that file without names attached, you’d see both sides.”
“I did.” I lean back in my chair. “A parking ticket. A library fine. She skipped an engagement brunch.” I shrug. “Her only real crime was refusing to bend over backward for him.”
Cassian's expression sobers.
“If you go against Brooks, he'll blackball you from every contract in Thistlebrook.”
I already know.
Leland doesn't believe in failure.
Only creative retribution.