Lindsey's nut job of an assistant set his appointments, which was fine. He'd been trying to find Wolfram and Hart in the City, or traces of, and didn't have the time to do that leg work. And really, if he let his ego into it at all, it was beneath him. Had been for years.
So when he saw the name LOIS LANE on his emailed meeting schedule that morning, Lindsey sat up a little bit straighter. Lois fucking Lane? Libel suit, seeking representation? He supposed that with the Justice League around he shouldn't be too shocked. But she was so iconic. He was glad he was sitting down.
Libel was easy to defend, or tapdance around. It was hard to prove a journalist intended to make people look bad. Often, people did that all by themselves and simply didn't like being confronted with the truth. Lindsey bet that was the issue here.
When his door opened at the appropriate time, Lindsey stood up. Force of habit, manners and all of that. He didn't wear a suit, but did wear a button down shirt and a nicer pair of jeans. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, his favored silver bracelet visible, as well as the scar on his wrist. His hair was down. This was his office, not a court room. He didn't have a judge to impress.
"It's nice to meet you, Miss Lane," he said, without stuttering. Amazingly. He held his hand out for her to shake.