We burst into a fit of laughter and lay our heads back down as Salem gets comfortable at the foot of the bed.
We lay in silence for a while, punctuated only by Nash’s low, contented sighs. I let my thoughts drift, tracing lazy circles on his chest, feeling his skin cooling beneath my palm. The urge to close my eyes and drift off with him is overwhelming, but the longer we lie here, the more reality seeps back in along with all the reasons I shouldn’t let this turn into something I can’t control.
I don’t want to ruin the mood, but I also know I need to say something before we get any further.
“Nash?” I say, tracing his collarbone with my finger.
“Yeah, doll?”
I take a breath. “This can’t turn into anything,” I say plainly. “I mean, I really like this. I like you, but I can’t…I’m not looking for a boyfriend. This is already crossing so many lines.”
He laughs, soft and tired, as if he’s been waiting for this. “I can do casual,” he says, though the way he says it isn’t believable. “If that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.” I’m trying to sound resolute, but I hear the tremor in my voice, the piece of me wishing I could mean every word.
I melt back into Nash. This feels both right and incredibly wrong all at once, but the warmth of him, the steady thrum of his heart, lulls me into a drowsy bliss.
“Goodnight, Nash,” I whisper, feeling his hold tighten around me.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “I’ve been waiting for that,” he says, his words a soft rumble against my skin. “Goodnight, Avery.”
A sleepy smile tugs at my lips as he kisses my forehead, and I drift off in his arms.
Chapter 12
James Sterling is punishing me.
I’m sure of it as I sit in my office, scanning the endless list of tasks he’s assigned me.
Weeks have passed in a never-ending cycle of impossible deadlines, my nights and weekends swallowed whole. I haven’t had time to see Nash outside of work, and even at the office, James has kept me so busy that I’ve barely seenhim.
It’s been brief smiles, quick touches, and hurried promises of seeing each other soon. But even those moments are overshadowed by James’s demands, his constant presence filling every gap.
He’s had meetings with me each morning and every afternoon, scrutinizing every detail with a level of micromanagement that seems unnecessary for someone he claims to have so much faith in.
The only logical explanation I can think of for his actions is that he’s punishing me for our kiss.
The office is empty tonight, except for James and myself. He’s worked just as many late nights as I have this week.
Nash had been staying late with me. But several times this week, I’ve noticed James’s eyes bounce back and forth between the two of us with as much curiosity as James ever allows himself.
So I told Nash he shouldn’t stay tonight, and he complied, albeit reluctantly.
I sigh heavily, trying to focus on the documents in front of me. The words blur together, despite the caffeine pumping through my veins.
The longer I look at the Wilkinson case, the less I understand why the firm took it on.
The facts aren’t favorable. The applicable law isn’t favorable. It’s a bad case, plain and simple.
From what I can see in the file, this case has had three other firms before it finally came to us already set for trial. Three firms that gave up on this case and didn’t see it through, leaving my client high and dry to find a new firm that would.
I sit with that thought for a while until it finally hits me.
James lost his mom at sixteen, the same age as my client’s son. He watched his dad struggle with the loss of his mom, just like my client is now struggling with the loss of her husband.
And our firm is her only hope for closure, no matter the outcome at trial.
Sympathetic to my client as I may be, it still feels like I’ve been set up for failure.
