“Is that how you see yourself?” I ask.
“Maybe. Sometimes. But I really did have a lot going on these past few weeks, with Ed being so focused on the wedding.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I didn’t realize you were taking on more than you would normally. I just ... I guess I don’t want to mess things up for Katherine, and you’re trying not to mess things up in the business. Both our motivations are ... pure. You know?”
He nods. “I’m going to miss getting my ass handed to me.”
“I could record something for you. Just so you could have me chewing your ass out on demand?”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Sounds kinky.”
I roll my eyes. “If kinky’s what you’re into, then it’s just as well that you and I stopped at kissing.”
He grins. “The stakes are just too high, right?”
I sigh. It was easy to get caught up with the flirting and the hard body, but if I put my brain in charge rather than my hormones, he’s entirely right. There’s too much to lose. Too much potential chaos. “Yes. You’re probably right.”
“Probably means you’re going to go down in my personal history as the one who got away.”
My stomach twists at the possibility that we’re both missing out on something that could be endgame good. “I’lldefinitelybe the one who got away. Not probably. Good night, Hunter Bain.” I turn to face the window.
I’m so happy that Katherine’s had the best weekend. She deserves her happily ever after.
And if I ever get mine, it won’t be with Hunter.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucy
I always wear a variation of the same outfit to work: dress and a jacket, mid-heel pumps, hair up and off my face. It’s my uniform. My armor. Since the pandemic, business casual has become the new normal, but after lockdown, I came back to work exactly how I’d dressed my last day in the office: ready. I take my job seriously, and I want people to take me seriously. I don’t want to be distracted by what I’m going to wear to the office on any given day. I always know. Because it’s always the same.
My boss’s boss, Sharon, is coming toward me from her office. “Oh, Lucy, there you are. Thanks for that report you sent through. Can I talk to you about it?”
I might have been heading to the bathroom, but I’m sure I can hold it. “Sure.” I don’t know why she wants to talk to me. It was a straightforward report about the team of paralegals I manage, how many cases we’re working on, the WIP, amount billed. It was a standard system report, but I added information about who’s working what case and what their rates are.
I follow Sharon into her office and take a seat in front of her desk.
I don’t have a notepad, but I pull out my cell from my jacket pocket. I’m pretty strict about using my cell in the office. I don’t even pick it up unless it’s an emergency. When I swipe it open to get to mynotes app, I notice a message each from my sister and Hunter. My stomach roils, and I have to fight the urge to open the messages and find out why Hunter is in contact. Hunter and I haven’t seen each other since we shared a cab back into the city from LaGuardia after the Martha’s Vineyard trip. He carried my suitcase up the three flights of my Brooklyn walk-up, and we hugged each other goodbye like old friends. For a few days, maybe even a few weeks, I wondered if he’d call or message. I wondered if I should call or message him. But he didn’t and neither did I. Every day it’s gotten a little easier to stop myself from reaching out.
“Did you want to add to the report?” I ask. “Most things I can get easily from the system.”
“No,” she says as she takes a seat behind her desk. She’s one of the more junior partners, so her office isn’t big, but it’s still an office, and she has a window. “The report was fine. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
My heart sinks a little bit. I’m always getting pulled onto new projects. I’m seen as a safe pair of hands, and I like that, but it does mean that my workload can spiral a little.
“Did you ever think about being a lawyer?” she asks.
It’s the last thing I expected her to say. I’ve never been asked the question before. People just assume that if you’re a paralegal, you’re not clever enough to be a lawyer.
I swallow, trying to buy some time to think up a convincing answer. “I guess I did at some point,” I say.
“Because you’re smart. I brought up your education record. You got good grades in college.”
“Right,” I say.
“But you never considered law school?”
I smile, trying to keep it together. “I thought about it. But I already had a chunk of student loans, and the job market for law school graduates back then wasn’t great. I could get a paralegal job right away, and so ... it didn’t happen.”
