My fingers hover over the keyboard as I compose another hollow promise to check my schedule. Chuseok and the Hui-Wang case overlap perfectly, and with partnership decisions looming, I’ve already made my choice. Then there’s Evelyn deciding to take a month-long family trip to Taiwan, which puts a strain on anything this month, since she asked not to be contacted about her divorce, and then my August calendar resembles a war zone.
I massage my temples, feeling the familiar throb of tension building behind my eyes. When exactly did I become this person? All briefs and motions, no family holidays, and now… whatever undefined thing is happening with Aaron.
My phone lights up with Aaron’s name.
Aaron
Tsunami Tamara leave any survivors?
I feel the corners of my mouth lift as I reply.
Me
All limbs intact. She was surprisingly docile.
Aaron
Had my finger hovering over ‘book flight’ just in case—your knight in shining armor and all that.
A shadow falls across my desk. Eliza hovers in the doorway, wincing slightly.
“William would like a moment,” she says, her tone carrying a silent apology.
My stomach clenches. Perfect. Just what I need.
“Fine. Send him in.”
William appears in my doorframe like he owns it, six feet of tailored entitlement. The navy Tom Ford—his power suit—hugs his shoulders, while that ridiculously ugly fucking purple bow tie with green polka dots sits at his throat like some exotic poisonous frog.
I look back down at my legal pad. “Make it quick, William. I’m in the middle of an emergency motion.”
“Dinner tonight? We can talk about the Thornton case while we see about…” He pauses, voice dropping half an octave. “Rebuilding what we had.”
Something catches in my throat and I almost fucking vomit. “There’s nothing to rebuild.” I force a smile. “We’re colleagues now. That’s the extent of our relationship.”
He shifts his weight against my doorframe, mouth curving into what I’m sure he practices in mirrors. “I’ve been reflecting on us. On why things came to an end and I think we can come to mutual?—”
“William, just stop.Youcheated andyoubroke up with me. End of story. That is all it takes for me to leave, and I don’t give second chances to cheaters.” I tap my pen against the desk calendar. “Now, unless you have something case-related?—”
“Minji.” He steps closer, cologne arriving before he does. “I made mistakes. But we made sense—the firm’s golden pair.” His hands sketch invisible connections between us. “With the Seoul office opening, think how it would look if we presented as a united team again. We can go together. You always wanted a family, right? We can have kids, and you can raise them in your home country.”
There’s a pause, as if he expects me to be flattered by his offer, as if the prospect of returning to the scene of his treachery—of performing ‘the golden pair’ act for the benefit of office politics and male ego—is some kind of Cinderella invitation I should fall to my knees and accept. He looks at me with those bland, trust-fund blue eyes, still believing in the omnipotence of his own charm. Maybe once, I would have second-guessed myself, wondered if I was being too harsh, too bristly, too much. But after years of watching men like William step on necks and call it a handshake, I know better.
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you. I honestly fucking loathe being in the same room—no, the same planet as you.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to say this once more because talking to you literally makes me lose brain cells, and then I get this urge to just punch you in the throat. So, let’s take a walk down memory lane. You dumped me at your Fourth of July barbecue in front of your friends. You cheated and moved out literally the next day. You really think I would want to have a family with you?” My voice is cold enough to condense the air between us. “You graduated from Harvard Law, so use yourfuckingbrain.”
“A regrettable error in judgment.” He fidgets with that hideous bow tie, feigning regret.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “What’s this really about? You haven’t mentionedusin thirteen months.”
“The timing wasn’t right before.” Another step toward my desk. “You were so career-focused. I thought space was what you needed.”
I almost laugh at the audacity. “Space? Space to you means cheating. Am I gettingPunk’d? And let’s not forget you broke up with me and started dating Isla from that coffee shop we used to frequent three weeks later.”
“A rebound.” He dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand. “It didn’t mean anything. She meant nothing.”
“I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear that.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “What’s therealreason you’re here, William? Because this sudden interest in rekindling a non-existent relationship seems suspiciously timed.”
“There is no ill-intention or master plan to reconcile with you.”
