She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see the calculations running behind her eyes. “It would be a massive undertaking.”
“Yes.”
“I’d need to poach some of my team from Parras.”
“Probably.”
“I’d be competing directly against my former bosses.”
“Sounds like fun to me.”
A smile begins to tug at the corner of her mouth. “It would serve them right, wouldn’t it? Losing me and then watching me succeed without them?”
“Poetic justice at its finest,” I agree, feeling a flutter of hope. She’s actually considering it.
“But using your money…” She hesitates. “That’s a lot to accept from anyone, even you.”
“Consider it a business loan if that makes you more comfortable. With interest, proper paperwork, the whole nine yards.” I lean closer. “Or think of it as me investing in our future together.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “Our future?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I told you that. I love you, Honeybee. I got a second chance with you, and I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to let you get away from me again.” I watch her face carefully, trying to read the complex emotions flitting across her features.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” she says softly.
“Every word.” I lean forward, my food forgotten. “Minji, I’ve spent twelve years wondering what might have happened if I’d fought harder for us back then. If I just went looking for you around campus. I’m not making that mistake again.”
She looks down at our joined hands, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. “I’ll think about it. I’m still not sure if I’m going to quit. So enough about work.” Her eyes darken as she sets her fork down, licking a trace of barbecue sauce from her bottom lip. “Eat up so you can eat dessert.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 40
MINJI
Aaron Singleton ismy latest addiction, and I have no intention of seeking a cure. Not until he’s as essential as my morning espresso, which has saved me from more courtroom disasters than any senior partner ever managed. The alarm blares at five-thirty. Aaron’s breath is a gentle heat on my collarbone, his arm draped across my ribs. Months ago, that weight would have sent me fleeing. Now it feels like a case I’ve won. I slip away, shower, dress, and tiptoe out. He’s still lost to sleep, so I text him about the spare key in the kitchen drawer.
Last night’s endorphins still pulse through me, turning Manhattan’s grit into something almost magical. My nine o’clock hearing at family court looms, but as I rush toward the office, my heartbeat drums with something beyond professional obligation.
I make it to the office and find one of those corporate ‘attaboy’ boxes—the patronizing kind that startups give new employees instead of decent salaries. Inside: Parras-branded stationery, a ceramic mug, and a cream-colored card with my name in flowing script. ‘Congratulations, Minji. We’re excited to see what you can do.’
‘Congratulations, Minji. We’re excited to see what you can do.’
I sit and stare at the mug. It isn’t a promotion, just a pat on the head. A consolation prize. Somehow, it stings more than any slight before. All those hundreds, maybe thousands, of hours spent resurrecting dead marriages, brokering custody for people who can’t agree on wallpaper, helping women claw their way to freedom. And this is my reward: a faux gold star and a limp handshake. Maybe I should quit. But then I remember the payout from this week’s case, and the client who texted last night to say I’d “literally saved her life.” So, no.
Today, I’ll bite my tongue and focus on what I can actually do. I don’t want to cause a scene until I know for sure whether I’m going to quit. The rest of the day blurs into a scramble of calls, subpoenas, and client emails. It’s late afternoon when Demi waltzes in with a croissant and a raspberry seltzer, “for the working wounded.” She curls into my visitor chair, waiting to be noticed, radiating that neon-bright best friend energy I used to find exhausting and now secretly rely on.
“What are you doing here? You never visit me at work?” I eye her suspiciously.
“I rarely come here because this office is like a fun sucker. I think your coworkers are all snooty. I fear that if I see William, my fist might just accidentally punch him in the throat. Also, sitting here now, I feel like my happiness is being drained.” She winks at me. “But honestly, I came because I know once you get home, you’ll forget I exist. Now that you and Aaron are fucking like rabbits again, I hardly get to talk to my best friend.”
“You sound like my mother.” I snort, reaching for the croissant. “She called this morning to say she dreamed about my wedding but wouldn’t share details because she didn’t want to ‘jinx it.’”
“Ohh! See, even your mama is rooting for you two.” Demi props her Crocs on the corner of my desk. “So how are things going with you two?”
“It’s going great. We’re getting along very well. I mean, he is almost too perfect to be true.”
Demi scoffs. “The man writes romance for a living, of course, he would appear to be too perfect. But he has a flaw.”
