-Shawn-

Fifteen minutes. It had been fifteen minutes already, yet the brat still hadn't returned with my breakfast.

I huffed at the kid's uselessness, glowering at the door with a festering irritation that sunk deep into the crevices of my bones, drilling down past skin and muscle until it fused itself into the very essence of my being. There was ire, and then there was this desire to tear and crush. while impatiently tapping my fingers on the desk, I quietly contemplated why I felt so angry in the first place.

Really sat with it.

Ironically enough, the only answer that made sense involved ignoring rationality altogether: I wanted him to pay for the mere possibility of endangering my daughter. And in that moment, that felt like enough fuel, regardless of how reasonable I was being.

"Really?" I scoffed when another ten minutes came and went.

Frustratingly enough, I could easily picture the kid struggling to use the coffee machine or straight up getting lost on the way to the break room. We weren't in a massive building by any means, so I was almost surprised when I realized 45 minutes had passed by in total. Here I was, wasting away at the hands of an imbecile.

And this was who Jacqueline had settled on as an intern. Yeah, what a joke.

Quite frankly, this level of inefficiency was disappointing, though not entirely unexpected. I didn't even want to humor how incapable he'd be at helping with more important matters, or anything even remotely time sensitive. Clearly, he couldn't be trusted with responsibility.

I messaged Jacqueline as much, scoffing when all I got in return was a thumbs down reaction.

"If the coffee's cold, I'm firing him," I muttered under my breath, though the more logical part of me understood that I couldn't actually do that. Jacqueline had set precautions in place, so all I could really do was seethe... and taunt the brat.

Of course, there was also the fact there were no bagels, since Paul had foolishly forgotten them this morning. That was probably freaking him the fuck out. Well, if he had any sense of self preservation, that is.

And yeah, sure, I had sent Eric to fetch my breakfast explicitly for this reason, but... well, whatever. He should've figured out it was a fool's errand and worked something out by now. Or at least crawled in here and apologized on his knees for not being able to fulfill such a simple request.

I clicked open and peered at the security feed of the main reception, frowning when I caught sight of Eric nervously standing behind the main desk, taking a call in Paul's stead. He kept glancing around as if worried that anyone might actually need his help, clearly restlessly awaiting Paul's return. Well, that was certainly an interesting decision...

I'd expected Paul to make Eric fetch them, but perhaps he'd overlooked that option in his frenzy to make things right.

"Now you choose to be proactive?" I grumble in annoyance, rolling my eyes at the development. Paul was a good employee. A great one, even. But he wasn't the kind to over-exert himself. He did what he had to do, and let that be enough.

He certainly didn't bother putting in more effort than was merited, so why was he suddenly bothering with this?

I closed the browser and went back to work, tiredly glancing at the case I had just accepted. It was by no means an open-and-shut case, though there was not much complexity to be found in something that was heading down such an expected, though perhaps morally reproachable, path.

There was little doubt in my mind that my client was in the wrong, though that didn't quite matter much at the end of the day; they had the resources to make this a legal hell for the plaintiff, and said party was clinging onto scarce evidence as proof of any wrongdoing. Eventually, they'd have to back out or go bankrupt trying to see things through.

Everybody had a hard limit, whether they were willing to admit it or not. So, it was only a matter of time.

It was just about finding the right way to ruin them.

I went back to the browser after another ten minutes, deadpanning at the sight of Eric zooming through the hallway, a mug and a plate in hand. He looked rather smug as he pranced forward, so readily patting his own back over the absolute bare minimum. Hah.

"Better not trip," I muttered disinterestedly before closing the browser once more, expectantly peering up at the door.

Eric barged into the office a minute later, not bothering to knock.

"Hey," he called out, his breathing a bit labored. And then he was setting down the distinctly non-black coffee and warm bagel in front of me. I furrowed my eyebrows at the sight, recognizing the light tint of the coffee well enough to understand what had happened; Paul had warned him about my actual preferences.

Fucking hell... didn't Paul have anything else to do that didn't involve needlessly aiding this kid?

"I didn't ask for this," I muttered while glaring at the monitor, refusing to give up an opportunity to scold him. Even if it was all on a shameless technicality, I'd make his life hell until he left this building with his tail between his legs.

Eric quirked an eyebrow at that, the slightest of pouts forming upon his lips while he leaned to glance down at the coffee. "I can bring you another one," he offered while slowly reaching for the mug, calling my bluff so readily. His eyes were so bright with defiance that I almost chuckled in surprise.

I grumbled, placing my hand atop the mug. "Yes. But leave this one."

"But if you don't plan to drink it," he muttered through gritted teeth, not even bothering to hide his frustration. "Right?"

I sighed, slamming my hand on the desk beside the mug, a loud warning. Back the hell off.

Eric jolted at the harsh sound, and I almost expected to see worry in his eyes. Instead, the ghost of a smirk found its way onto his face. Fucking hell.

"Anyways, what took you so long?" I scolded suddenly, irked by it. I quirked my eyebrow, stoically meeting his gaze. "Were you slacking off?"

And finally, there it was, the glimmer of confliction I'd been patiently anticipating. Still, that didn't seem to deter him. "I couldn't figure out how to use the coffee machine," he lied without missing a beat, equal parts resolved and shameless. "Had to ask for some help with it."

"Is that so?" I asked monotonously, unsure of what his angle was. There was no way he knew I'd kept an eye on him, so he was wasting his time playing the knight in shining armor. There was nothing to gain.

So, then, why even bother?

"Yeah, why?" he asked, frowning down at me. I signaled towards the chair beside me, but he didn't seem too inclined to sit and chat.

"You took forever," I retorted, not bothering to hide my displeasure. "Will this become a pattern?"

Eric shook his head, doubling down. "Now I know how to do it... for next time," he assured me, forcing a weak smile. "Can I go now? Jacqueline left some tasks for me to finish."

"Wait," I called out, though not before thinking of something to say.

Eric just looked at me expectantly, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when I didn't elaborate.

What did I need, really?

Letting him handle any important work files felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen, but it wasn't like he could fetch me food eternally. Lunch wasn't for a few hours.

So, what could he do? How could I irritate him?

"Fetch my dry cleaning," I finally ordered, slowly nodding my head. Yeah, that worked. I pulled out the dry cleaner's contact info from my wallet and slid it across the desk, enjoying the sheer discontent with which he snatched up the card.

"I guess I can do that," he muttered while glancing down at the details, letting out a tired sigh. "This place is kind of far, isn't it?

I scoffed. "What? You have anything better to do?"

Eric pondered for a moment, finally sitting down across from me, but only to place the card back on the desk. There was unforeseen determination in his eyes as our gazes locked. "You know, I could actually help around here, right? You don't have to give me busywork."

I scoffed. "Who said I don't need this done urgently? I wasn't aware you knew my schedule so well, brat."

"It's Eric."

"It's whatever I say it is," I replied dryly.

Eric just clenched his jaw in response, probably biting down a few choice words. Good.

I sighed, opening up a random case from a few years prior that I had kept an eye on. This specific one had been prominently featured in the news, which was probably the most kindness I'd extended a pest before.

"There's a wedding venue whose owners denied a same-sex couple a booking based on religious freedom. Who ultimately wins if it goes to court?" I questioned, quirking an eyebrow when he just frowned in utter confusion.

"A-are you quizzing me right now?" he stammered.

I nodded. "I used to do these kinds of exercises with Meghan when she was like ten. Hopefully you can at least perform at a 5th grade level?" I asked dryly, setting the bait.

I bit back a smirk at the way Eric's eyes lit up, vivid and fiery with that same defiance from before. He leaned forward on his seat, mulling it over while glaring down at the bagel that I still hadn't touched. I gave him a few minutes before clearing my throat.

"Religious freedom only works as long as it doesn't impose on someone else's rights. Or something like that. The couple would win," Eric finally replied, only sounding somewhat uncertain as he stumbled through his answer. "It doesn't make sense for them to be denied a service."

I watched him carefully. "Hmm?"

Eric nodded his head, frowning to himself before elaborating: "The venue would be considered a public accommodation, right? So, if the couple aren't allowed to book based on biases, that's discrimination. The court would deem it illegal."

I hummed softly. "Title 2 of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibits public accommodations from discriminating on the basis of race, color, religion, or nationality," I recited, snorting when he eagerly nodded along in agreement. "Notice how it mentions nothing about sexual orientation, though?"

Eric's eyes widened, but that only seemed to encourage him even more. "There's plenty of states that have same-sex protections, though, so—"

"This one didn't at the time. That's all you need to know."

Eric glared at me. "Well, it's still wrong."

"So, you're saying the owners don't have a right to deny services in their own business? These are Christians with Christian values. Why should they change their values to adjust to those of people they consider sinners?"

Eric clenched his jaw. "You're an asshole," he gritted out.

"Is that your final answer, or—?"

The kid shot up from his seat, glaring down at me with an amusing intensity. "Is that what you think? That any business should be able to turn them away for no reason?"

I sighed. "That wasn't the question—"

Eric cursed under his breath but sat back down. "Fine. You asked who wins, right? The couple wins."

"How do they win, then?" I coaxed. "Where do they win?"

Eric frowned, pondering to himself before sighing. "Local court?"

I nodded my head slowly. "Does it stick?"

His eyes widened. The question, in of itself, was giving everything away. This was intentional, since seeing the way his face fell was quite intriguing. But it wasn't even just that. From the brief flashes of indignation that I'd seen within him, it was clear he wasn't planning to change his answer.

"T-they can take it to a higher court, then," Eric suddenly retorted, grumbling under his breath. "Hell, they can take it to the supreme court, right? Or Congress... or one of those, I don't know."

I frowned. He had the right intentions, though it was all backwards. "They won in local courts. But then the venue owners appealed to the state supreme court. It was dismissed there, however."

"Good," Eric interjected.

I rolled my eyes before continuing. "So, then they appealed to the federal supreme court. That's where it was overturned 7 to 2, claiming the deciding state commission didn't employ religious neutrality, which violated the venue owner's rights."

Eric snorted in disagreement, crossing his arms across his chest. "That's bullshit."

I shrugged. Well, yeah. It was. But that's how it played out. "So, who won?" I asked rhetorically, quirking an eyebrow.

"Can't they just try again?" Eric mumbled, slumping in his chair. "Maybe they can go back to the local courts, or—"

"Nope. Double jeopardy. Fifth amendment," I explained.

Eric's face fell, his jaw clenched tightly. "Oh."

I sighed. "They still got married, Eric, just somewhere else."

He didn't meet my gaze, picking the dry cleaner's card back up and getting up once more. The fire was gone. "Fine. I should go."

---

A/N: This is a real case. Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission. Unfortunate end result, though it does demonstrate the stubborn technicalities of the justice system. Any factual inconsistencies are my own. When I first wrote this chapter almost a decade ago, the case was still on-going. So, it was definitely quite an experience to revisit this case with hindsight.