Quit Me If You Can

24. Kennedy

24

KENNEDY

B ack at the apartment, I head straight to my makeshift workstation in the corner of the living room where I’ve spent way too many hours buried in case files and legal briefs (and where I’ll log a few more tonight, post-dinner). I open my notepad to the page where my frustrations and truths are scrawled in bold, determined letters.

With a steady hand, I rip the page out of my notepad, ensuring it stays smooth and wrinkle-free. I place it on the oak counter nearby. There’s no way I’m risking Cade accidentally stumbling on my notepad at work, especially now that I have to work in his office. The soft lamplight makes my words glow. Somehow, they feel even more profound in this setting.

When Harper gets home later, she’ll see the note first thing when she walks in. I close my eyes and imagine her reaction. She’ll probably pour herself a glass of wine, sit down with some dramatic gesture, and read the note aloud with exaggerated inflections.

We’ll laugh about it, but more importantly, she’ll understand. She always does.

I notice that the cupboards are almost completely bare, and not just of chocolate. So I put in an order for takeout, knowing it’ll take an eternity to arrive. While I wait, I open the package I impulsively ordered online. It’s a stunning underwear set Harper and I marveled about as soon as we first saw it. One for me and one for her. Because nothing says “let’s be BFFs” like matching undies. I slip into my new lingerie and admire myself in the mirror: I’m a vision in sexy fuchsia satin, complete with a garter belt that leaves just enough to the imagination. Yes, it’s fuchsia again—my favorite color, the only one that does my eyes justice. Why mess with perfection? My boobs, though. Girl. With this support, they don’t just look perfect —they look like I could set the world on fire.

I’m pondering just how much of a human torch I’ve become when my thoughts are interrupted by knocking.

I check the time on my phone. The food’s here fifteen minutes earlier than I expected.

“It’s me,” Cade’s voice calls from behind the door.

I freeze.

What the hell is he doing here? Shouldn’t he be in court? I’ve heard that Judge Marcus Washington despises tardiness in his courtroom. And from what I’ve heard, Mr. Humphries isn’t any better: He absolutely loathes being kept waiting.

“I need to talk to you, now,” I hear Cade call.

Of course, Mr. Big Shot couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I stomp to the door and fling it open in a huff. I don’t realize my fatal error until I see the look on his face.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes burning into me from top to bottom.

Here I am, flaunting my new, unbelievably sexy underwear, and not a stitch of actual clothing on. My first instinct is to slam the door shut and die of embarrassment, but then I think, no . This is my turf.

“What do you want?” I ask, hand planted on my hip. It’s high time he understands that I’m off the clock, and I am not at his beck and call. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

“I can see that.”

No tie. No suit. He’s in a shirt, jeans, and biker boots, his tattoos teasing at the hems of his rolled-up sleeves. He must have changed and cruised in on his motorcycle. And there it is—classic Cade, helmet in hand. “What about your court appointment?”

“Fuck it. This is more important. Can I come in?”

Wait, what? He’s blowing off a $1.1 billion case… for me? After we just decided to keep it business-only? This better not be a joke. Fine, he can come in for a minute. I’ll give him a minute (maybe two if I’m feeling generous).

“Only for a minute.” I step aside to let him in. He better make it count.

Cade enters and sets the helmet on the side table, glancing around and taking in the work setup on my table. “You work at home dressed like that?”

Maybe in the past I’d have felt embarrassed, or apologized. But not tonight. If nothin else, I’m going to make him regret ditching me like that.

“Maybe I’m expecting someone,” I venture, trying to maintain my composure. “Maybe I’ve got someone coming over.”

“Maybe?” he counters, with that signature, skeptical “Really?” look, the kind that seals deals in court. I bet anyone faced with his stare spills their secrets on the spot. But me? I’m not confessing to anything, not even if proven guilty.

“He’s on his way,” I say.

“Who?”

“Gary.”

It’s the first name that popped into my mind. I don’t even know any Gary. But why in the world did I say Gary? Couldn’t I have picked a more badass name? Like Jax, or Zander, or Hunter. I mean, seriously. Or Vorn? Now that would have been epic. “On that note, why are you here?” I ask, feigning boredom. “I told you, you can’t stay long, because, you know, he’ll be here soon.”

“Lucky guy,” he mumbles. Does he look wounded? If so, he recovers quickly. “I’m here to answer your question.”

“Oh?” I arch a brow. “Which… one?”

“Why I keep asking you about law school.”

If there was a groan left in me, I’d have expelled it, loud and clear. Instead, I just stare at him, my expression a mix of irritation and disbelief.

“The answer is: I care about you.”

“You… care about me,” I repeat slowly.

“Yes, I care about your well-being.” He spears his fingers through his hair. “I really want to know what’s holding you back from law school. Please. Tell me.”

I wrap my arms around my middle and try to gather my thoughts.

And what about my questions? Am I just supposed to swallow them down and deal with it? Let them all go and trust him that his terrible behavior was for the best?

“You have huge potential, Kennedy,” he says, his voice softer now. “You mentioned financial and logistical circumstances. Are those still holding you back? Because if they are, I want you to know that I’m here to help.”

Something inside me falters, and I sense a depth in his gaze that makes me dizzy. It’s as if he’s peering right into my soul.

I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Everything comes easy for you.”

“Hah.” He laughs. “That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”

“No, it’s not,” I say. “Even if I told you why I haven’t gone to law school, I doubt you’d understand.”

“What makes you so sure? Try me,” he challenges.

“I get it. You know what living in a hellhole is like. But you made it work, Cade. You graduated at the top of your class. You know what kinds of attorneys really make it and are successful? Guys like you. Not women… like me.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Women like you? What does that even mean?”

“It means I worked my ass off to get to where I am today, worked as hard as hell to make ends meet, and then, well, things… just didn’t go my way. I’m proud of where I’m standing. If that’s not good enough for you, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

I can tell by his gaze he doesn’t agree with me one bit. “That’s BS, and you know it.”

“It’s not! You created a person of strength, and you chose to rise, to stand tall. Not everyone has that strength, to turn into the extraordinary person you are.” I know I shouldn’t be complimenting him, not after everything, but the words just tumble out of me.

“That’s where you’re wron?—”

“I didn’t pursue law school because things haven’t been easy, not after everything,” I blurt out, interrupting him. The words taste bitter on my tongue. “It’s been overwhelming, with so much uncertainty, and no clear direction. So, yeah, there’s been a lot on my plate, and I just know I wouldn’t be able to give it my absolute best. I’m afraid that diving into something as demanding as law school would just be me setting myself up for failure.”

There it is. I said it.

I hate that I admitted my fear, and I hate even more that I didn’t meet my own expectations, but it’s the truth.

“But I’ve never seen you fail at anything,” he says, in what seems like surprise.

“Oh, I’ve failed at a lot , trust me,” I retort. “But setting all that aside, I had to take care of Auntie, and I won’t make excuses. Even after she passed, I didn’t go for it. There you have it. Happy now? I’m just not ready. And I didn’t tell you sooner because frankly, it sounds pathetic.”

He hesitates, his expression softening. His eyes sweep over me with a sincerity and intense emotion that I’m not used to seeing in him. His gaze holds a hint of tenderness that’s enough to catch me off guard and makes me gulp. Then, out of the blue, his strong arms envelop me and pull me close. I almost gasp at the suddenness of it all.

“Nothing about you is pathetic, Kennedy,” he reassures me, his voice gentle yet firm against my ear. One hand cradles my head while the other lovingly strokes my hair aside, away from my face. “It hurts me to hear how much all that has been holding you back from pursuing your dreams. Believe me, I’ve failed a million times myself.”

“No, you haven’t .”

“Of course I have. It’s all part of the game. If you hit rock bottom you only have one way to go, and that’s up.” He pauses and pulls me into a tight hug that feels so beautiful, so secure, so fiercely protective that it nearly brings me to tears. “If anybody can rise, it’s this extraordinary woman in my arms.”

I allow this intimacy to wash over me, and in a moment of weakness, I let my head rest against his shoulder, loving the feeling of his muscular hand caressing my neck. His presence gives me a sense of security I know I shouldn’t crave.

“You’re full of miracles,” he rumbles, hugging me tighter, making everything in me feel lighter. “If anybody can do it, it’s you. Don’t you dare throw in the towel. I’ll lend a hand in any way I can. Seriously, Kennedy. If you need a study partner, or a sounding board, or a financial hand, I’m here. I mean it. You have every tool at your disposal. Do you understand? I promise I won’t push you anymore until you’re good and ready. And in the meantime, I need you to trust me. I want to make up for any harm and uncertainty I ever caused you.”

I swallow hard, feeling more ridiculous every second by my skimpy “outfit.” Painting on a smile, I ease away from his embrace and the stupid comfort I felt, and I say, “Thank you for that. In return, I won’t push you until you’re ready either. Well, I really should get back to work. No. I mean, get ready for…” I can’t even bring myself to say it.

“For Gary? He sounds like an idiot.”

“He’s not! You never even met him.” I abruptly take two steps back. “And you should be going?—”

Before I can finish my sentence, he surges forward, and his hands reach to cup my face. In that moment, I don’t question why, or how, or what. My eyes close instinctively and I allow myself to submit to all the feelings. Heat radiates from his palms, warming my cheeks and sending shivers down my spine. The deafening thump of my heart is drowned out by the softness of his breath against my skin.

I simply surrender to the intensity of his lips meeting mine.

It’s frightening how much I crave him. Each tender caress, every soft brush of his lips against mine, all of it seems to seep into every vulnerable corner of my heart.

This kiss, though, is different.

It’s not because we’re alone in my apartment, and I’ve got nothing but thin slips of satin and lace between him and my naked body that tingles with awareness and need.

It’s because every time his lips touch mine, it feels like the first time.

It’s familiar, but still, it’s new.

It’s overpowering. It takes my breath away. This moment, this kiss, defies all logic and reason, and it’s everything I know I shouldn’t want. With his tongue softly exploring mine, it’s hard to make a rational decision.

He draws away for a moment. “Better?”

“Yeah…” I breathe.

“Are you really expecting somebody?” he grumbles, eyes shining, long lashes casting shadows over his gaze,his hands still tenderly cupping my face.

“What?” I whisper, all brainless from the kiss.

“Nobody’s coming, are they?”

“Eh…”

Knock. Knock. Knock.