“Earth to Jenna,” Isla says, waving a perfectly manicured hand in front of my face. Her nails are purple with white spring flowers this time. “You were saying something about Benjamin’s meltdown over the Miller brief?”
“Right, sorry.” I stir my iced tea. A taxi horn blares from the street, punctuating my thoughts. “He wantedthreecomplete rewrites at midnight and I’m already so busy with Colton’s case.”
“Of course he did. He’s nice and all but sometimes he’s lost touch with reality.” She rolls her eyes with the perfect amount of sympathetic outrage. That’s Isla—always in my corner—even when I’m being ridiculous.
The server appears with our tuna salad wraps. I thank him with a smile that feels automatic. The same one I use for courthouse security guards and the barista next to my office who knows my order by heart. I’m a coffee addict. Sue me.
“Before I forget,” I say, once he’s gone. “Thank you for the clothes. I came home to find my hallway looking like the stockroom at Saks.” I’m not even exaggerating. She bombarded me with package after package of clothes. Matthew huffed and puffed like a dragon, grumbling about having to step over the mountain of boxes. But okay, it was definitely a lot—like, if there were an Olympic event for excessive shopping, Isla would take home the gold for sure.
Isla waves away my gratitude with a flick of her wrist. “You deserve nothing but the best, darling. Besides, you would still be wearing the same three suits on rotation if I didn’t intervene, and you’re famous now, baby. You can’t wear the same clothes even once.”
“They’re classic pieces,” I protest weakly. “Also, I’m not famous.”
“They’re boring. And the Iron Lady of New York family court shouldn’t be boring.” She takes a delicate bite of her wrap, somehow managing to keep her lipstick perfect. I’ve never figured out how she does that.
“That nickname needs to die.”
“It’s a compliment—embrace it.” Isla reaches for her phone. “Speaking of embracing things...”
There’s something in her voice that makes me pause mid-bite. I’ve known Isla since our first year of law school, and that tone never precedes anything good.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing.” She slides her phone across the table. “Just wondering when you became a social media darling.” She wiggles with her blonde eyebrows.
The screen shows an Instagram post. It’s a crisp, professional-looking photograph of me standing next to Colton outside the courthouse, sunlight catching his impossibly blue eyes as he looks down on me. I’m mid-sentence, my hand gesturing as I explain something, looking every bit the commanding attorney, dressed in Isla’s clothes.
My stomach drops. Wow. The post has thousands of likes. “Where did you find this?”
“Everywhere, honey. It’s gone viral. Look at the comments.”
I scroll down, seeinghundreds:
Who’s the redhead with the Siberian Express?
New girlfriend alert!!!
That’s his lawyer you idiots
Lawyer or “lawyer”?
Is the lawyer in the room with us? This is more than a work relationship.
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “This is absurd. We were discussing trial strategy.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Isla takes her phone back, swiping to another image. “And were you also discussing trial strategyhere?”
The second photo knocks the air clean out of my lungs.
It’s us. Colton, Livy, and me at the fun park, walking like we belong in the same frame. Livy is wedged between us, grinning wide enough to show the little gap in her teeth, and it’s so bright it almost hurts to look at. My head is tipped back, mid-laugh…
And Colton…
He’s smiling.
Not the polite, controlled version he shows on commercials and ads. No, this one is soft. Easy. The kind of smile that looks like it was designed for a movie close-up.
Shit.
