Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ava
Four hours since I last saw Mark.
Not that I’m counting or anything. I definitely didn’t start noticing after the second hour that my patience was wearing thin and my body was staging a full-scale rebellion. The courthouse air feels stale and wrong, like it’s been recycled too many times. My blouse clings in places it shouldn’t, and the waistband of my skirt feels too tight even though it isn’t. Everything is also itchy.
It’s the same restless, prickly discomfort I get before a heat. The only thing that will help is wrapping myself in Mark’s scent.
This new bond nonsense is no joke.
I shift my briefcase into my other hand and glance down the hallway, hoping Mark will appear just from the pullof me thinking about him. If the bond is any indication, he is also getting restless and crabby. We need to go home.
The meeting with the ethics committee from the New York State Bar Association went exactly how I knew it would—exhausting. They accepted our proposed path forward. The reps from the NYSBA listened, nodded, and asked their questions. They weren’t thrilled that they were forced to take us at our word regarding our relationship timeline, but there was little else they could do.
It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it bothers Mark. He and Iweren’ttechnically dating before this weekend. Maybe it’s the defense attorney in me, but I’ve always had more patience for those kind of white lie technicalities.
Apparently, they are going to review our past cases against one another to ensure that another lawyer could not reasonably decide we had pulled our punches. I have zero fears of that. Fighting each other in the courtroom was practically our foreplay. All our past clients will be notified, and it does open up the chance for attempted appeals on the cases I lost.
I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. If I lost, it was because the police had properly done their job and they had my client dead to rights.
My neck aches from tension, and I roll it slowly, wincing when something pops. Mark should be done soon, hopefully. Just have to make it a little longer.
I tire of restless pacing and drop onto a bench along the wall. I dig my phone out of my briefcase and start answering emails, even though I know I’m only halfway reading them. Every few seconds, my attention drifts back down the hallway.
Patience has never been my strong suit.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I realize I’ve been staring at the same email for a full minute. The screen lights up with a picture of my mom and me at the beach, both of us squinting at the camera, hair whipped into chaos by the wind. Not that we lingered outside for long—our skin isn’t exactly made for the sun.
Nerves flutter in my gut, and I debate letting it ring for half a second. She’s almost certainly calling to discuss my bloodwork results.
It’s childish, I know that. Ignoring the call won’t change anything. Either my life is about to flip upside down because I’m pregnant, or the suppressants did enough damage that it didn’t take at all. Both options sit heavy in my chest for different reasons.
With a quiet groan, I swipe to accept. “Hi, Mom,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “Bloodwork, I presume?”
“Hello, sweetie,” she says warmly. Almost too warmly. That never bodes well. She’d still been fairly chilly when she left the penthouse yesterday. I knew it came from a place of fear; didn’t make it less annoying, though. “Yes, I just finished running all the numbers. It’s actually quite fascinating. The way your progesterone levels are interacting with the—”
“Mother,” I interrupt, pinching the bridge of my nose as I stand and start pacing again. “Non-science speak, please.”
She laughs softly. “Right. Of course.”
I shift the phone to my other ear, balancing it between my shoulder and jaw, and nearly collide with a man coming around the corner. I mutter an apology automatically and keep moving.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone approaching. Tall. Dark-haired. Another lawyer, probably. Half the men in this building look the same at a glance. Suit. A long coat draped over one arm. Nothing remarkable.
Yet something about him makes the fine hairs along my arms lift, prickling with awareness. My steps slow without me quite deciding to do it.
“Ava?” my mom prompts. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I swallow, forcing myself to breathe. “Listen, can I call you back? The signal in here is awful, and I want to actually focus on what you’re telling me.”
There’s a pause on the line. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Totally fine,” I lie, even as my gaze locks on to the man drawing closer. “I just don’t want to miss anything important.”
“All right,” she says, though she doesn’t sound convinced. “Call me soon.”
“I will.”
