I run a hand through my hair. “I got the charges lowered.”
“But not dropped.”
I grit my teeth.No shit.
“We’re appealing,” I say, trying to sound confident, but even I can hear the fatigue in my voice from struggling to sleep these last few days.
He studies me. “You’ve been off lately. Anything you want to talk about that’s got you distracted?”
Sure, Dad, how about the fact that I can’t stop thinking about a woman who crawled under my skin and rewired my entire brain?
That I can still smell her perfume on my shirt and taste her on my tongue? That I’m one text away from begging her to let me see her again, and I don’t even know what I’d do if she said no?
But that’s not something my dad would understand. He’s the kind of man who schedules emotions between conference calls. He believes love is just another liability. A weakness. Ever since my mom walked away, the love of his life, he’s been married to his work and considers relationships to be a waste of time and a distraction.
Maybe he’s right but I don’t care anymore.
“No,” I say, leaning back in my chair, trying to sound casual. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
He nods slowly, but his gaze lingers, heavy and knowing. And as he launches into talks about client meetings and appeal strategies, my brain drifts again to Rhiannon. To the way she looked at me like I wasn't the guy in this suit making strategic decisions and millions of dollars. That instead I was something she desired more than money, prestige and connections.
For the first time in my life, I’m starting to wonder if maybe there’s more to chase than the next case. That there’s more tomethan this endless grind with no end in sight and nothing to look forward to.
He stands, tapping his knuckles against the edge of my desk twice — sharp, decisive, like a gavel hitting wood. “Well, figure out a way to get whatever it is off your mind so that you’re focused on work again.”
And there it is. The man I was raised by, distilled into one perfect sentence.
Nothow can I help you refocus?orwhat’s going on, son?Just a reminder that emotions are distractions and that vulnerability’s something you fix, not feel.
I nod, forcing a thin smile. “You got it. I’ll figure it out.”
He leaves, closing my office door behind him, and the sound of it clicking shut feels like a relief. For a second, I just sit there, staring at the empty space he filled, the faint echo of his cologne, that heavy musk of power and money, lingering in the air, and I wonder if he’s right. If I should just compartmentalize, bury the idea of having more with Rhiannon in a box labeledthings that aren't for me, and move the hell on.
Except I can’t. Because Rhiannon’s not irrelevant. She’s in my head, stitched into every damn thought I’ve had since she humped me in Bryant Park.
My phone buzzes on the desk. A single message lights up the screen.
Leo:Brookhaven Brews is the restaurant. You don’t need to wear a costume, but Rhiannon might like it if you do.
A slow grin pulls at my mouth. I don’t even realize I’m reaching for my wallet and keys until they’re already in my hand. I should stay at the office. I should catch up on the hours I’ve lost today. But the thought of seeing her again, of watching her eyes go wide when she realizes that I found her this time, that I’m done letting the universe decide when our paths collide, it’s enough to override every logical part of my brain.
My phone buzzes again.
Leo:And just know I’m only betraying my best friend’s trust because I think she needs this distraction. So please, don’t prove me wrong and turn out to be a dick.
That makes me laugh. Because Leo doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would do this for just anyone. Which means, whether she knows it or not, Rhiannon’s got people in her corner who’d go to bat for her and me.
And the idea that he’s giving me a chance feels like something I know I won’t screw up.
Cain:I understand.
I stand, sliding my arms through my coat, the city lights bleeding orange and blue against my office windows. Outside, the traffic hums. Horns, engines, the distant wail of a siren, it's the kindof noise that usually fades into background static when I’m working. But tonight, it feels like a pulse, something alive and restless, matching the beat of my own heart.
I lock my office door and head for the elevator.
There’s work piling up on my desk, cases waiting for my attention, a father who’d be furious if he knew I was skipping out early for a woman I barely know that stole my lucky boxers after a wild, one night stand. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is one of those moments you don’t ignore. This is the start of everything.
So, I press the button for the lobby, watching the numbers descend, staring at my reflection in the gold-plated doors. I’m smiling and it looks different. It looks good.
