7. Cade
7
CADE
I wasn’t sure how long it’d take for her to bring this up. Not that long, it turns out. And now here she is, staring at me expectantly.
“The simplest answer is,” I lean back, “I’m not.”
Her jaw drops and she takes a step closer. “Excuse me?”
Ah, this is going to be a longer discussion. Good, might as well get it out of the way. “Please, sit down, Kennedy.” Saying her name after all these years feels like swallowing sweet poison, irresistible but deadly. It burns on my lips.
“I’d rather stand.”
I rise from my seat and circle around to the front of my desk, leaning on the edge. “I’m not pretending I don’t remember you. I just don’t think it’s necessary, or professional for that matter, for us to revisit our past.”
Something hits the tip of her tongue, but she seems to think better of it and stops herself. After a pause, she continues. “Okay. May I ask why you feel that way?”
I can see a host of emotions vibrating through her, no matter how hard she tries to hide her feelings.
“It’s a closed book,” I say with a casual shrug. I put my hands in my pockets. “The past is the past. We’ve both moved on. What’s the point?”
She seems frozen in place, and obviously unsatisfied with my answer.
“Unless… you haven’t moved on?” I suggest.
“Of course I have,” she snaps back, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Exactly. So, there’s no point to getting into it,” I say, my tone calm. “We don’t have time to waste here, especially when it comes to dredging up ancient history. That involvement is long over, and it doesn’t need to be revisited. I’d rather focus on what matters now.”
Kennedy doesn’t respond.
“If there’s nothing else,” I continue, “I have another assignment for you.”
Her brow furrows and she shakes her head, trying to switch roles from irritated ex-girlfriend to polished new employee. “I’m… all ears.”
“Get me some coffee?” I ask casually, attempting to break the ice and bring the whole moment back to reality. I know fetching coffee isn’t in her job description, although I did make sure it’s part of my secretary’s, but Shanice is currently attending a mandatory training program. I want to gauge Kennedy’s reaction—whether she takes it in stride or bristles at the request. It’s not about demeaning her role as a paralegal. Rather, it’s a subtle test of her willingness to go the extra mile, even for tasks beneath her professional station. I know the request isn’t exactly by the book, so I soften the command by adding, “You probably want to get some for yourself, too.”
Kennedy gives me a tight smile and says, “Certainly, Mr. Gladwell.”
She spins on her heel and storms out of the room, and I sit down and get back to work. I have no doubt that, as an employee, she’ll exceed my expectations as promised.
Kennedy is driven, extremely smart, a critical thinker, and she has a natural affinity for the complexities of law. She certainly has the fire and the unpredictability that sets great lawyers apart. Being able to throw off the opposition is what makes a lawyer dangerous in the courtroom. I can sense she’s the ideal addition to our team—as long as we can leave our past firmly in the past.
A few minutes later, she marches back in carrying a cup of black coffee. “I brought some creamer and two sugars. I don’t know how you like it, given that we’re burying the past and all.”
I do my best to hide my smirk. She knows I drink my coffee black, always have, always will, and I know she likes hers with a pinch of sugar and a splash of cream. But, touché.
“Big plans to celebrate your first day on the job?” I ask, leaning back in my chair as she sets the coffee, creamer, and sugar neatly on my desk.
She pauses, meeting my gaze for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
It’s not the kind of question she expected from me. But I’m not here to cater to expectations. We need something to ease the tension between us. Friendly chatter is as good a place to start as any.
“Dinner with my parents.” There’s a touch of hesitation in her voice, her words a little too abrupt. She doesn’t offer more.
I nod, even though I feel the misstep—bad move on my part.
Of all the things to ask, I hit the one that comes too close to personal territory. Stepping on that mine stirs something old, something I buried long ago. Ancient demons never sleep, do they?
But I don’t sweat it. You can’t always play it safe.
I have to remind myself that navigating this new dynamic professionally means sidestepping certain topics of conversation.
“Sounds… appropriate,” I say. I don’t push further.
There’s no point. She’s got her walls up, and I have no reason to break them down.
“Do you need anything else, Mr. Gladwell?” She’s doing her best to keep her voice neutral, which is prudent.
“That’s all, thank you. Reach out to Carmen or me if you need anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Finally, she turns and walks out.
I watch her go, feeling a shift in the air. The moment passes, and I’m back in control. Always in control.
Sipping my coffee, I rise and gaze out the window at the pulsing city below. I can’t help but wonder if her family still chews over the wreckage of us. Especially her father, Judge John Hayes—Mr. Honorable himself, whom I had the “pleasure” of encountering more than once over the years. Such accidental meetings were unavoidable, even in a city as big as NYC. Those run-ins never brightened my day, and I know the sentiment was mutual.
But it’s Kennedy who lingers in my thoughts. Ancient demons never close their eyes, never stop their haunting, and they sure as hell don’t forgive. Ours certainly don’t.
Did she really bounce back as fast as she claimed?
Not that it matters. The past is set in stone. There’s nothing I can do to rewrite it.