The Law is Hard

Chapter 21

Magnus' POV

"Ah crap," I mumble as a catch sight of the few reporters loitering outside the front entrance of Gray & Carstairs Law Firm. How many reporters are there in New York City anyways? How are they everywhere?

Truthfully, I've never had a problem with reporters until I started dating Camille, one of many negative outcomes from that relationship.

I adjust the padding I put around my stomach and try to look for other entrances into the building across the street where hopefully Alexander is, since it's just after 4pm now. The thought of seeing him soon fills me with more butterflies than when I was on the phone with Frank Martin and Diana Wrayburn. I don't think my adrenaline rush from that phone call a few hours ago.

I can't believe they both were so interested in my designs. Well, I guess I can. I know I have great ideas, but it just feels unreal that after so many years of thinking about this dream, it's finally in the works to come true.

I have a meeting with Frank on Monday to go over finances, I think he's pretty interested in sponsoring part of my initial business, but I'm not sure if he wants to be a partner or investor or advisor. I don't want to potentially give him any creative control over my designs. But since I'm in the process of becoming a small business, it would be nice to have an advisor on the paperwork. Although Aline and I have got it pretty well covered so far.

Diana said she wants to physically see some of my designs and go over cost of manufacturing and sale. This is one aspect that Aline and I haven't quite nailed down, where we want to make the clothes. While my father has no problem exploiting workers in impoverished nations to make shirts at a few cents a pop, I'm not into that whatsoever. We have been researching sewing companies here in the States and even in Canada, but we still have not found companies that could dedicate enough time to our project.

Something out of the corner of my eye draws my attention. I look down the street to see a man walking away, talking on the phone. My stomach drops like stone. I would recognize those steroid-induced muscles anywhere. It's Muscle Man.

I jerk back around the building. I take a deep, shaky breath as I lean against brick wall.

I really should get better name for this guy, Muscle Man is just stupid, I think as a fumble with Alexander's pants in the dry cleaner's plastic bag to reach my phone.

Okay, it's fine, we just need to call the police station, and it'll be fine.

I pull it out of the side pocket of the black dress pants I'm wearing as part of my disguise. I press the home button, but the screen remains dark. I see myself frown in the reflection of the shiny screen. I then notice my phone feels extremely warm, like it's overheated.

I want to bang my head against the wall in frustration, Of all the times for my phone to overheat, this is terrible timing.

Well I guess it could be worse, I could be decked out in my usual sparkly finesse. Or it could be nighttime.

I check back around the building that has become my safe haven, no sign of Camille's goon. Is Camille's goon really better than Muscle Man?

I look down at my disguise. I feel like I'm one of the Men in Black. I have my hair slicked back like that guy from The Matrix and I have black sunglasses on my face. The black suit I'm wearing is plain and nondescript. I also have the stuffing from a pillow arranged in my white dress shirt tucked into my pants to make me look thicker. I think I look like just an ordinary, forgettable lawyer. My one personal touch are my socks inside the black, boring loafers: they are bright pink and the toes and heel sparkle. If I had to change one thing, I would have also gotten a briefcase, the suit and glasses would have to be enough.