"Everyone wants to say they hate lawyers, and yet I've never met a parent who didn't want their kid to be a lawyer." - Jessi Klein

Three weeks later.

Swept up in the chill of winter, Denver's streets became cold and shiny with frost. Accordingly its citizens boarded up their homes, turned up the heat, and bundled themselves in layers of clothing.

Kyle gave another large shiver, trying his best to ignore the temperature as he stood before a large and impressive building. It was a courthouse, grey with columns that spoke volumes of how law was necessary, and how everyone should bow towards it. But it seemed ironic, having a grand building that stood before citizens that coughed and limped along. Dead from the long hours of work with only enough money to barely scrap by.

He sulkily trudged along, wishing that he could go back home and into his warm bed. After he climbed up the stone steps, and had just pushed the heavy oak doors open, a hand yanked him further inside.

"Mr. Michaels." He said with a slow smile, spare hand shaking his employer's in greeting while the other was already unbuttoning the top of his jacket.

Mr. Michaels was an old toad of a man, with a squashed form, his limbs forced into himself. Two dark and beady eyes smiled into Kyle's, fond but as paranoid as always. Kyle wasn't sure what happened to his boss in the past, not officially anyways. When Kyle first arrived at his current firm, still fresh from university, he heard a rumour that Mr. Michaels was once obligated into defending a series of mafia families. And the old man would get these shortly written letters that basically told him that if the person didn't get off, than he'd be quick to disappear. Paired together with the strange and unfortunate instances that seemed to follow him around, now Mr. Michaels permanently wrung his hands together and peered down hallways, as if to check if someone was there.

"Ah, Kyle. The representatives of the mining company are here, along with some of their families."

"And those blood suckers?"

Mr. Michaels shook his head in dismay, and double checked that no one could listen to their conversation before continuing on, "Kyle, it isn't polite to say such things."

The two lawyers strolled past the main room and into a joined hallway, heading towards the spacious room where they would negotiate the terms of the union.

"Well it's true. What else would you call them? They plan on reducing the pay for those workers to nothing sufficient. And then to be assholes, they want to cut their benefits too!"

Mr. Michaels stopped Kyle from entering the boarding room, and while they stood alone in the hallway, he hissed, "Be careful what you say. This corporation is rich beyond belief, and has many eyes and ears listening." To make his point, he glanced over his shoulder, "Don't take everything to heart, this isn't a war. We're lawyers not soldiers...Now c'mon, they're waiting for us."

Kyle stood by his lonesome as his boss left him in the hallway, and after a moment he went in after him. Trying his hardest to remember that it was just work, and nothing else.

In the middle there was a large table that stretched across the room's length, so glossy that it acted as a mirror. And there was a small group on either side of it, one was dressed in expensive suits, all iron pressed to perfection. The other group was obviously Kyle's, with four men and one woman in their Sunday best, clothing well worn and modest, but at least neat and tidy. Mr. Michaels wasn't that better off with his once fashionable suit, but now a few of his buttons were missing and his shirt strained against his considerable belly.

Kyle took his seat beside him, reaching for his share of his paper work. He rose his eyes up to the stern faced lawyer that was obviously in charge, "Are we ready to begin?"

"Not quite." The man's grave voice responded, "my employer just stepped out to refresh himself, he'll be back any moment."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Of course."

The man placidly outstretched his hands in front of his person, and gave a friendly smile that was sure to play a lesser person's emotions and set them mistakenly at ease. But Kyle wasn't so fooled, he could smell the falsehood a mile away.

A door creaked open, and Kyle dismissively lifted his head up to briefly acknowledge the man he was fighting against. But his heart was caught in his throat, and he watched as Eric sauntered into the room with that short assistant of his, which closely shadowed his every movement. His hair was once more slicked back, and he only wore a befitting leather jacket and a white dress shirt underneath with some sleek jeans. Eric didn't appear to notice him right away, keen to sip from his Styrofoam cup that smelt of fresh coffee, and seat himself in the midst of his lawyers.

Once he settled himself it was clear to everyone, this was the true person in charge. And the affect had everyone shell shocked into a silent state, besides the sipping sounds coming from Eric.

Sighing as he placed it to the side, finally the brunette surveyed their side of the table and finally locked eyes with Kyle. At first Kyle thought he'd appear stunned to see him, but he wasn't, not even a flicker of it passed Eric's features. Instead he glanced down Kyle's body, and as ashamed as the red haired lawyer was, he shifted his weight in his creaking chair with desire. Suddenly that fantasy he'd been having these past few days resurfaced, the one where Eric forced him against a desk and had his way with him.

When Eric finally met his eyes again, they were cold and without that smirk Kyle expected.

"Shall we get started?"

Kyle opened his mouth to reply, but realized that Eric wasn't talking and clearly wasn't looking at him. Puzzled by the slew of emotions that tickled his nerves, Kyle burned with indignation as he peered to the blonde, Haley.

She was the only one to give him a smirk, and he hated it. Hated that it felt like he playing for some unknown prize, and she was winning.

Without acknowledging the affect it had on him, he began to do his job.