by Kelly, Hazel
“It’s nice this time of year,” I say, inhaling the crisp smell of leaves as others crunch under my feet. “Besides, I don’t trust you to let me chip in for the fare.”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Thanks again for dinner, by the way.”
He smiles. “Thanks for helping me with my dessert.”
I nudge him, falling against his shoulder, and he spins in front of me and brings his hand to my cheek.
“I’m glad I met you,” he says, his eyes fixed on mine. “And not just because I’m crazy about your gorgeous body.”
I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t look away. “I’m glad I met you, too,” I say, looking back at him. “Even if you are hell bent on distracting me from a job I need as much as I love.”
He lowers his lips to mine and drags them across my mouth lightly before returning for a kiss, swirling his tongue around mine so I can taste the brandy he had with dessert.
“You certainly abandoned your no-kissing rule with enthusiasm,” I say, linking my arm in his.
He starts down the path again. “You gave me no choice.”
“Why even have a rule in the first place if you’re only going to break it?”
“The rule is for my protection,” he says. “Its purpose is to help me from getting attached to anyone.”
“What’s so bad about getting attached?”
“Attachment clouds people’s judgement,” he says. “When you allow yourself to get attached, you start thinking you can give someone everything they want. You start thinking you can be better than you are.”
“So?”
“So I know who I am,” he says. “And I don’t want to be any better. I don’t want to get soft or have a conscience or feel like I have to think about anyone but myself.”
“But you’ve been kissing me every chance you get.”
“I know,” he says. “And it’s been a mistake every time.”
I stop walking and stare at him. “What?”
“I’m not saying I regret it or anything. I’m just saying that I know it’s not doing me any good, even though it feels good.”
I squint at him. “You’re a very strange man, Owen.”
“Did you like me better when I was a stranger?” he asks, giving my arm a gentle tug and continuing across the park.
I think about the look on his face when I was talking over dinner, about the questions he asked me. They were questions no one had ever asked me before. Like who was my first unrequited love and what’s my favorite day of the year. They were random questions, many of which I’ve never considered myself, but he hung on my every word, as if I were a temporary museum exhibition that he’d been waiting his whole life to see.
He asked me what books had changed my life and what season I would be if I were one and what movie always makes me cry. And it wasn’t just the questions he asked, but how he asked them, like he really cared about the answer and had been wondering what it was for some time.
Just recalling those moments again has made me realize why he probably avoids dating. Because this is a man who doesn’t do things halfway. He’s an all-or-nothing kind of guy, the kind of guy that falls hard when he falls. The kind of guy that finds it easier to keep women masked and at arm’s reach because that’s actually so much safer than genuine vulnerability.
“Well?” he asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I like you better now.”
He seems satisfied with this, and we walk in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. When the path winds around a corner, a homeless person sits up on a bench ahead and extend his hands, which are covered in a pair of fingerless gloves that have seen better days. By the time we reach him, I’ve fished some singles from the outside pocket of my purse, where I keep them for such occasions.
He nods and says, “God bless you,” after I give him the money.
“You know he’s probably just going to spend that on booze,” Owen says when we we’re out of earshot.
I shrug. “That’s none of my business. I gave it to him so I can sleep at night. If he wants to spend it on something that will help him sleep, who am I to judge?”
“You make a good point.”
I nudge him when the path splits so he heads down the one that leads to my apartment.
“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” he says as we approach my building.
“I’m trying to decide if I should ask you up for a drink.”
“I see,” he says. “Is that a difficult decision?”
“Well, part of me wants to ask you up—the part that doesn’t want the night to end.”
“And the other part?” he asks.
“The other part thinks inviting you into my home is inappropriate considering the fact that you’re still opposing council.”
“But sleeping with the enemy is okay?” he asks, pulling my coat towards him.
I look up into his dark eyes, and my heart strains from all the confused feelings swirling inside me. “How about this?” I say, dragging a finger down his soft coat. “You agree to the terms I laid forth, and I’ll ask you up.”
His expression grows serious.
“What?” I ask. “Then the case will effectively be over, and we can stay up all night celebrating.”
He takes a step back. “You know I find you irresistible, Cassie, but I’m not so sprung I’ve forgotten myself.”
I furrow my brows. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not going to throw the case just because you bat your eyelashes at me.”
“You wouldn’t be throwing the case—”
“I would be,” he says. “And you know it.”
“Think about how good you’d feel knowing all those people were fairly compensated.”
“I can’t believe you’d ask me to settle on those terms,” he says, a thread of anger spreading through his voice. “Not only are they ridiculous, but my client will never agree to them.”
I open my mouth to object.
“I could lose my job for doing something like that.”
“I don’t want you to lose your job,” I say. “And you wouldn’t anyway. It’s your grandfather’s company.”
“Which is why it’s even more important that I don’t blow it. You think your reputation is the only one at stake? I thought you said you wanted to negotiate?”
“I changed my mind,” I say, pissed that he’s taken such offense. “You know the offer. Take it or leave it.”
He clenches his jaw and keeps his eyes on me. “Bullshit.”
“Call my bluff all you want,” I say. “I’m more than prepared to go to court.”
“Please don’t be so stubborn. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that suits both parties.”
“Your client isn’t my concern,” I say. “I know what mine deserve, and as far as I’m concerned, Mr. Forsythe can pay up or put it to the jury.”
“Cassie.”
“What?”
“It’s not fair for you to ask me to take that offer to him.”
“Are you kidding?” I ask. “What’s not fair are the working conditions he subjected all those people to even after being sanctioned.”
Owen drops his head and sighs. “Look, the last thing I want to do is disappoint you or make things difficult when I…”
I raise my eyebrows. “You what?”
“I care about you.”
I swallow, emboldened by my own stubbornness. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
I scoff.
“I know that you’ve turned my world upside down,” he says. “I know that you’ve stirred up feelings in me I didn’t think I could have anymore, feelings I’ve done everything to avoid having.”
“I guess it’s my turn to call bullshit.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
I look in his eyes, and I believe him with every part of me. Not only that, but I can see I’m hurting him by asking for so much, especially w
hen I understand his situation perfectly. And the part of me that cares for him wants to take it back, to say I’m willing to meet halfway, to do anything that might make the disappointment in his eyes disappear.
But if I waver now—in this moment—I can’t guarantee that he’ll ever take me seriously again.
And I know he wouldn’t flinch if the shoe were on the other foot, so I have to meet his strength with strength or I’ll get crushed. Then I’ll be the one that loses my job, my promotion, my reputation.
“So that’s it,” he says, shrugging as he slips his hands in his pockets. “Deal or no deal, huh?”
I nod.
He shakes his head and almost smiles.
“What’s so funny?”
“You nearly had me.”
I lean forward. “Pardon?”
“I thought I was developing a conscience there for a second.”
“I’m not following.”
“You’re amazing,” he says. “The way you make me…almost have feelings.”
I press my lips together.
“Fortunately, your stubborn little fit just reminded me of who I really am.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“And who you really are.”
My heart sinks.
“And what really matters here.”
I clench my sweating fists in my pocket.
“Good night, Cassandra,” he says, taking a step back. “See you in court.”
E L E V E N
I’ve never been so anxiety ridden in my life. I spent all weekend pacing around my apartment, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my boss I’d blown it and that we were going to court.
And when I wasn’t physically pacing, my mind reeled as it tried to calculate the financial burden my clients would face as a result of the case being drawn out. Not to mention what I’d end up costing the firm since we were already charging reduced rates due to the circumstances.
And it was all because I’d gotten greedy. Greedy and bold. Too bold. Bold enough to blow it. Mr. Hanan was probably going to go through me for this, if he wasn’t already writing up the terms of my termination.
Which he wasn’t, of course. Because he didn’t know I’d fucked everything up by mixing business with pleasure and pushing the opposition to breaking point.
But the fact that I hadn’t yet broken the bad news to him wasn’t the only reason I felt sick.
I felt sick over Owen.
I mean, what kind of person was I? Right after our fun date—right after he admitted that he had feelings for me—I took advantage of the vulnerability I hoped he felt.
It was fucked up. He didn’t deserve to be tested. He deserved the same respect I would’ve shown any other opposing council, probably more, all things considered. Instead, I’d shown him less.
I’d disregarded his feelings for my own professional gain, and I had a horrible sinking feeling that I was going to get exactly what I deserved: weeks of hell and no boyfriend to show for it.
Of course, I didn’t know I cared about him that much until he looked at me like I was the enemy and backed away from me on the sidewalk. It was only then I realized I’d made a huge mistake. Because if I wasn’t falling for him, the look on his face wouldn’t have cracked my heart.
By the time I let myself into my apartment, I was already missing the way he’d once looked at me. With respect, admiration even. And like I was pretty. So pretty he regretted every blink. I cried myself to sleep that night, letting my body rock with each walloping gasp for breath.
But it was more than losing him that made the tears keep coming. It was the fact that I’d chosen to be cutthroat instead of compassionate, which could only mean one thing.
I’d become the kind of lawyer I promised myself I would never turn into.
And ever since that realization, I’ve felt numb. And pale. Like even my insides are colorless.
I highlight the document I’m typing and delete it so I can start again. I have to get the words exactly right for when I break the news to my boss. Maybe if I can make him see that this is a good thing, I won’t completely destroy my chances of ever being promoted. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to do that.
I jump when there’s a knock at the door, and Mr. Hanan comes in without waiting for an invitation. I slam my laptop closed so fast I fear I come across as even more suspect than I already am.
“What’s the hold up?” he asks. “I’ve been waiting for you to come see me all morning.”
“Was I supposed to?” I glance at the clock on my desk, but it doesn’t jog anything in my memory.
He approaches my desk and grips the back of the chair in front of it. “You deserve to be congratulated in person.”
I try to swallow, but my tongue turns to sandpaper.
He claps the air between us. “Look lively, Cassie.”
I shake my head and blink away my deer-in-the-headlights stare. “Sorry.”
“Now,” he says, perching on the edge of the chair in front of me. “Tell me how you managed it.”
“Managed what?” I ask, putting my hands under my desk and sliding my palms on my skirt.
“To reach that settlement,” he says, leaning forward with smiling eyes. “That’s almost twice what Rebecca thought she’d be able to secure.”
“They agreed to it?” I whisper, my voice so soft I’m not sure I’ve spoken out loud.
“You didn’t know?” Mr. Hanan grips the sides of his chair. “I didn’t realize. In that case, I understand why you didn’t come around to toot your own horn.”
I press my lips together.
“I received a call from Mr. Morgan this morning.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“He told me about the terms you discussed and said his client has agreed to them on the grounds that we proceed without bringing media attention to the case.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why did he call you?”
He sticks out his lower lip and shakes his head. “I have no idea. I assumed you already knew.”
“No.”
“In that case, congratulations,” he says, nodding towards me with a smile on his face that I’m struggling to mirror.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know how you did it, but you really exceeded my expectations,” he says, using his arms to push himself out of the chair.
“Did Mr. Morgan say anything else?” I ask, searching his sharp blue eyes.
“Only that I’m lucky to have such a formidable lawyer on my payroll,” he says. “And that I should be careful not to take you for granted because he certainly wouldn’t.”
My mouth falls open, but I snap it shut to avoid looking like a dead fish.
“But of course I already know that,” he says, backing towards the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Hanan.”
“And just between you and me, as soon as the papers for this case are signed off on,” he says, laying a hand on the doorknob, “I look forward to giving you a much-deserved promotion.”
I smile. “That’s great news, sir. Thanks for the support.”
He points a finger at me as he swings the door open. “And thank you for your hard work.”
When the door clicks shut, I fall against the back of my chair and slide several inches into a slouch, wishing I understood what the hell just happened and why I don’t feel better about it.
T W E L V E
“What do you mean he won’t take your calls?” Ruby asks as she pulls the toothpick from her club sandwich.
“I mean he’s not answering his cell, and his secretary is obviously under instructions not to put me through.”
“You want to try my phone?” she asks before taking a big bite.
“No,” I say, stabbing at my Waldorf salad. “I want him to pick up when I call.”
She raises her eyebrows as she chews. “So you can say what?”
“I don’t know… Sorry?”
She furrows her brow. “Why are you sorry?”
�
��Because he probably lost out on a big payday ’cause of me.”
“You didn’t force him to do anything.”
I lean back in my chair.
“Besides, a real winner doesn’t apologize for winning.”
I sigh. “I don’t feel like a winner.”
“Maybe he just needs some space.”
“I don’t want him to need space,” I say too loudly, attracting the critical stares of the elderly women at the next table.
“What exactly do you want?” she asks.
“His forgiveness.”
“More like his attention again.”
“So what if I do want that? Is that so bad?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Cass. If the guy doesn’t want to see you, you can’t force him.”
“I know.”
“Besides, shouldn’t you be celebrating your pending promotion and the fact that your hard-headedness scored a fat payout for all those victims?”
I flinch at her choice of words, but she’s right. They were victims, and they do deserve what they got. Probably more.
“Sorry,” she says. “I meant clients.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “And you’re right. I was only doing my job.”
“For what it’s worth, he was probably falling for you, too, if he threw such a big case.”
“That’s why I feel so sick.”
“Because you feel the same?”
I nod. “I know it’s stupid, and I was obligated to put those people first, but I feel like I lost something important before I ever really had it.”
She drinks some soda.
“Is that pity I detect on your face?”
“He was the most gorgeous guy you’ve gone out with in ages.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I try to fork a grape, but it spins away and rolls off my plate onto the table.
“You can always creep his LinkedIn pic.”
“I know this is going to sound pathetic, but it’s actually not his looks I miss most.”
“It’s the sex, isn’t it?” she asks. “You were ecstatically happy there for a while.”
I shake my head. “No. I really liked him, Ruby. As a person. I thought he was funny, and I liked how it felt to have his attention…to have my arm looped in his. To have his—”