Stacks of documents were spread across my desk, every page another burden I carried for Max. Shipments, legal loopholes, contracts that needed reviewing, people who needed dealing with. Some lawyers handled litigation; others spent their lives arguing over zoning laws and tax codes. I cleaned up messes before they made it to court. Before they even made it to the light.
I leaned back, rolling the stiffness from my shoulder, exhaustion pulling at the corners of every thought. I needed to get home. Needed sleep. Hours had come and gone and I still wasn’t finished. Not even close.
Then the door opened.
I didn’t look up at first. It was past midnight, and anyone with sense would have gone home by now. That left one possibility.
I caught the scent before I heard her voice. Her usual lavender perfume, mixed with something spicy. Takeout.
“What—no security?” Valentina’s voice was smug as she shut the door behind her.
I didn’t look up. “You’re not that dangerous.”
She stepped further into the room, the sound of a paper bag crinkling as she moved. “Please. I’m every man’s worst nightmare.”
No—worse. She could be every man’s dream.
I looked up at her as she placed the bag on the desk.
“Chicken shawarma,” she offered.
“I’m working.”
“You’re always working.” She pulled up the chair across from me and sat, not asking for permission. “Even machines need to eat, lawyer.”
I eyed the bag, skeptical.
I leaned back, finally meeting her eye. She didn’t look tired, but I knew she was. Her makeup was mostly rubbed off, hair pulled back like it had been an afterthought.
Still beautiful. Stillherself.
“Thank you,” I murmured as I opened the bag and pulled out one of the containers.
We sat in silence for a minute, only the sound of the wrappers and the quiet hum of the building’s HVAC filling the room.
“You always stay this late?” she asked, picking at the edge of a pita.
“When I need to.”
She tilted her head. “What, you don’t get tired of cleaning up Max’s messes?”
“All I do is clean up messes.”
She chewed that over for a second. “You ever think about quitting?”
“All the time.”
“Why don’t you?”
I knew exactly why I didn’t. I didn’t have to think about it. Not really. The answer sat right there in the back of my throat.
If I quit, I’d have to leave.
If I left, I’d end up back in DC, and if I was back in DC, I’d be away from her.
I didn’t like being away from her.
I hadn’t liked it the first time, and I sure as hell wouldn’t like it now. Not after she’d wormed her way into the quiet parts of my day. Into my space. Into the way I moved through the world.
