He turned to see Malcolm Owens, one of the senior partners, standing in the hallway with a questioning look on his face. Malcolm was in his sixties, with steel-gray hair and the kind of weathered face that spoke of years spent arguing high-profile cases.
“Sure, Malcolm. What’s up?”
Malcolm gestured toward his office, and Nash followed him inside. The corner office was lined with law books and framed newspaper clippings from Malcolm’s most famous victories. A scale model of his sailboat sat on a side table—Malcolm’s pride and joy, which he never missed an opportunity to discuss.
“Just heard from Brenda that you’re taking two days off,” Malcolm said, settling behind his desk. “Everything okay? The Harrington case?—”
“Is in good hands,” Nash finished. “Jeremy’s been working with me on it. He knows all the details.”
Malcolm studied him with the sharp gaze that had intimidated opposing counsel for thirty years. “Must beimportant for you to take time off. You haven’t missed a day since you started.”
Nash maintained a neutral expression. “Family matter. Nothing serious, just needs my attention.”
“Family back in Wyoming? Your brother Porter, right? The one who took over the ranch?”
Nash nodded, impressed with Malcolm’s memory for details. The senior partner made it his business to know everything about his associates’ lives. “Everything’s fine at the ranch,” Nash assured him. “Just something I need to handle personally.”
Malcolm leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Nash’s face. “You know, when I was your age, I tried to do it all—sixty-hour weeks, perfect case record, juggle a marriage.” He smiled ruefully. “Lost my first wife that way. Sometimes the most important cases aren’t the ones in the courtroom.”
The unexpected personal insight took Nash by surprise. “I appreciate that, Malcolm.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“No, but I appreciate the offer.”
Malcolm nodded, clearly not fully satisfied but willing to let it go. “Alright. Just make sure you’re reachable if Jeremy needs you.”
“Always am,” Nash assured him.
Nash walked out the door and then got a text. It was from Sadie.
I got settled in, but you don’t have any food here. I mean, that’s fine. I’m just hungry.
Nash snorted and then couldn’t help but smile. Truly, he didn’t keep much food in his place. He usually just had fast food or picked up something from the deli.
He texted back,What do you want?
It didn’t take her very long to fire off a huge list:Organic kale, quinoa, wild-caught salmon, free-range eggs, grass-fedbeef, almond milk, cold-pressed olive oil, chia seeds, raw honey, organic blueberries, avocados, sweet potatoes, sprouted grain bread, cage-free chicken, and some kind of natural body wash with no parabens. And herbs—basil, cilantro, rosemary.
Nash stared at the text message, baffled by the list. What in the world were chia seeds? And who cared if the chicken had a cage or not? He texted her back:I’m leaving the office now. I’m going to pick you up, and we’ll go shopping together.
He wasn’t going to do this by himself. He didn’t even know what half of these things were.
She texted back.Sounds good.
Half an hour later, they were walking through the grocery store, which felt both normal and incredibly weird. They were at one of those stores in downtown Salt Lake that was all upscale. She was limping, but not too badly. Nash had told her that she didn’t have to come with him, but she’d insisted.
She put a scented candle in the cart.
“Do you really need that?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “Scented candles make me feel safe at night.”
Nash couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “Okay, can we saydiva?”
She shrugged. “Well, I just ran out of one of mine and you didn’t have any. Don’t stress it. I’ll pay for all my stuff.”
Nash grunted. He could imagine she didn’t make much money. He didn’t know her financial situation, but it wasn’t in him to let a woman pay. He’d been taught that men took care of women, and men paid. Even though he knew she didn’t like it, his protective instincts were all spun up at the moment. Technically, she did need his help.
