Pride & Precedents (The Park Brothers #2)

5. Henry

Chapter five

Henry

Present Day

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

It's 5:00am. Time to start the day. Fuck.

I reach an arm out from under my weighted blanket and blindly feel for the offending alarm. Thanks to custom blackout curtains that cost a pretty penny, it's pitch black in here. Absolute darkness, my weighted blanket, and my noise machine are the only way to guarantee even four hours of uninterrupted sleep, but they do make finding my phone in the morning a bit tricky. I wasn't always a light sleeper; I have memories of my mother furiously cleaning my room around me while I tried in vain to sleep until noon.

But then high school hit and the pressure started. Suddenly tests and essays weren't about grades; they were about qualifying for Honors and AP classes, and laying the foundation for college applications. I won a bitter and long-running argument against my younger (and lesser) twin, Noah, and suddenly I was a legal prodigy, primed to follow in my dad's footsteps as a successful trial attorney, or maybe even a future in politics.

The argument in question? There's no true altruism because the other person always gets something in return, even if that "something" has no material value. Noah held onto his Pollyanna outlook for years before I finally convinced him of the fulfillment he gets when he finds the perfect gift for mom, or that Dad feels when we ace a test he helped us study for, or the satisfaction Damon (our middle brother) gets when one of his mentees makes the varsity basketball team after attending one of his free clinics at the rec center. There's nothing wrong with getting something in return, but it does mean there's no such thing as doing something good just to do it.

When he finally had to admit I was right, Noah looked at me like I'd just told him there's no Santa Claus. I felt terrible for weeks. In hindsight, I'm guessing that's part of why he opted to become an agent rather than going the full lawyer route like Dad and I.

By finals freshman year, Mom had to buy me a mouthguard (I'd started grinding my molars nightly), and I couldn't sleep for more than two hours at a time, if at all. Noah was less than thrilled; we shared a room and my desk light woke him up too some nights. He said my grinding was like nails on a chalkboard. Mom and Dad did all they could do, which was freak out and then send me to a behavioral specialist. Dr. Diaz diagnosed stress and overstimulation pretty quickly and we began our search for therapeutic tools and healthy coping mechanisms.

After years of tweaking, my nightly ritual entails:

At least one hour of vigorous physical activity

Most nights, I knock it out in my home gym. Ever since Cindy Chang invited me over to hang in her hot tub while her parents were out of town sophomore year, the company of a warm and willing woman became an option, too. Few women have been able to match my stamina, however, so I usually still have to take a jog on the treadmill to finish winding down.

A cup of warm chamomile tea

This was sometimes replaced by a hit from a joint during one particularly rebellious summer in college, and later, a nice glass of Merlot once my palette developed. Not every night, of course.

A long, hot shower (or bath, if I'm feeling fancy or sore from said vigorous activity ) A weighted blanket A noise machine loaded with nature sounds Blackout curtains (or a sleep mask, if I'm traveling)

Even with all that, sometimes—like the night before the bar exam, or before the firm announced I made partner—I have to take half a sleeping pill to get my dick of a brain to calm down and let me rest.

If I'm not careful, my backup 5:15am alarm is going to yell at me. I reluctantly push the weighted blanket down and feel for the remote to the curtains; the remote feature was totally worth the extra $2500. Once I can finally see, I grab my phone and make my way to the bathroom.

As I pick up my phone to review my emails and schedule for the day, I look down and realize my "morning friend" is still there, hard and insistent as ever. Shit. He's been pretty pissed at me considering the last time he had any feminine company was more than six months ago.

Sorry, pal, but it's not like I can just pull up Tinder. I'm known enough that any relationship (even casual) could potentially impact the firm's reputation. As the P in BBS a scandal from a Tinder hookup gone wrong would be unacceptable. Cory and Adam, my last two brothers, certainly make them seem fun, though. Well, Adam did , until he met Maya and decided to burn his little black book. How he could so quickly throw out all the wisdom of his older brothers to get engaged of all things, I'll never know, but he seems happy. And Maya is lovely.

Instead of Tinder (or its many copycat apps), I use a service that matches busy, high-profile professionals seeking discreet hookups. It's actually still a lot like Tinder, since members need to match to meet, but the screening process was a bitch, I needed a referral to join, and the quarterly membership fee has a comma in it. I even have to send in clean STD results every quarter. The whole thing was a bit invasive when I first joined (at the request of Sean Smith, one of the other partners), but you can't argue with the results.

Unfortunately, BBS that's my girl .

As I open the file, however, my smile immediately drops. What the fuck?! Naomi Watanabe? Fucking Naomi Watanabe from Yale Law? My childish heartbreak come to taunt me at my place of business all these years later?

I sink down on the closed lid of the commode and scroll through the file, my jaw slack in disbelief. She fucking married Tanner? That guy was the king of douchebags! Sure, he hit it big with some fitness craze (something to do with rowing), but based on his complete lack of character and history, I'd bet he stole that idea. He was certainly a fan of stealing in grad school. If Naomi actually married Tanner, I definitely dodged a bullet all those years ago. I clearly didn't know her at all.

I throw the phone through the bathroom door to land on my bed. I'll finish reading through the dossiers on the drive in; luckily I have my own background information on these clients. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to quiet the rage itching under my skin. I stomp into my walk-in closet and pull out a suit, shirt, tie, cufflinks, and the most expensive shoes I own. I'm a professional. I can handle representing my sort-of ex in a divorce against my former teammate and mortal enemy. But I will look so fucking good it hurts when I do. Eat your heart out, Naomi .

On the ride in, I discover that Naomi and Tanner actually got married right after graduation. Apparently the announcement was within months of the couple announcing they were expecting. Can anyone say shotgun wedding? Together, they share a nine-year-old daughter who made the move to NYC with Naomi. It sucks that there's a kid involved; the kids almost always lose when it comes to divorce.

Mediations as part of a separation agreement broke down quickly; either Tanner was a no-show, claiming some conflict related to his IPO, or they devolved into screaming matches. Almost at the office, I scroll through the file again to see the details on Naomi's successful environmental law practice. She looked to be just months away from making partner. I can't believe she would walk away from all that. Looking at her case records, she's clearly fierce and formidable, but New York is cutthroat. She'll have her work cut out for her starting over at a new firm.

There's information about Tanner and Naomi's board seats, memberships, global real estate holdings, and even about their daughter's former private school. All that's missing is the financial information, which we won't be able to get until the retainer is signed. The dossiers are beyond comprehensive; Ms. Sanchez clearly deserves a bonus.

I exit the car in the underground garage and ride the elevator up in silence. Do I mention my connection with Naomi? Law school was ages ago, but I was practically in love with her. But it was before I was even a lawyer, and we were never officially together . I'd say this is ethically light gray at best. Bill likely assumed I'd be the best fit since we were at Yale at the same time. He's not wrong; I do bring another level of understanding for this client. Or maybe I don't. Naomi now might be nothing like Naomi then ; I'm certainly not the same person I was back then.

It's settled. There is no reasonable conflict of interest. I will work with Naomi like any other client because I'm a goddamn professional.

Ding!

Too soon, the elevator doors open onto my floor and I make my way to my corner office, doing my best to avoid the trail of sweat making its way down my spine. Is the AC not working today? Get it together, Henry!

"Good morning, Mr. Park," Ms. Sanchez practically sings. At least someone's in a good mood today.

"Ms. Sanchez," I nod, before heading into my office and closing the door. Two minutes later she comes in, trusty legal pad in hand. She's looking at me too shrewdly, and I clear my throat.

"Thank you for the excellent work you did in putting together those client backgrounds, Ms. Sanchez. They were beyond thorough." She smiles and pink colors her cheeks.

"Thank you, Mr. Park. Ms. Watanabe is already seated in Conference Room A. Will you be meeting her directly or connecting with Mr. Bannister first?"

Greeting Nao— Ms. Watanabe on my own may give us the opportunity to diffuse any awkwardness, but it might also increase the impression of impropriety given our previous relationship. Better to walk in as a united front with Bill.

"I'll stop by Mr. Bannister's so we can meet Ms. Watanabe together."

"Very good." Ms. Sanchez is still looking at me too closely. She opens her mouth as if about to say something, but closes it just as quickly. With three quick taps of her pen on her legal pad, she exits my office, closing the door behind her.