Page 3 of Take What Hurts

The potential solutions weren’t pretty. A thirteen-hour drive—in the snow, in her Prius, through the night—was not an appealing prospect. She was seconds away from resigning herself to that reality when the staffer’s face brightened. “Okay.” His tone was chipper, and her heart leapt in her chest, the dangerous hope surging up and into her mouth. “There’s nothing with Alaska, but there is one business class seat available right now with one of our partner airlines. It’s the six a.m. flight out on⁠—”

“Book it.” She cut him off, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

His face fell. “Are you sure? I haven’t told you the cost and⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she cut in again with a laugh. “It’s a work trip.” She winked, the wave of relief so large it swallowed her and made her lightheaded.

The staffer’s face erupted in a smile—all teeth. “Well in that case, give me two minutes and I’ll get it booked for you. Do you have accommodation near the airport for tonight? Alaska would be happy to compensate you for the cancellation this evening.”

“I don’t, so that would be lovely, thank you.”

Several minutes later, Mackenzie left the desk with her new boarding pass and directions to the shuttle for the Hilton. As she walked toward the exit gates, she scanned the blossoming crowd around the airline desks for any sign of the woman, wishing now she’d asked her name. At the time it had been a deliberate choice not to ask—the feeling from that single interaction had been too much for her to process, let alone putting a name to the stranger who made her feel good for the first time in a long time. But as she scanned the crowd, seeing no sign of her, the disappointment and regret settled heavy in her stomach. She knew she’d likely never see the woman again.

As she boarded the shuttle to the hotel, she resigned herself to the knowledge that it was for the best.

THREE

ELLIOTT

Elliott had rushed for her 7 a.m. flight out of Seattle in a flurry of burned airport coffee, flopping suit-jacket arms, and disheveled hair in her face, but she’d made it and had landed in San Francisco on time. Now she sat in an Uber, leg bouncing of its own accord and the fingernail on her index finger picking not at all gently at the skin of her thumb—another thing that had always been a stubborn problem. She stared out the front windshield, forlornly taking in the miles of red taillights heading into downtown San Francisco. It was 9:45 a.m., and the mediation was at 10 a.m. She was at least thirty minutes away.

She breathed out a heavy sigh, brain wrenching itself back and forth over the options. Sit in the Uber and arrive looking mostly put together and professional, but obviously very late, or make a run for it and arrive looking sweaty and disheveled and only, probably, slightly late?

She was staring out the window, paralyzed with indecision, when her phone erupted in her hand, and she startled, fumbling the phone so it landed on the floor with a soft thud. Folding herself in half, she scrabbled it up off the floor and, seeing Hannah’s office extension on the screen, slid her thumb across it, shoving an AirPod into her ear.

“The client’s pissed,” Hannah’s voice singsonged against her eardrum.

Elliott grimaced, Hannah’s attempt to make light of the situation notwithstanding. “What else is new? Presumably because⁠—”

“—you’re running late?”

Elliott only grunted in response, eyes darting back out to the immobile stream of traffic in front of the Uber.

“Well.” Hannah, in Elliott’s mind, settled into her chair and prepared to tick off a list of things with her fingers. “To start, yes, she was expecting her lawyer fifteen minutes ago. But she’s also seen her ex and her bulldog already, which we all know is enough to set her off on a good day, and⁠—”

Elliott swallowed. She knew when Hannah was winding up for the big blow, and this was one of those times. Lots of dramatic pauses.

“She wasn’t aware we’d changed lawyers on her again.”

Elliott’s heart leapt into her mouth. “Wh—what do you mean she didn’t know? I thought Jerry had let her know I was taking over.” She growled in frustration. “Jerry told me he had let her know. What the fuck?”

Hannah sighed. “It appears that Jerry, true to his reputation, remains a fuckwit.”

“Right. Does Mattias know?”

Hannah laughed. “What do you think the first thing I did was?”

Elliott huffed out a laugh. Of course Hannah had taken care of it. “Thank goodness I have you to defend my honor when I’m not there to do it myself.”

“He’s not pissed at you. At Jerry, on the other hand…” She trailed off, and Elliott pictured the way Mattias’s face turned a vague puce color when he was giving a lawyer a well-deserved dressing down. She swallowed the laugh, wondering how Jerry’s fragile ego was taking it, and felt all warm and fuzzy inside. Fucking dickhead.

Then Elliott remembered the client and the shitstorm she was probably about to walk into. So much for her goal to handle this matter like an actual fucking human as opposed to a walking disaster. She glanced down at the time on her phone: 9:50 a.m. Her stomach lurched, and her mind shot to an image of her client having it out with her ex outside the conference room of the expensive hotel where the negotiations were happening. “Han, I’ve gotta go.”

“Yep. Email me.”

She pressed the red button and ended the call.

There was nothing for it.