"They let you go for the day?" Benny asked and looked at his watch. He was surprised to see his boss back before five at the TAC office.
"Back tomorrow at nine," Bull replied and tossed an empty coffee cup into the trash.
"How's it going?"
"It's going about as well I thought. Everything okay here?" the psychologist asked with a nod towards the large office space. As he spoke, he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.
"Marissa and I have it covered. I left the potential juror files on your desk," Benny told him and retrieved a soft drink for himself from the office refrigerator.
"How's Ashton?" Bull asked. Two days had passed since Benny's visit and the lawyer had been waiting for his former brother-in-law to say something.
In slow motion, Benny turned his head to look at the psychologist. "She's fine."
"And?"
"And why don't you just ask her yourself instead of sending me on some sort of spy mission?" Benny asked, doing little to hide the anger that he was beginning to feel.
"I didn't send you anywhere; you were already going," Bull said dismissively and walked off towards his desk.
"If you want to know how she is, why don't you call her? Since when do you care what anyone thinks about you?" the lawyer inquired as he followed after Bull.
"I don't care what they think but this case could have ramifications beyond my reputation," Bull told him.
"Do Ashton's feelings count for anything?" Benny wondered.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bull asked and flipped through the top few folders he found sitting on his desk. Before Benny could answer, Chunk popped his head through the doorway.
"Sorry to interrupt," Chunk said upon hearing the tone in Bull's response.
"You're not interrupting," Benny assured him and then turned back to the psychologist. "I think Ashton would rather see you than get mashed potatoes...even if it meant getting ripped to shreds on the stand."
"She understands what I'm doing even if you don't," Bull said.
"What I understand is that you don't deserve Ashton," the lawyer told him.
Bull watched as Benny strode out of the office. He paused to look at Chunk a second or two before directing his attention back to the stack of folders. "He's right, she could do a lot better."
The stylist wasn't sure if he should answer. Quickly he decided to hazard a response, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. "I don't know Ashton, but I doubt she would've given you a second chance, or even a first, if she thought you weren't worth it."
Bull's gaze went to the watercolor hanging on the wall that Ashton had given him. "I'm pretty sure that the second chance was dependent on things not going down the same path as the first time."
"Then don't let it take the same path."
"Making the civil suit go away is not a possibility at the moment," Bull said.
"I'm sure Ashton knows that things happen out of anyone's control...and, she knows you and the extremes you'll go to win."
"Knowing something is one thing. Accepting it is another. When it's all over, I wouldn't bet on her forgiving me again. Quince has her limits."
"You might want to try flowers instead of mashed potatoes," Chunk suggested with a grin.
"She'd rather the potatoes," The psychologist said peeking over the edge of some papers.
"So…what's with Quince? Family name? Favorite fruit? Or shouldn't I ask?" the stylist asked. Since meeting Ashton at the gallery with Bull, Chunk had been curious.
"Neither family nor fruit; just something I came up with. Ashton wanted to be a medical examiner as a child," Bull answered plainly.
"Aaahh…like the TV show," Chunk said and Bull nodded in assent. "Does she ever call you Bull?"
"Occasionally. Brownies usually restore peace," Bull replied. The corners of his mouth began arching upwards as he recalled one of their arguments.
Chunk watched his usually stoic boss soften and said, "Just call her."
Bull shook his head in reply and sat down at his desk. As the psychologist focused intently on the papers on the top of the stack, Chuck knew the conversation was over.
Not long after Chunk left, Bull decided to go home instead of staying at the office for the night. After arriving at his apartment, Bull sat down at his desk and placed the stack of folders he brought with him down with a slight thud. The noise seemed louder than it actually was in the absolute silence of the apartment. He sighed and looked out over the city before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. After a moment's hesitation, Bull quickly typed out a message but then reconsidered and deleted the message before hitting send.
Jason Bull slowly exhaled, put the phone down, and walked across the room to pour himself a drink. He looked over at the unpacked boxes which had sat untouched again since Ashton's visit. After taking a sip, Bull put his glass down and moved the box she had been digging through aside. Hoping Ashton would understand, he slowly opened the one they had agreed to save for another day.
Reaching in, he removed a well-worn chenille throw pillow that was sitting on top of the box's other contents. The pillow was had been a gift from Ashton when they first began dating. She had decided his place at that time was a bit stark and needed something. Bull laughed when Ashton presented it to him, but the pillow became a treasured memento and was a fixture on the sofa wherever they were living. It became the first thing he reached for after a long day at the office and Ashton wasn't home. Many nights were spent sleeping on the sofa with that pillow when he didn't want to wake her or while he dozed off watching television. Often, when arriving back home after a business trip, Bull found Ashton curled up on the sofa with the pillow while she read. When they decided to separate, she had made a point to place it on the pile of things to take with him.
Bull tossed the pillow on the sofa and grinned as he took note of the clash between the geometric edges of the leather and soft, colored chenille. He was certain that it would also bring a smile to Ashton's face when she saw it. The psychologist was about to reach back into the box when there was a knock on the door.
Bull walked over and opened the door. His eyes grew wide and he was momentarily at a loss for words. The psychologist had been expecting to see Benny when he opened the door, but instead he found himself looking at Diana Lindsay, the plaintiff's attorney and Bull's former flame.
"Lost?" Bull asked after recovering from the initial shock of seeing her on the other side of the door.
"No. I thought maybe you'd like to consider a settlement," Diana said in her southern drawl and pushed past him into the apartment.
"You should contact my lawyer; but since you're here, I'll tell you myself. The answer is no."
Diana looked around the apartment. "Nice view…and a climbing wall; it's very Jason Bull. Are you sure you don't want to think about just a little?"
"Does your client know you're here?" Bull inquired with a slight tilt of his head.
"No," she replied shortly and pointed towards his glass. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink while we discuss this?"
"There's nothing to discuss. You realize this is highly inappropriate," he said.
"And you always stick to the letter of the law," she replied acerbically.
"I do, and did, what I was hired to do...legally. Your client is a sore loser," he told her.
"I have your ex-wife subpoenaed," Diana said.
"The answer is still no."
"You always were the gamblin' type, Bull. You better hope she doesn't hold a grudge."
"I doubt I'm Ashton's favorite person these days, but I'll take my chances," Bull replied.
"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider? I'm sure you have another glass around here some place. I'll make you an offer you can't refuse," she cajoled.
"I'm refusing, Diana. You need to leave," he said sternly and directed her towards the door.
"Fine. I will see you in court, Jason Bull," Diana Lindsay said a bit hotly after being turned down. "We'll have that drink after I beat you. I'll even buy since you won't be in a position to."
Before walking into the hallway, she turned and added, "By the way, I'd fire your designer. That pillow clashes with the rest of the décor."
