C'mere (Paul Banks fanfic)

The Case

Paul Banks was the lead singer of NYC based indie band Interpol. Lydia had seen him on TV and magazines, but he was... different in person. He was fairly tall and slim, he was wearing black trousers and a navy button up shirt with short sleeves. He had beautiful sand coloured straight hair, neatly combed like a schoolboy, parted on the side. He took off his big dark aviators as he walked towards her, stretching his arm to shake her hand. This let Lydia see his deep blue smiling eyes. She was not one to be starstruck, Mick Jagger had been here last week and so had Anne Hathaway. But this guy was SO handsome.

- Lydia Hatcher. - She said, still smiling as she shook his hand. She then noticed he had a big tattoo on the pale skin of  the upper inner part  of his left arm. - I'm Ms. Yeatts' assistant, I'll let her know you're here. 

He nodded and went to sit on one of the leather settees as Lydia called Rhi. 

- Ms. Yeatts, uh, Mr. Banks is here... - Then she whispered - Remember you still have your navy jacket there?

- Right. Let him in.

- OK.

- Ly...

- Yes?

- Thanks.

- No problem. Mr. Banks... I mean... Paul. - She called. He lifted his gaze from the magazine he had taken to read. - Miss Yeatts is ready for you.

- Thanks. - He stood up  and walked to where Lydia gestured him.

-

Paul had taken a magazine to occupy his mind. He was pretty upset that instead of rehearsing for his upcoming tour, he had to be burdened with legal procedures. He hadn't let his assistant take care of it, because he felt it was a personal betrayal and it was too intimate a matter to let others in.

He hated having to resort to lawyers when, if only Aiden could be reasoned with, this could have easily been settled with a man to man talk. He didn't know what had got into him, and he would have loved to, so this nonsense could be forgotten. Now he had to meet this old maid or whatever the owner of this place was and tell her about intimate details of his career.

He knocked on the glass door. Rhi had the navy blazer Lydia had mentioned on. It was a bit too warm for it, but it would have to do until her dress was dry again. She also put her spectacles on and placed the case's files on the table.

- Come in, please. - She said, standing up. She too, was taken aback by the client's good looks. - Very nice to meet you, Mr. Banks.

- Likewise. - He answered, shaking her hand, surprised himself. The lawyer he had expected to be an old lady, was in fact a young, beautiful woman. - Just call me Paul...

Rhi had prepared this meeting carefully, like she did with every case. Her client was a musician who had problems with one of his former collaborators. This was a common occurrence, greed often drew friends apart, people who had once trusted each other fought over intellectual property of an artistic piece and wanted to reclaim their legitimate earnings. Sadly it all came down to money. Rhiannon wanted to settle things outside court and that's what she wanted to talk to Mr. Banks about.

- I'd much rather call you Mr. B...

- I insist. - He interrupted smiling. - I dislike having to go through formalities enough, I don't need my lawyer to be so ceremonious too, I just want this over with. And I also want to think we're friends, since you're going to help me...

He always made a point of befriending his collaborators. It made work seem less like work. It was true that he never expected the Yeatts lawyer from Yeatts and Baczkowski to be a pretty girl, but that did not have to be a problem with his "be their friend, not only their boss" policy.

She smiled back. She was used to celebrities eccentricities. There was something about his accent she found strange. She had read he had been born in England, but he sounded as much of a New Yorker as the guy who sold Lydia those disgusting hot dogs she loved to eat.

- Right, so Paul - She stressed. - I am aware that Mr... - She looked over her notes. - Wilson... claims he collaborated with lyrics to some of the songs in your demos and now that you released them as extra tracks in your 10 year Anniversary album, he wants credit and naturally, the proper... remuneration.

Paul bit his lips and nodded. He suddenly looked tired.

- That's exactly the case... - He let out. - Two previously unreleased songs.

Rhi assented.

- What are your comments on the matter? - She asked, leaning a bit towards him. Body language, you always wanted your client to feel they were the most important thing in the world. Which they were, while you were working with them.

Paul sighed and looked up, trying to remember the details. He had incredibly clear, deep blue eyes. Rhi was beginning to feel hot in the blazer but smiled politely as he started.

- He used to chill with us when we were in the writing process before the first album... I mean... sometimes, but he never actively participated. I would never steal from him, first of all because I considered him my friend and second of all because I don't... need to.

He uttered the last words with caution, as if he felt it was inappropriate to say those things. Rhi rearranged her spectacles on her nose and let out the first genuine smile of the day. "No need to be modest, now Paulie." she thought "You could not afford us if you needed to steal".

- I completely understand. - She assured, looking through the papers to ask him some other questions.

He looked at her intently and she felt his gaze upon her. It suddenly became hotter and she moved the jacket to see if the dress was dry, it was. She felt uncomfortable taking it off whilst he was staring at her.

- You believe me, don't you? - He finally asked.

She locked her eyes on his and intertwined her hands above the papers.

- Of course I do, Paul. It will be my pleasure to serve justice for you and your band-mates.

He smiled and looked away. She finally could take the bloody blazer off now.