Wednesday morning finds me striding through the courthouse doors, my suit freshly pressed and my confidence armor-plated as always. Four days of vacation—if you can call the Hunt that—and I’m ready to be back in my element.
Except something’s off.
The security guard who usually greets me with a friendly nod keeps his eyes down. The clerk at the front desk suddenly finds her computer screen fascinating when I pass. Even opposing counsel, who normally can’t wait to spar with me in the hallway verbally, makes a sharp turn to avoid crossing my path.
The back of my neck prickles. This isn’t normal.
“Morning, Patricia,” I call to my secretary as I approach my office, keeping my voice light despite the unease settling in my stomach.
Patricia glances up, her expression a mix of concern and something else, embarrassment? She’s been with me for seven years, through cases that would make most people’s skin crawl. I’ve never seen her uncomfortable around me.
“Have you seen the news, Mr. Hayes?”
“No.” I toss my briefcase onto my desk. “Court doesn’t start until ten. What’s so urgent?”
She hesitates, then slides a folded newspaper across my desk. “Page six.”
My jaw clenches as I unfold the paper. There, below a salacious headline about “Prominent Defense Attorney’s Secret Life,” is a grainy but unmistakable photo of Ryder and me disappearing into a private room at Purgatory, his hand on my lower back.
“Fuck,” I whisper, scanning the article. It doesn’t name Ryder—small mercies—but it’s filled with insinuations about my sexuality and quotes from “anonymous sources” questioning my moral character.
Patricia watches me cautiously. “Judge Hammerton’s clerk called. She wanted to know if you still plan to appear for the Donovan hearing today.”
I set the paper down, mind racing. This has Pike’s fingerprints all over it. The timing is too perfect—right after the Hunt, where we humiliated him by claiming his daughter.
“Mr. Hayes? Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I say, straightening my tie. “Tell her I’ll be there.”
I let the newspaper fall to my desk and straighten my shoulders.
“Patricia, listen to me.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I have absolutely nothing to hide. Yes, I’m bisexual. And I’ll make that very clear to anyone who asks.”
Her expression softens. “I support you completely, Mr. Hayes, you know that. But?—”
“But nothing. My sexuality doesn’t affect how I do my job. Never has, never will.” I move around the desk, perching on the edge closer to her. “I’m the same lawyer I was last week. The same lawyer who’s won more cases than anyone in this firm.”
Patricia sighs, tucking a strand of gray hair behind her ear. “Three clients have already called this morning to pull their cases. Carson, Moretti, and Calloway.”
My jaw clenches. All three are connected to organized crime in some way—macho guys on the wrong side of the law who apparently have taken offense to their attorney desiring men. The kind of clients who pride themselves on traditional masculinity while breaking every other social norm.
“Screw them,” I say, adjusting my cufflinks. “If they want an inferior defense because they can’t handle who I sleep with, that’s their problem.”
I stand up, sliding the newspaper into my trash can. “Anyone who matters knows my worth is in my results, not my bedroom preferences.”
Patricia hesitates. “Do you want to address the rumors publicly? I can set up a statement or call our PR contact.”
I consider this for a moment, weighing the implications. A statement could either defuse the situation or pour gasoline on it. The wrong move now could cost me more than just a few homophobic clients.
“Let me think about it,” I say, straightening my tie. “I need to consult with a few people first. I’ll let you know how we’re proceeding before noon.”
“Of course.” She nods, professional as always, despite the awkwardness hanging between us. “I’ll hold your calls except for emergencies.”
I retreat into my office and shut the door with a quiet click. Once alone, I exhale heavily, shoulders slumping as I lean back against the door. The carefully maintained facade I present to the world—successful attorney, confident playboy, man in control—feels suddenly fragile.
Mayor Pike’s retaliation came faster than expected. I should have anticipated this—the man didn’t get where he is withoutunderstanding how to destroy reputations. The question is, how far will he go? How much does he know about our arrangement with Cora?
I loosen my tie and pull out my phone, scrolling past several missed calls from clients until I find Dominic’s number. He answers on the third ring.
