Chapter 6 Warren
SIX
Warren
The fluorescent glare on my laptop burns my eyes. Three motions to file, two petitions to draft, and a discovery request already a day late. Five hours straight at this desk and the headache has settled behind my eyes like a permanent tenant.
"Mr. Gregory’s ex-wife is attempting to relocate to Arizona with their daughter," I dictate. "Request emergency hearing to prevent removal from jurisdiction pending—"
A knock interrupts. Kaley stands in the doorway, cardigan sleeve riding up over the tattoos on her arm.
“You asked me to remind you about lunch with Mr. Carrigan. It’s eleven-thirty.”
"Thanks." I don't look up as I instinctively check the time on my watch to confirm.
"Also, the Jensen adoption papers came back. They need your signature before we can file."
I nod, gesturing to the corner of my desk. "Put them in my inbox on top. I'll sign before I leave."
She hesitates. "You haven't left this office since seven this morning. I'm glad you're getting out of here for a little while, anyway. I'm starting to worry you're going to develop a vitamin D deficiency."
"I'm fine."
"You know—."
"Kaley."
She lifts her hands, backing out. "Signing off."
"Thank you."
She places the papers down and retreats, closing the door softly behind her.
The quiet settles back in. Just me and the cases. The Wilsons' custody battle. The Moore guardianship petition. The Diaz siblings' placement review. Other people's families, other people's problems. Problems I can solve without getting tangled in my own mess.
I flip through the Jensen adoption file. A same-sex couple desperately wanting to make a five-year-old boy legally theirs forever. My chest tightens as I sign the paperwork.
This is why I do this, for these moments. Creating families for people who deserve them. Protecting children who need someone to fight for them.
I glance at the photo half-hidden behind my legal volumes. Blake and me at twenty-five, arms slung around each other's shoulders at some forgotten beach. Before everything got complicated.
Before Janie.
My phone vibrates. A text from Pope Carrigan.
Confirming our lunch at noon. I'm on a tight schedule, flying back to Charleston at four.
Good. Work. Structure. Purpose.
The owner of CHG is probably in town for only a few hours. He has his own family. Pope doesn’t waste words or time, and I've always appreciated that about him.
Heading out now. Business or pleasure?
His reply comes fast.
Both. One hour. Don’t be late.
Typical Pope. Dry as sandpaper.
I slip on my suit jacket, straighten my tie, and grab my keys. The Jensen file goes into my outbox as I walk out.
"I'm heading out," I call to Kaley as I pass her desk. "Back by two for the Ramirez consultation."
Outside, the Florida sun hits my face with familiar intensity. I purposefully picked a place within walking distance since I could use the exercise.
I check my watch again and quicken my pace toward the restaurant.
Flagler Steakhouse hums with the quiet conversations of Palm Beach's elite. White tablecloths, mahogany panels, waitstaff moving with practiced precision.
Pope Carrigan already occupies our corner table when I arrive, checking his watch as I approach.
“Carter.” Pope rises slightly, firm handshake, no smile. Just acknowledgment.
“Carrigan.” I match his brevity and take the chair across from him.
He doesn’t bother with the menu, just lifts a hand when the server appears. “Grilled salmon, steamed broccoli for me, please. And a club soda.” His gaze flicks to me. “Sorry, didn't mean to jump ahead. I already looked at the menu.”
I arch a brow. “Not a steak? Best steaks in Palm Beach.”
Pope’s mouth tightens, more smirk than smile. “Too much red meat will kill you. Somebody has to live long enough to keep this place running.”
“Guess I’ll take my chances,” I say, ordering a ribeye, medium rare.
As the server walks away, I lean back.
“So what’s the occasion? Don’t usually get graced with a Carrigan lunch invite.”
“I’m in town for the day, working through some things at the hospital. Wanted to talk to you about the board. Appreciate you making the time.”
“Believe me, I needed the excuse. My assistant says I’m starting to look like a vampire holed up in that office.”
“Probably too much red meat.”
We both chuckle at that. “Before we dive into work, how’s Lennon? And the baby?”
Something shifts in Pope’s expression, the faintest softening around his eyes. “Lennon's good. Middle school’s kicking his ass, but he’s holding his own. And Liesle isn't a baby anymore. She'll be five tomorrow.”
“Hard to believe they're already that old,” I say. “Five and Lennon must be twelve, right?”
“Thirteen next month.” Pope shakes his head, the edge of pride sneaking into his voice. “He’s taller than me already. Eats like a damn linebacker.”
I smile despite myself. “That's great, Pope. Glad to hear it.”
The moment passes. Pope’s focus sharpens again. “Now—about the board…”
"Of course. What's up?"
Pope doesn't waste time. "Remember when I said we might need you in the future for a community outreach initiative. Well, the future is now."
I take a sip of tea, watching him over the rim of my glass. When I put my glass down, I prepare myself for what he's about to propose.
"I'm listening."
"We're launching something new. Beyond the concierge care model." Pope leans forward, dropping his voice. "Free pediatric screenings. Mental health services for low-income families. My advisory board says we need real outreach that touches real people. We have the funds to do it."
Something stirs in my chest. The kind of work that made me choose family law instead of following the Carter path to corporate riches.
"You need legal oversight?"
"Possibly some of that. More than that, I need someone who understands both worlds. Someone with your connections in family services who can help us cut through red tape, but who also understands how the other half lives."
The dig at my family background isn't subtle. Pope knows my history.
"Do we have a plan, or is this still conceptual?"
"We just hired someone to see this through. She's a badass. Sharp as they come. She'll be the point person, and if you agree, you'll be the board chair for it."
I nod, curiosity piqued despite myself. "It sounds like something that would be a good outlet for me. I need something other than the courtroom."
"Fantastic. I know you guys have a quarterly board meeting on Friday. Plan on meeting with her to lay out an initial framework, and I'll leave it to you guys to decide on how to bring this to life."
Our food arrives. We eat efficiently, Pope checking his phone between bites. We drift back to family, and he catches me up on Sloane and the kids. It's amazing how quickly time flies.
The CHG Foundation boardroom is like every other boardroom I've ever been in: expensive, sterile, filled with the soft rustle of suits and the scent of ambition.
I slide into my usual seat, bracing for another mind-numbing presentation on quarterly metrics and projected growth.
Three seats down, Caleb Vance, Pope's number two, flips through papers, barely acknowledging the other board members filing in. The projector hums. Water glasses sweat onto polished coasters.
I check my watch. We've got two minutes until we start. I need to make sure to get back to the office for a meeting. Let's get this party started.
I uncap my pen, ready to make meaningless notes just to look engaged. The financial reports can wait until later, when I'm alone with my bottled water and my insomnia.
The door opens again. I don't look up immediately.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce our new Director of Community Health Initiatives."
Caleb’s voice snaps my attention to the front of the room.
My heart stops.
Janie Harrelson walks in.
The woman I left in a tangle of sheets five years ago. The one I swore I’d never touch again.
Her charcoal suit hugs curves I already know too well, curves that have only ripened with time. Her hair’s pulled back in a sleek bun, cheekbones sharper, confidence radiating from every step.
God, she's gorgeous.
The thought crashes through me before I can stop it. Her eyes sweep the room. She's confident, professional, and unflappable. Until they land on me.
Recognition flashes. Her step falters for a microsecond.
Christ, that night.
My pen cracks between my fingers. Ink bleeds onto my palm, black as the guilt flooding through me.
"Janie brings impressive credentials from Northwestern Memorial," Caleb continues, oblivious to the bomb he's just dropped in my chest. "She'll be spearheading our new initiative to expand pediatric care access in underserved communities in and around Palm Beach."
She smiles at the room. Not at me.
"Thank you, Mr. Vance." Her voice is steady, commanding. "I'm excited to bring my experience from Chicago to help CHG fulfill its commitment to community care."
I force myself to look down, using notebook paper to dry up some of the ink on my hand while she presents slides on community need assessments and implementation timelines. Every word lands with precision. Every board member leans forward with captivated attention.
What happened to the girl who stumbled over her valedictorian speech? Who blushed when attention turned her way?
Five years have transformed her into someone I both recognize and don't.
"Questions for Ms. Harrelson?" Caleb asks.
I keep my mouth shut, my eyes down.
"Excellent presentation," says someone to my right. "Ambitious scope."
Caleb stands. "Before we break, I want to announce committee assignments for the coming quarter."
I glance up despite myself. Janie's eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second. Then she looks away.
"Warren Carter will chair the board committee for the community initiative, working directly with Ms. Harrelson to establish operational frameworks and compliance protocols."