"Yeah, well." I manage half a smile. "Turns out there are some things worth waiting for."
"Sap," Lillianna mutters, but she's smiling.
"Shut up, Lilly. It'll happen to you one day."
"Please. Out of the three of us, you two are the romantics. I'm perfectly happy staying unattached and entertained."
Sebastian clears his throat. "Well, if we're done being emotional, we should review the rest of the timeline. Make sure we’re on the same page.”
"Right." I grab the folder. "Let's see what else Ivy came up with."
As Sebastian walks us through the proposal, I catch myself reading between the lines of every notation, every comment in the margins. Looking for her.
And there, on page seven, a small note in her handwriting: T would approve of this approach. It's aggressive but calculated.
I trace the loops of her handwriting with one finger.
She's still thinking about me. Still sees me clearly—the good and the bad. And when she's ready, I'll be right here.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ivy
I'm sprawled across the living room floor of our apartment in Anchorage, documents arranged in careful stacks around me. The afternoon sun angles through the window, catching dust motes above the boxes Madison and I still haven't unpacked. There’s so much to do.
It’s four weeks since I officially moved to Kentucky. And twenty-six days until I open the doors ofmylaw firm.
The lease agreement swims before my eyes. Again. I blink, pulling my focus to the paragraph about commercial liability requirements, but my brain keeps drifting to paint colors, office furniture placement, and whether the consultation room needs those sound-dampening panels.
Ivy West, Environmental Law.
My name on the door.
My clients.
My firm.
Not “one of Bill’s girls.” I fucking hated it when he called the female attorneys that.
I’m also not “that woman who slept with a client” to make partner. Another example of Bill.
This is all just mine.
My phone buzzes against the hardwood. New York number. Bill.
Christ. Has thinking about him conjured the man like a bad penny?
I stare at it for two full rings. Then my stubbornness sets in. And the fact that I'm finally in a place where he can't touch me makes me answer.
"Ms. West, I hope the transition has been treating you well." He wants something.
The audacity. This man dangled my career over a cliff and called it opportunity. He congratulated me on my strategic thinking when he thought I'd delivered him a client using my body. And now he's calling, chatting like we’re friends.
"Bill." I keep my voice flat. "What do you need?"
A beat. He doesn't like being read that easily. "I'll be direct. Blackstone Bourbon has terminated their retainer. Effective immediately." He clears his throat. “I was hoping you might still have some influence there.”
I should gloat at the humble pie he’s eating, but an important question has to be answered. "When did this happen?"
