CHAPTER 1
MINJI
SayingI loathe gardening is an understatement. I hate it with every fiber of my being and have no intention of ever becoming a gardener. The very thought fills me with dread. Maybe it’s the idea ofwillinglysurrounding myself with sharp tools just to play in dirt. I don’tdodirt—I like to be clean and have no interest in feeling one with nature. So, my current predicament would have anyone scratching their head. I broke my foot helping my best friend, Demetria, in her garden. What she calls an organized mess, I call a hospital trip waiting to happen and that’s precisely what happened. A hospital trip and four months of medical leave.
According to Demetria, my ‘workaholic tendencies’ prevent me from enjoying mandatory rest. She insists the garden air has healing properties, but I suspect she’s just after free labor for those damned roses of hers. Not happening. My solution? Return to the firm two weeks ahead of schedule. Divorce law doesn’t require two functioning feet.
The sound of my medical boot makes a dull thud with each step, and my left shoe clicks unevenly against the polished marble. The distorted rhythm announces my arrival, drawingcurious glances from the early birds already hustling through the lobby. The security guard, Greg, does a double-take.
“Ms. Lee, lovely to see you again. I heard you were on leave for another two weeks?”
“Technically, I am supposed to be.” I flash my badge and press the elevator button three times rapidly, as if that might make it arrive faster. “But I’ve been away long enough. Nice seeing you too, Greg,” I respond, stepping into the elevator.
I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls. I tilt my chin, examining the sharp angles of my cheekbones, a feature my mother always said made me looktoo severe. Severe pays off in my line of work. I’ve gained weight from all the eating and sitting down I’ve been doing while nursing my foot. Needless to say, I’m happy the weight gain didn’t go to my face.
My monolid-shaped eyes stare back at me. Today, they’re rimmed with black eyeliner, and I’ve added light pink eyeshadow, a soft counterbalance. I’m not one for extensive makeup, but details matter, especially today. My makeup is flawless; my hair pulled back in its usual low bun. The only weakness is this damn medical boot. My foot has healed so I don’t need to wear it but I’d rather be safe, especially since I’m not supposed to be back yet.
When the elevator doors open on the forty-seventh floor, a rush of anticipation and nervousness hits me. I’ve missed the familiar scent of leather and fresh coffee over the past few months. I glance around the space to see if anything has changed since I left, and everything looks the same, for the most part. The walls are still adorned with modern art that’s worth more than most people’s cars. The four chairs near the receptionist area are still in place. I make my way toward my corner office, my boot announces my arrival before I can; heads turn, conversations pause, and I sense the surprise and speculation directed my way.
“Minji?” A familiar voice calls from behind me. “I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks.” I turn to see Eliza, my assistant, clutching a stack of manila folders to her chest like a shield. Her brown eyes widened as they traveled down to my medical boot. “Are you okay to come back?”
“I’m fine.” I wave away her concern. “The doctor cleared me for desk work.”
It’s a lie, but a necessary one. The doctor’s warning to wait the full sixteen weeks means little compared to the storm about to land on my desk. What do medical professionals know about the reality of the Henderson divorce unraveling without me? Or the Bachman case?
Eliza frowns. “Let me know if you need help with anything,” she says, but I am already starting to move again, eager to get inside my office.
“Minji, you’re back,” Katia, another paralegal, chimes in the moment I cross her line of vision. She glances up from her desk—oh, her curly hair is brunette now. She must be going through another breakup. I’ve learned that when Katia dyes her hair, she’s transforming into someonenew, someone whofinallyknows her worth—her words, not mine.
“In the flesh.”
Next, I pass by the junior associates’ bullpen, and I catch snippets of their conversation. “Wasn’t she on leave for four months? Why is she here?” one whispers, not quite low enough for me to miss. I don’t bother responding and continue toward my office. I feel my heart swell with joy at the sight of my door, my name, Minji Lee—Senior Associate, engraved in the wood. I swing it open, sitting down at my desk, ready for today’s workload. As I adjust the briefs on my desk, my phone blares Caleb Higgins’ custom ringtone. Caleb is the senior managing partner, my boss, and like a father figure to me in the law world.He took me under his wing when I started interning here about seven years ago. I answer his call on the second ring.
“Minji Lee speaking.”
“So, it’s not just a rumor, youareback. Are you supposed to be back? I didn’t receive any email from HR. Does HR know you are back?”
“The doctor cleared me. I forgot to get the doctor’s note. I’ll have it before the week is over,” I lie. “And I’m perfectly capable of handling my workload.” While I was out, I still managed to handle a few emails from home. I’ve been recommended to many high-profile people, I wasn’t going to let them slip away simply because I was being forced to ‘relax’.
“I was counting on you taking the full recovery period,” Caleb’s voice carries that blend of concern and annoyance. “You’re one of our best, Minji, but?—”
“I’m going to be fine, Caleb. I’m wearing my medical boot as a precaution. I’ve been sitting at home for almost ten weeks, going stir-crazy.” I watched so many Netflix shows that I can now predict the ending of any show within five minutes of watching the first episode. “I need to work and besides I have a new client coming in today.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I can see Caleb pinching the bridge of his nose, his signature move when dealing with difficult people. Apparently, I’m the difficult one today.
“A new client? Who authorized that?”
“I did. It’s within my purview as a senior attorney. I’ve been working on this case for a month, and most of the paperwork is done. So… Although it’s a high-profile case, I will still be able to work on the Richardson and the Bachman?—”
“Those are being handled by William.” Caleb cuts me off. “As are your other cases.”
“William? William Wilson?” The name tastes sour in my mouth. “The same William who couldn’t handle the McCormickdeposition without sweating through his shirt. The same William who couldn’t land a proper client in almost a year?ThatWilliam is handling my cases?”
“The very same,” Caleb confirms, and I can hear the hint of amusement in his voice that makes my blood pressure spike. Handing my clients to William is not funny in the slightest. “He’s been doing quite well in your absence. Clients seem to appreciate his approachable demeanor.”
Approachable? Bullshit. William can’t deliver hard truths; I can. I built my reputation on telling clients what theyneed, not what theywant. William is soft, a people-pleaser. Coffee runs, bad jokes, endless flattery. That’s his brand. A certified ass kisser.
“I see.” What I actually see is red… blood fucking red. “Well, I’m back now, so we can transition everything back to me. I’ll touch base with William this afternoon, so we can have a smooth?—”
