Chapter 22 Warren
TWENTY-TWO
Warren
The Torres file sits on the corner of my desk, thicker than it was a week ago.
The counter-notice bought her time, and yesterday the judge made it official: as long as Melissa pays rent on time, she and her son can stay in their apartment for the rest of the nine-month lease.
The landlord had to clean up the mold, fix the leak, and replace the broken lock after housing inspectors stepped in.
It’s not perfect. Black mold doesn’t vanish overnight, and she’s already on the waitlist for a more affordable complex. But she has breathing room. Stability. A chance to get through winter without packing up her life in garbage bags.
That’s a win.
I keep replaying the way Janie crouched beside Melissa, steadying her with a hand on her arm. We didn’t just push back against a predatory lease clause. We gave that family time.
And for one dangerous moment, I believed Janie and I could still be on the same side of something bigger than our mistakes.
I swirl the cold coffee in my mug, eyes skimming the stack of briefs without absorbing a word.
Last night drags me under again. Beckett’s weight in my arms as I carried him inside, the way his head tucked perfectly against my shoulder. Then I remember Janie bathed in the porch light, hesitant and quiet.
“Focus, Carter.” I straighten my tie for the third time this morning.
My phone beeps with another client message. I should answer. Instead, I scroll through the photos from the fair. Beckett on my shoulders, face sticky with cotton candy. Beckett mid-throw at the ring toss, tongue poking out in concentration.
None of Janie. Didn’t need any. I can see her without them, the wind tugging at her hair on the Ferris wheel, her eyes crinkling when Beckett won that ridiculous bear.
My fingers drum against the desktop. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was going to be in Beckett’s life, nothing more. Clean lines. Clear boundaries.
But Janie—
I shut my eyes, and regret it instantly. Firelight across her face, that look that says I matter.
“Shit.” I stand, pacing to the window. Palm Beach sprawls below, morning sun bouncing off chrome and glass.
The knot in my tie is choking me. I loosen it, then tighten it again. A lawyer controls the facts. The room. The outcome. But control’s slipping where she’s concerned.
Heat prickles under my collar, even with Kaley keeping the office cold enough to hang meat.
I shove the Torres file into my briefcase. I want to read it one more time, confirm it’s closed, tidy, done, but I need a break. I'll do it after the board meeting.
The CHG quarterly starts in an hour. Janie will be there, presenting outreach metrics, sitting across the table, polished and composed. No doubt, without even trying, she'll be daring me to forget how easily we could burn everything down.
The hospital conference room hums with low conversation as I slide into my seat, nodding briskly at Pope. My suit jacket buttons smoothly, professional armor locked in place. I arrange my leather portfolio at a perfect right angle to the table edge, a habit from years of courtroom precision.
"Carter, good of you to join us." Pope's voice carries just enough edge to remind everyone who runs the room. He's in town for the next few days, so I know I'll be coming here more than normal while he's here.
I ignore the bait. "Traffic on Ocean." A lie. I'd spent twenty minutes in my car, gathering the composure I'd need to sit across from her.
The voices fade as Pope calls the meeting to order. I keep my eyes on my notes, scribbling nonsense until—
“Next, our community outreach progress report. Ms. Harrelson?”
My head lifts before I can stop it.
Janie rises from her chair across the table, iPad in hand. The black sheath dress is perfectly professional, yet my mind betrays me, conjuring an image of it sliding off her shoulders, my palms spanning the curve of her waist. I shove the thought down, forcing my jaw tight.
“Thank you, Mr. Carrigan.”
Her voice is steady as she clicks through her first slides. Numbers and graphs bloom across the screen, but they blur into background noise while I track the way her hands move, precise and confident.
“Our outreach efforts have exceeded projections by seventeen percent. We’re still in the early stages, but the response so far has been strong, both in participation and community feedback.”
She’s magnificent. Commanding the room without effort, fielding board questions like she’s been doing this her whole life.
And I’m sitting here, every muscle coiled, fighting to remember this is supposed to be business.
It shouldn’t undo me, seeing her like this. I’ve felt her body arch beneath mine, tasted her breathless laugh against my mouth. Twice now, I’ve had her.
And still, watching her own this boardroom, I feel something else twist through me—an ache I don’t want, pride I don’t deserve.
She isn’t mine.
But God help me, I want her to be.
"Mr. Carter developed the legal framework that allowed us to expand services across county lines."
My name in her mouth snaps me back to attention. Our eyes connect for half a second before she smoothly continues her presentation.
My pulse hammers in my throat. Did anyone notice? Did Pope?
I force my gaze down to my notepad, where I've apparently been drawing tight spirals instead of taking notes. When I glance up, Pope's eyes narrow slightly in my direction before returning to Janie.
He knows. Of course he knows. The man misses nothing.
I straighten my shoulders and school my expression into professional interest, but it's too late. Something fundamental has shifted, and I can't stuff it back into its box.
The meeting concludes with handshakes and murmured congratulations. Board members file out while I deliberately take my time gathering papers, waiting until the room thins.
Thankfully, Pope is out of here, so I don't have to get cornered by him.
Janie lingers at the front, shutting down the presentation, her back to me.
Alone. Finally.
I hover near the conference table until the last board member exits, leaving Janie and me alone. Well, almost. Andrea from Accounting lingers at the doorway, chatting with Janie about weekend plans, their laughter echoing off the glass walls.
My fingers tighten around my portfolio. Wait or walk? This shouldn't be so complicated.
Andrea finally drifts away with a wave, and Janie turns, stepping closer. The faint scent of her citrusy perfume hits me before her words do.
I lean in, my voice dropping low enough that no one passing in the hallway could catch it. "You looked good up there. I know this was a big meeting with Pope in town, and I just wanted to let you know you killed it."
Her smile flickers. I can tell she's surprised, pleased, even. A softness spreads across her features before she pulls herself back. Her shoulders straighten as she shifts into business mode.
"Thank you." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Warren, I actually wanted to ask—" She glances at her watch. "I have this foundation dinner meeting tonight with Pope and a couple of potential donors. It's last minute, and I was wondering if you could—" Her words tumble faster.
"Ahh, tonight," I quickly run through my day. Do I have any late meetings? Anything I need to finish for a deadline?
"I can call my mom if you're busy, or there's a sitter Beckett likes from his school, so don't feel obligated—"
"I'll do it." The words leave my mouth before I can overthink them. If I have something, I'll have Kaley reschedule.
She blinks, mouth parting slightly. For a heartbeat, she looks at me with something unguarded. I'm relieved. I want to be someone she can count on. The weight of that look settles in my chest.
"Really?" Her voice softens.
"Of course." I nod once, decisive. "Text me the details."
"I was thinking y'all could hang out at my house. I have a casserole in the fridge, you could do your kicking, eat, and then put him to bed." She clutches her iPad tighter, like she's stopping herself from reaching out. "He'll be excited. He hasn't stopped talking about the festival."
My throat tightens. "Me neither. Your house works if you don't mind."
"Of course I don't. Thank you."
The moment stretches, fragile and charged with everything that's lying dormant between us. She breaks it first, glancing at her buzzing phone.
"I have to run. I'll text you everything."
I watch her walk away, heels clicking confidently down the hallway, and wonder what the hell I'm doing.
I shift anxiously on Janie's couch, eyes trained on the clock above the mantel. She said the foundation dinner would run until nine, and it's barely six-thirty. Why do I have so much nervous energy?
Beckett's footsteps thunder down the hallway before he skids into the living room, clutching a Lego box.
"Warren! Mom said we can build the castle tonight!"
His small hands clutch the box with reverence, eyes bright with excitement. He's wearing dinosaur pajama pants and a blue t-shirt, his hair still damp from his bath.
I clear my throat. "Did you put away our soccer stuff?"
Beckett's shoulders slump dramatically. "I will later."
"Tell you what." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "Go pick up the balls and put them in the shed. I'll get the net."
His face brightens instantly. "Okay. And then you promise we can do the Legos, then?"
"Cross my heart." I make the gesture, and he mirrors it with solemn importance.
We finish putting things away outside just as the final remnants of the short fall evening fade. We head back inside, and Beckett rips into the Lego box on the dining room table.
"Easy. You don't want the pieces to go everywhere."
He smiles and pulls out several clear bags of labeled Lego pieces. His small hands sort pieces with surprising efficiency.
"This is gonna be the main tower," Beckett explains, stacking blue blocks.
"Oh, okay. I can see it now."
"And here's where the knights sleep. And this part—" he waves toward an imaginary section "—is where the king lives."