Chapter one
Fifteen Years Later
Whenwe’rebothintown, Monday nights are ours.
Not officially. Nothing’s set in actual stone.
Still, for the past decade or so, whenever our schedule’s permit, Zach and I meet at the Metropolitan Grill for dinner. We’ve been doing it so long, the staff know us well enough to seat me in our favorite booth without asking.
I get there first. I always do.
Control is a small thing, but it’s mine and I prefer to sit with back against the wall and a view of the door.
I smooth my napkin over my lap, check the time and pretend I’m not waiting.
Tonight’s topic of conversation, undoubtedly, is our friends’ wedding. The invitation is beautiful. Heavy paper. Embossed crest. A castle outside of Prague because of course Marisol would choose it for her Disney princess wedding. For fuck’s sake, she’s marrying Julian in a place with five turrets.
From my vantage point, I observe the door open.
Zach steps in. Navy jacket. No tie. A watch I once googled out of curiosity and immediately regretted when I found out it cost more than eighty grand. He pauses just long enough to clock the layout before his eyes find me.
He saunters over, unhurried.
“You’re late.” I lift my wine.
He eases into the booth across from me. “I’m semi on time.”
“What a creative definition of punctuality.” I swirl the liquid in my glass.
He adjusts his cuffs. “You’ve been auditing my time management skills since law school.”
“I’m a born litigator.” I set my wine down. “Details matter.”
He glances at the bourbon in front of him, then at me. “You ordered.”
“You’re welcome.” I’m not even a little bit ashamed at taking credit for the foresight of the overattentive restaurant staff.
His knee brushes mine when he stretches his legs out. He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
“So.” He rolls the glass between his palms. “Who did you dismantle today?”
I recline. “Tech founder. Divorcing my client. He built a communication platform. Now they won’t speak without counsel present.”
“Poetic.”
“She wants to depose his meditation instructor.” I hide my grin with my hand.
He huffs a laugh. “Let me guess…”
“You’d be right.”
We slip into our rhythm. Our ritual. Work is always first, it keeps the ground steady.
“I had lunch with a first-year today.” I break a piece of bread in half. “He called me ma’am.”
Zach’s mouth curves. “You’ve been there fifteen years. You’re allowed to terrify associates.”
