A pause. Calculating. I can almost hear her running scenarios. "A private venue selected by opposing counsel. How impartial."
"The alternative is a courtroom. You filed this morning. I can have your suit tied up in procedural motions for eighteen months before we see the inside of a hearing room. Or we can sit down like professionals and attempt a resolution."
"Oh, are we being professionals, now?" I grind my canines to molars, biting back a pointless rejoinder. I let her have her small battle, while I win the war. After I don't take the bait, she responds. "I'll have to check my calendar."
I roll my eyes. "Fine, you do that. Meanwhile, I'll send the details. Friday afternoon through Sunday."
"A whole weekend. Isolated. With you." The way she says it makes it sound like a prison sentence. "I'll need assurances that this is legitimate mediation and not an attempt to—"
"It's legitimate. Off the record, without prejudice, nothing admissible. You have my word."
"Your word." A beat. "The word of the man who confirmed a meeting and never showed."
The barb is precise. Surgical. I respect the craftsmanship. "I'll be there, Ms. Henderson. You have my word on that as well."
"Fine. Send the details. And Mr. Vaughn?" Her voice almost warms. Almost. "Bring your A game. You're going to need it."
The line goes dead. I set the phone down and stare at the far wall of my office, where my degrees are framed in neat rows—Harvard Law, Order of the Coif, every honor and accolade that proves I earned my position through intellect and discipline, not biology and luck. Friday. Two days. A full weekend in an isolated lodge with a woman who wants to dismantle everything I've built, defending policies I wrote to protect a company I bled for, while my brother's pregnant omega suffers at home because I was too proud to take a meeting.
I should be strategizing. Should be pulling case law, preparing arguments, and building an airtight legal framework that has won me every negotiation I've ever entered. Instead, I'm thinking about her voice. The cadence of it. The way she pauses before she strikes, letting the silence do half the work. The confidence that isn't performed but structural—built into her the way the law is built into me.
I shut it down. File it away. Opposing counsel. Nothing more.
