8. Serena
Serena
" Y ou're joking."
Caleb doesn't even look up from his phone. "I don't joke about client meetings."
I stare at the yacht—no, this monstrosity needs a bigger word.
Mega-yacht? Floating palace? It's three decks of gleaming white with enough dark glass to outfit a skyscraper. The name Serendipity is scripted across the hull in gold letters. I can’t even begin to imagine how much this costs to buy, let alone how expensive it must be to staff and maintain.
The level of wealth on display is insane.
"When you said dress nicely, I thought you meant business casual." I smooth down my navy Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress—a TheRealReal find from last year that I'd justified as an investment piece. Thank God I did.
"You look perfect." His eyes sweep over me, lingering just long enough to make heat pool low in my belly. "Stop fidgeting."
"I'm not—" I force my hands still. "Whose boat is this?"
"Leonard McKelvin. Pharmaceutical fortune. He's been a client for six years." Caleb pockets his phone and offers me his arm. "He's expecting us."
The gangplank might as well be a tightrope over lava. My nude Louboutins—another resale triumph—weren't made for whatever wood this is. Teak? One wrong step and I’m headline news: marketing exec drowns in last season’s heels.
"Relax." Caleb's hand covers mine on his arm, steady and warm, and I hate how much I need the contact. "You've pitched to boardrooms full of executives."
"Those executives weren't worth nine figures."
"Leonard's barely worth two billion. It's practically middle class."
I choke on a laugh. "You're such an ass."
"There’s my Morgan." His smile touches his eyes. "Come on. He doesn't bite."
Leonard McKelvin looks like Santa Claus if Santa discovered Botox and personal trainers. Silver beard, twinkling eyes, and a handshake that manages to be firm without trying to prove anything.
"Finally!" He beams, looking between us like he's won something. "Six years I've been telling this one to bring someone, and he always shows up alone like some brooding Byron character."
"Leonard." A woman glides up, all cheekbones and champagne silk. "Don't embarrass them immediately."
"My wife, April," Leonard introduces. "Darling, this is Serena Morgan. Caleb's finally brought a date."
April air-kisses my cheeks like we're in a European film. "Ignore my husband. He's been trying to set Caleb up with his niece for three years."
"She's an orthopedic surgeon," Leonard protests. "Very accomplished."
"Very married," April corrects. "As of last month."
"Details." Leonard waves dismissively. "The point is, we're delighted you're here, Serena. What do you do?"
"Marketing," I say, keeping it vague.
April links her arm through mine before I can elaborate. "Come, let the boys discuss their boring contracts. You can tell me how you met our perpetually single lawyer."
She whisks me to the upper deck where Lake Michigan stretches endless and dark. The city skyline shrinks as we motor north, and I try not to calculate how much fuel this thing burns per minute.
"Leonard adores these evening cruises," April says, settling onto a cream. "Says it helps him think."
"Where are we heading?"
"Mackinac Island. It's a thing," she says, as if the island exists in some alternate plane. "Mostly for the fudge and the horses, but Leonard claims it's where his soul was forged."
She uncorks a bottle of Chasselas and pours two glasses. "You’re not from money, are you?" April asks as she hands me one. It's not judgment—just a hunch confirmed by my momentary hesitation at the edge of the boat, my awe at the cut crystal, my inability to decide whether to sit or stand.
"Not even remotely," I admit, and her laughter peals out over the water.
"Don't you love it, though?" April leans back. "The way these men create mythologies out of their own appetites? They collect houses and colleagues and women and lawyers, and every last bit of it is about the old need to win. I married into it and even I still find it exhausting."
"I'm more comfortable in a boardroom than at a black-tie event," I admit, "but I do love watching the rituals from the inside. Even the really weird ones."
She studies me over her glass. "You'll fit in here. Leonard says Caleb only respects people who can skewer him in debate or hold their liquor. I suspect you can do both."
"So why is Caleb such a fixture here?"
April's smile turns knowing. "Leonard likes people who challenge him. Your Mr. Kingsley is the only lawyer in Chicago to ever say no to him. Twice." Her voice drops conspiratorially. "He fired our last guy for telling him what he wanted to hear. Caleb's the only one who acts like he's not afraid."
"He doesn't seem afraid of much."
"Oh, he's frightened of plenty. He just hides it well." She lifts her glass. "To professional liars and the women who drink with them."
We talk for another hour—April masterfully extracting information while making it feel like girl talk. When the wind picks up, a staffer appears with cashmere wraps. The fabric is so soft I spend five minutes just touching it, trying not to look like I've never owned anything this expensive.
When the sun drops low, painting everything gold and orange, I hear Leonard's voice carrying across the deck.
Caleb emerges from below, having clearly just negotiated something worth more than I'll make in a lifetime.
He climbs the stairs with that unconscious confidence, his jacket refusing to wrinkle even in the wind.
He sits beside me—closer than necessary—and the heat from his body makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"Serena was just telling me," April says, sliding into her husband's lap with a plop, “that she’s never been on anything bigger than a paddleboat. Did you know you’re her first mega-yacht, Caleb?"
"I do now," Caleb says, shooting me a look that’s half-mocking, half…something else. He has a beer in his hand and he lets it dangle. “But it’s not my yacht, so I’m not sure it counts.”
"You're only as good as your client roster," Leonard proclaims, raising his glass toward Caleb with a flourish.
"And this one's got the rarest blend of brains, balls, and absolute disregard for the rules.
You should hear what he did to the Connelly case.
Single-handedly took down every partner in the city who thought they had an edge. "
"I'm sure it was all aboveboard," I say, earning a snort from April.
"Never confuse aboveboard with effective," Leonard advises. "Right, Counsel?"
"Absolutely," Caleb agrees, but he's not looking at me. Hasn't looked directly at me for the last half hour. I wonder if it's new strategy or old habit—ignore the problem until it goes away, or until it's desperately craving your attention.
I study him, this man who is at once the most intimidating and the most transparent person in the room.
He's brilliant at making men like Leonard feel seen without ever once letting them behind the glass of his own inner life.
I know because it's why I couldn't stop thinking about him, and also why I ran.
When April slips inside to ‘regroup before dessert’ and Leonard disappears to bellow at the captain about something, I find myself alone with Caleb on the upper deck. The water has turned black, the wind electric with possibility.
"If you want to interrogate me, now's your chance," he says.
"I'm allowed to ask questions?"
"Ask me anything, Morgan." There's tension behind the words—invitation and warning mixed.
I lean over the rail, weighing my appetite for trouble. Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the way he's standing just close enough that I can smell his heat, but I want to needle him. Want to see what's under the armor.
"What's it like," I say, "for you? Winning all the time."
He moves closer, hands in his pockets. "Exhausting," he admits.
"Bullshit."
He smiles, conceding, and braces his arms beside mine against the rail. "Sometimes I think it's all that matters, and sometimes I wish I was a dentist in Glenview."
"Dentists save lives too," I say. "In a boring, root-canal way."
For a moment, all I want is to keep prodding, but then I remember tomorrow, remember everything I'm about to lose, and the banter dies in my throat.
"What was the contract about? Earlier, you looked like you were negotiating global peace."
He glances at me, surprised. "McKelvin's got a new subsidiary for gene therapy. Wanted me to torpedo a distribution agreement." He shrugs, but it's tight. "Mostly, I'm here to tell him how to get away with it."
"And that required a yacht?"
His smile is almost sheepish. "Rich people like their toys. They pay extra for convenience."
"You get paid to drink champagne on boats?"
"Among other things." He stretches his arm along the rail, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the heat. "Last month I flew to Aspen at 4 AM because a client's son got arrested."
"Poor baby. Private jets must be such hardship."
"Commercial, actually. Coach. Middle seat."
"Now you're lying."
"Scout's honor." He holds up three fingers. "Even billionaire lawyers fly coach when it's last-minute."
We watch the shore drift by in silence.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"You've already been asking me things."
"Something real."
He turns to face me fully, and the intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. "Shoot."
"Why didn't you confront me? After I didn't show."
He doesn't answer right away. His eyes drop to my hand, white-knuckled on the rail, before meeting mine again. There's something raw there, quickly buried.
"Because I'm not your warden," he says. "I don't force anyone into anything. I'm not my father."
The confession drops between us like a lit match. I wonder what stories he's never told, what legacies he fears.
"What about now?" My voice comes out thick. "You're going to a lot of trouble for me with this case. This payment plan means spending more time together than necessary."
The silence stretches so long I can hear the hum of deck lights, the distant splash of the wake. Caleb searches my face, and I see him weighing what to say.
“I’ve spent years,” he says, voice barely louder than the wind, “fixing other peoples’ screw-ups.
Getting paid to be ruthless. Making sure everyone walks away thinking I don’t have a soul or a conscience, like it’s a superpower.
” He pauses, shifting beside me. “But when it comes to you, I don’t want to be the ruthless bastard.
I want to be the one who never lets you fall.
” His jaw flexes. “Even if I have to rip the world apart to do it.”
“Caleb.”
“If you still want out of this arrangement, you can say so now. I won’t chase.” His adam’s apple bobs. “I’ll still work your case. I’ll just do it pro bono.”
The words are nothing like what I expected. No threat, no seduction, no clever reroute. Just this frank offering, rawer than I’m prepared for.
“I’m not sure what I want,” I say, hating how my voice wobbles. “I just know I can’t do any of this if I think you hate me for what I did.”
He laughs, but it’s almost a cough. “If I hated you, you’d know. You’d feel it burning.”
I meet his eyes, and the moment expands until the city is just a smear of lights and the only thing in the world is this man and the truth buzzing in the air between us.
I want to say something clever, to swat away the heaviness, but he’s given me an honesty I haven’t earned and it holds me in place.
I reach for a joke, come up empty.
“My parents always said I’d end up with a lawyer,” I say. “They just thought he’d be my nemesis.”
“Who says I’m not?” It’s a whisper, but even with the wind I hear it.
April's voice carries up from below, breaking the spell. "Dinner, darlings! Before Leonard eats all the lobster!"
Caleb steps back, but his eyes hold mine. "Ready?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice," he says softly, and I know we're not talking about dinner anymore.