My stomach twisted, but I kept my expression neutral. “That’s great. You have time for coffee? Or early dinner? I know a place nearby.”
“Dinner sounds perfect. I’m starving, and coffee won’t fix that.”
The restaurant was ten minutes away, tucked into a side street most people walked past without noticing. Small, warmlighting, tables spaced far enough apart for actual conversation. The kind of place that felt intimate without trying too hard.
We settled into a corner booth and ordered wine. Gianna looked happy, energized in a way I hadn’t seen before. Whatever was happening with her case, it was giving her something she needed.
“So tell me about this case that’s going so well,” I said, hating myself for asking but needing to hear it anyway.
“It’s bizarre, honestly.” She took a sip of wine, her eyes bright with something between confusion and satisfaction. “Devlin Holdings has been making mistakes. It’s like they’re sabotaging themselves, and I have no idea why.”
“Maybe they’re not as competent as you thought.”
“Maybe. But this is a major development firm. They should have top legal counsel who don’t make rookie mistakes.” She shook her head. “I’m not complaining though. Every delay gives us more time to build our case, and every error gives us ammunition. Professor Diane thinks we might actually win this.”
“That’s incredible, Gianna. Really.”
“It feels incredible.” Her voice carried weight, emotion she wasn’t trying to hide. “These families won’t lose their homes. They’ll have a chance to stay, to keep their community intact. That matters more than I can explain.”
I wanted to tell her right then. Wanted to explain that the delays weren’t mistakes, that someone inside Devlin Holdings was trying to help even if it was too little and far too late.
But watching her face as she talked about finally having power instead of being powerless, I couldn’t take that from her.
“You’re doing important work,” I said instead. “Those families are lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to have this opportunity.” She paused, studying me across the table. “What about you? How’s work been?”
The question felt like walking into a trap of my own making.
“Busy. Complicated.” I chose my words carefully, editing truth into something that wouldn’t expose me. “We’re dealing with some internal restructuring. Trying to implement better oversight. It’s meeting resistance.”
“From your board?”
“From people who think profit should be the only consideration.” I took a drink, needing something to do with my hands. “I’m trying to change how we approach development, make sure we’re considering community impact instead of just financial return. But changing systems from within is harder than I expected.”
Gianna’s expression softened. Then she reached across the table and touched my hand, brief but deliberate. “You’re doing good work, Archie. Don’t let resistance make you think otherwise.”
The praise felt like knives. Every word was a reminder that she thought I was good when I was actually the reason she’d needed to become a lawyer in the first place.
Our food arrived and conversation shifted to lighter topics. She told me about a ridiculous argument in one of her classes over whether corporate personhood should exist, complete with dramatic reenactment of how her classmate had compared corporations to sentient beings deserving of rights.
“I told him corporations aren’t people, they’re legal fictions created for profit,” she said, laughing. “He accused me of being a communist. In a law school class. About corporate structure.”
“What did your professor say?”
“That we were both wrong and needed to read more case law before forming such strong opinions.” She grinned. “Then she assigned us both extra reading as punishment for derailing the discussion.”
“So you got homework for having opinions?”
“Apparently that’s frowned upon in academic settings. Who knew?” She took a bite of her food, still smiling. “What about you? Any ridiculous arguments in the lectures you’re auditing?”
I told her about a debate over fiduciary duty that had devolved into two students nearly shouting at each other about whether shareholder value was the only legitimate business goal. She listened with genuine interest, asked questions that showed she understood the nuance, made jokes that made me laugh despite the weight in my chest.
Being with her felt easy. Natural. Like we’d been doing this for years instead of through a handful of conversations scattered across three years.
And that made lying to her so much worse.
When we finished eating, I paid despite her protests. We walked out into cold darkness that had settled over the city while we weren’t paying attention.
