But as we cross the Triboro, the entire skyline comes into view, massive and imposing. “I’ll call Aaron later,” I say, more to myself than anyone. “Maybe surprise him in the last week of his tour. If I can get the firm to approve the travel.”
Demi nods, as if this is the only logical answer. “See? You’re capable of romance. All it took was years of trauma bonding and one hot author.” She flicks on her turn signal, a sly smile playing at her lips. “Oh, and the most important question?—”
“What?”
“Did you get my wine? Please tell me you got my wine. How many bottles? And did you make him pay?”
“Yes. Six bottles, and yes, Aaron paid. His agent is shipping it to my place, it should be here by the end of the week.”
“Great. I love expensive wine when I’m not paying for it.” She chuckles.
The rest of the drive is quiet—the good kind, the kind that only exists between friends who’ve weathered everything together. I lean my head against the cool window, watching Manhattan’s chaos swirl by. When we reach my building, Taylor, the doorman is already on his feet behind the glass. Demi pullsinto a no-standing zone, engine humming. That’s my cue. I twist to grab my weekend bag from the back.
“Thanks for picking me up,” I say, reaching over to give her a hug.
“Promise me you’ll actually think about what happened out there, instead of hiding behind case files.” She taps my arm. “Maybe losing the Hui-Wang divorce is just the universe nudging you toward something better.”
I step onto the curb with my bag slung over my shoulder. “You don’t believe in cosmic intervention.”
“I didn’t,” she shouts as I close the door, “until you started sleeping with the man who literally writes about destiny for a living—hey asshole, do not double park, I’m fucking leaving.” I watch Demi drive away, her car horn blaring at some poor pedestrian who dared to cross without looking. The fatigue hits me all at once, not just physical exhaustion but the emotional whiplash of going from Aaron’s arms to my professional crisis in a matter of hours.
Taylor rushes to grab my bag. “Welcome back, Ms. Lee. Good weekend?”
“The best,” I admit, surprising us both. “But I think I’m paying for it now.”
He chuckles, pressing the elevator button. “Aren’t we always?”
CHAPTER 34
MINJI
Despite my 5 AM alarm,I arrive at the office ten minutes late. The ride up to the office gives me just enough time to steel myself for whatever awaits. When the doors open, Rosalyn’s eyes meet mine from behind the reception desk, her expression hovering somewhere between pity and intrigue.
“Welcome back, Ms. Lee,” she says, voice carefully neutral. “Mr. Higgins requested you see him immediately.”
Just what I needed. The adult version of being marched to the principal’s office, only with better shoes and higher stakes.
“Thank you, Rosalyn.”
I skip my office altogether. No sense in prolonging the inevitable. Each step down the hallway pulls California—and Aaron—further away, like a tide draining out, until all that’s left is the hard shell of Minji Lee, Esquire.
Caleb’s corner office screams power. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Manhattan like his personal kingdom. His desk—some endangered hardwood that probably cost as much as my law school debt—sits pristine and devoid of family photos or personal artifacts. At least I keep a jade plant in my office.
He glances up when I tap the doorframe.
“Minji.” He motions to the chair opposite him. “Trip go well?”
“It served its purpose.”
“The Hui-Wang situation…”
“I heard.” I cross my legs, ankles aligned. “Can’t fault two people for falling back in love.”
“William predicted you’d take it harder.”
My eyebrow lifts slightly, the only tell I allow myself. “I’d be upset if they’d jumped to Steinberg & Associates. But reconciliation? Part of the business. You’d know that from your days in the trenches, wouldn’t you?”
Caleb’s slight nod concedes my point about his past in the trenches. “William has redirected the Wangs to our estate planning department.”
