Page 5 of Take What Hurts

“Not at all. A surprise, but a welcome one.”

Elliott stifled the snort that wanted to escape. No need to embarrass herself any more this morning.

“Would you like a moment with your client?” Mackenzie asked. “It might be good for all of us to have a moment to reset.”

FOUR

MACKENZIE

Matilda and Elliott walked out of the conference room together, and Mackenzie excused herself, too, leaving Anna alone at the table. And thank god, because she’d spent the last fifteen minutes witnessing firsthand what a fucking asshole Anna was to Matilda.

She needed a minute. Maybe a lot of minutes, and she needed to take them far away from the conference room. Soon she’d have to go back and try to milk every cent out of Matilda, who, from first impressions, probably deserved to walk away with everything if she’d been treated that way by her wife—a probable narcissist in Mackenzie’s unqualified opinion—for their entire five-year marriage.

And then there was the other, possibly more pressing, problem. “Oh god,” she breathed into the bathroom mirror. Because she had been having thoughts about the woman she thought she’d never see again. Elliott. And they weren’t… professional thoughts either. In fact, they were the most unprofessional thoughts a person could have about another individual. Ones that involved wondering whether Elliott’s lips were as soft as they looked. Or how the skin on her cheek would feel if Mackenzie ran her fingers over the sharpness of her jaw, or down her chest, or⁠—

She had to stop. She needed this case to go well, and she couldn’t afford—well—this. All of this was unusual for her. It was rare that any level of sexual or lustful attraction took hold of her so quickly after meeting another person. It figured that the person who’d finally managed it was her opponent on the most important file of her career.

She had to stop.

She took a breath and tried to recall, through the fog that was Elliott’s face—her teeth overlapping just the tiniest bit in the front, her suit looking like it had been made for her—the major details from the file she needed to get a win on today. It shouldn’t have been difficult. She’d only been assigned it yesterday. It was fresh to her. She supposed she should thank the veritable dumbass who had previously had the file and who the firm had fired on the spot, for fraudulently signing documents on behalf of another one of the firm’s clients. And who had been… confused… as to why that was a problem. Ivy League, eat your heart out.

But it was difficult.

Because Elliott was… a distraction she couldn’t afford. She huffed out a breath, wishing the lawyer she had expected—who, from his LinkedIn profile, appeared to be an egotistical middle-aged man-child who she would have wiped the floor with—was whom she was up against.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

You can do this.

You don’t even know her.

She repeated these words like a mantra in her head while she stared her reflection down. She closed her eyes, because why was this happening? She tried to swallow the disappointment, because Mackenzie was sure that had she run into Elliott on the street after their meeting at the airport, she would have followed her therapist’s advice and taken the opportunity to shoot her shot.

She groaned, hair falling around her eyes as she stared into the sink. She contemplated throwing up into it for a moment. But before she could, her phone vibrated against her left thigh. Frowning, she pulled the device out of her pocket and scowled at the caller ID: Medusa—her mother.

It was the definition of a Pavlovian response. Her mother’s caller ID would appear on her screen, and an old fear would ripple through her. The confident, capable lawyer who was on the partnership track at one of the top firms in the country would disappear, and the small, frightened girl who never left would take her place. The fear drove that girl. To please and obey without question so she would feel safe and loved.

It was a transactional feeling, and her therapist had told her she needed to respond to it with a boundary. But with the thought of imposing a boundary came the next thought that commonly followed—what if? What if actively trying to make healthy space between herself and her mother was the thing that finally pushed her mother away entirely? Mackenzie knew she didn’t need her for survival anymore. But, god, the thought of not being able to call on her if she ever did need her warred violently with the inherent desire to not feel this way around another person any longer. And so, the small, frightened girl triumphed over the strong, capable lawyer. Her stomach turned when she thought about anyone at work discovering how pathetic she was.

But needing lawyer Mackenzie to stay in control of today, she dismissed the call. She took a breath and leveled a look at herself in the mirror, hands pressed firmly to the countertop. Seconds later, the phone vibrated in her hand again. Mackenzie huffed out a growl and sent it to voicemail. The third time her mother called, she dropped her head and let out a heavy sigh, fortifying herself with the knowledge that she’d tried.

“Let’s get it over with, then,” Mackenzie muttered. She straightened herself before she pulled open the bathroom door and stepped out into the carpeted hallway, sliding her thumb across the screen as she went.

“Mackenzie.” Her mother’s brusque voice traveled into her ear and rattled her brain.

“Hi, Mom. Look, I really can’t⁠—”

“Did you send me to voicemail? Are you screening my calls?” She spoke over Mackenzie, the questions rapid fire. Mackenzie felt her own retreat begin. The way her shoulders curled in on themselves. The way her free arm folded across her ribs. The softness of her footfalls when usually they were loud and confident—demanding that people pay attention.

Mackenzie sighed. “Yes, Mom, because I’m at work, and I’ve told you⁠—”

Her mother scoffed. “Nonsense, you’ve always got time for me. Work can wait.” Mackenzie stopped pacing and steeled herself against the sick feeling welling in her belly.

In for three, out for six.

Her mother continued. “I’m in Seattle, and I’ve booked dinner for tonight at eight p.m. I’ll see you there. We need to discuss a few things.”