Page 115 of Gold Rush

I misjudged Jay during orientation week. I figured he was only focused on us not embarrassing him by not knowing the proper order of things, not that he was self-aware enough to be open to learning from those with less experience.

“I appreciate the opportunity,” I tell him.

“Damn right you do,” Jay tells me, smiling. “Clarke Infrastructure is a big enough account that the name partners will hear about it. Most first-year associates are still figuring out where the law library is.”

If Simon Grey hears about this, my father might. The thought appears, then disappears. I’m more preoccupied by the prospect of telling Rory.

We emerge from the building that houses Clarke Infrastructure’s headquarters. The clouds earlier have given way to spitting rain that soaks my hair as we head toward the waiting car.

“Back to the office, please,” Jay instructs the driver once we’re settled in the back seat.

The town car pulls back into traffic.

Seconds later, we’re hit from behind.

36

“What’s the update on the domestic violence case?” Rachel asks Rob.

“He’s agreed to a plea,” Rob replies. “I’m meeting with the prosecutor tomorrow to hammer out the final details of the deal.”

Rachel nods, making a note. “Good. Keep me in the loop on that.”

“Will do.”

There’s a soft knock on the door.

Jackie pokes her head into the conference room a second later. “Sorry to interrupt, Rachel.”

“No problem,” she responds. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a call for Rory on the main line. He said it was urgent.”

Rachel nods, glancing at me. “Go.”

I stand, grabbing my portfolio and shooting her a quick, grateful smile before hurrying over to Jackie.

“Who’s calling?” I ask immediately as we head down the hallway.

“He said his name was Gideon Rhodes.”

I frown, steps quickening as we hurry toward my desk. One of Kit and Flynn’s friends. I’ve met him a handful of times, but don’t know him very well. I have no idea why he’d be calling me about anything, let alone something labeled urgent.

“He’s on extension four,” Jackie says, continuing past my desk to her own.

“Thanks,” I call after her, then pick up my phone and hit the right extension. “Rory Kensington speaking.”

“Hey, Rory. It’s Rh—Gideon.”

“I heard. What can I help you with?”

“Uh, Flynn just called me. He got in a minor car accident⁠—”

“He what?” I exclaim.

“He’s fine,” Gideon adds quickly. “Sounds like the fender got the worst of it. But he does have a concussion, so they won’t release him from the hospital without⁠—”

“He’s in the hospital?” I start shoving items into my bag: phone, water bottle, folders—wait, I don’t need those—then pull my cell back out to check if I have any missed calls or messages. I don’t.