“We’re on schedule.” Miller’s tone matched hers, polite and guarded, giving nothing away. “I’m sure yours is as well.”
“Always.”
The courthouse noise filled the space around them: footsteps, murmured conversations, the distant sound of a door closing. Astoria became aware that she was standing closer to Miller than necessary and that she’d positioned herself as if they were having a real conversation rather than exchanging pleasantries.
She should walk away. She had a deposition to attend and absolutely no reason to be making small talk with opposing counsel in a courthouse hallway.
The courtroom door swung open behind Miller, and a young woman stepped out with an armful of precariously stacked files. “Miller, Judge Dawson’s ready for— Oh.” She stopped short, taking in the scene. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
“Not at all.” Miller turned toward her colleague, her shoulders softening and the tight line of her mouth easing into something almost relaxed. “Sienna, this is Astoria Shepry. Ms. Shepry, Sienna Ross, our paralegal.”
Sienna’s eyes widened with recognition, but she recovered quickly, extending her free hand with a warm smile. “Ms. Shepry, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve read a lot about Shepry Global’s sustainability initiatives. The green infrastructure work you’re doing is really impressive.”
“Thank you.” Astoria shook her hand, caught off-guard by the genuine enthusiasm. “It’s a passion project.”
“It shows.” Sienna glanced at Miller. “We should head in. Judge Dawson hates when people are late.”
Miller nodded, but her attention lingered on Astoria for a moment longer. “Good luck with your deposition, Ms. Shepry.”
“And with your hearing, Ms. Scott.”
Miller turned to follow Sienna into the courtroom, and Astoria caught the tail-end of their exchange, Sienna saying something in a low voice and Miller letting out a quiet huff oflaughter. The sound was unexpectedly warm, nothing like the measured professional who’d sat across the mediation table two days ago.
Then the courtroom door closed behind them, and Astoria was left in the corridor with an odd tightness in her chest.
“Making friends?” Gerald had appeared at her elbow, his expression suggesting he found the situation more amusing than he was letting on.
“Just professional courtesy.” Astoria turned and started walking toward the deposition room. “The case will go more smoothly if we’re civil.”
“Of course.” Gerald matched her pace. “Though I don’t recall you ever stopping to chat with opposing counsel before in twenty years of knowing you.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
She could feel Gerald’s gaze heating the side of her face, but she ignored it. They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Astoria forced her attention to the Harmon deposition and the questions she needed to ask.
She did not think about Miller Scott’s laugh or the way her face had transformed when she was performing for an adversary.
She didn’t think about it at all.
5
Chapter 5: Miller
Nadia had the door open before Miller reached the porch.
“You’re early.” Her mother pulled her into a hug that smelled of rosemary, the kind of embrace that made Miller’s shoulders drop three inches. “Harper bet me you’d be late. Something about a big case keeping you chained to your desk.”
“Harper owes you five bucks.” Miller stepped inside, letting the familiar chaos of her childhood home wash over her. Books were stacked on every surface, Harper’s motorcycle magazines mixed with Nadia’s gardening catalogs. The old Persian rug that had survived three decades of family life was in the same place in the living room. “I left the office at a reasonable hour for once.”
“A miracle.” Nadia took the wine bottle from Miller’s hands and examined the label with theatrical scrutiny. “Oh, this is the good stuff. You must want something.”
“Can’t a daughter bring her mothers decent wine without an ulterior motive?”
“She can. You don’t.”
From the kitchen, Harper’s voice carried through the house. “Is that Miller? Tell her she’s on salad duty. The lettuce isn’t going to wash itself.”
Miller grinned and headed toward the kitchen, Nadia trailing behind her. The smell hit her before she rounded the corner—roast chicken, herbs, something with garlic that made her stomach growl. Harper stood at the stove, her silvery hair cropped short, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder like she'd forgotten it was there.
