Chapter 1 #2
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. “Neither do I. That’s why you’re here.” He gestured to the empty seat. “Sit. We’re just wrapping up a case briefing, but I wanted you to meet the litigation team before we discuss your first assignment.”
I sat, trying to look calm and professional while my brain screamed warnings. The door was still open. Mason could walk through it any second.
Patsy launched into introductions—names and faces I’d forget in ten minutes—and I nodded along, half-listening. One of the associates, a guy with too much gel in his hair and a Rolex that screamed trying too hard, leaned forward.
“Paul Cramer,” he said, extending a hand across the table. “Welcome aboard. It’s always good to have fresh blood.”
“Thanks.” His handshake was clammy.
“So, Stanford, huh?” Paul’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s impressive. I went to Georgetown. Excellent school, but Stanford’s obviously top-tier.”
“Both solid programs,” I said diplomatically.
“Oh, absolutely. Though I have to say, it’s interesting—you’re coming in as a senior associate, right? That’s quite a jump. Must’ve had some serious connections to land that.”
The room went silent.
Lisa, standing by the door, rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d fall out of her head.
Before I could respond, Carter cleared his throat. “Mr. Thatcher earned his position through merit, Cramer. His case record speaks for itself.”
Paul flushed. “Of course, sir. I didn’t mean—”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
The tension hung in the air like smoke. I was starting to get the picture: Paul was the office insecure overachiever, the type of guy who measured his worth in put-downs and Patek Philippe watches.
“Now then,” Patsy said brightly, smoothly redirecting the conversation, “we’re assigning you to a major case right out of the gate, Beau.
A merger between two pharmaceutical companies—lots of regulatory hurdles, lots of egos, and a tight deadline.
It’s a high-profile case, and we need our best people on it. ”
“Sounds challenging. I’m ready.”
“Good.” She glanced at Carter. “We’re pairing you with—”
Mason Price stepped into the conference room as if fate had summoned him. He had a leather portfolio tucked under one arm, his expression neutral and unreadable. His eyes swept the room—polite, professional—and then landed on me.
Time stopped.
For half a second, I saw it: the flicker of recognition, the shock, the something else I couldn’t name. His jaw tightened, and a slight flush crept up his neck.
Then, the mask slammed back into place.
“Apologies for the delay,” he said smoothly, his voice cool and controlled. “I was finishing a call with a client.”
“No problem, Mason,” Patsy said. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like you to meet Beau Thatcher, our newest senior associate. Beau, this is Mason Price.”
Mason’s gaze stayed locked on mine, and I felt the weight of fifteen years pressing down on us like a collapsed building.
“Mr. Thatcher,” he said, voice clipped.
“Mr. Price,” I replied, matching his tone.
The air in the room felt electric, like a storm was about to break.
Carter leaned back in his chair, oblivious—or pretending to be. “Mason, you’ll be working with Beau on the PharmaTech-MediCorp merger. I want both of you on this. Complementary skill sets, high stakes, the works.”
Mason’s eye twitched. “Of course.”
“Excellent,” Patsy said, beaming. “I have a feeling you two are going to make a formidable team.”
Formidable was one word for it. Combustible was another.
The meeting dragged on for another twenty minutes—case details, timelines, strategy. I absorbed maybe half of it. My brain was still preoccupied with the man sitting three chairs away; his posture was so rigid he seemed carved from marble.
Finally, mercifully, Patsy dismissed us. “Mason, why don’t you show Beau to his office and get him up to speed on the case files?”
Mason stood, his movements precise and controlled. “Of course.”
We filed out of the conference room in silence, the other associates scattering to their desks. Lisa shot me a look—half sympathy, half curiosity—as she disappeared down the hall.
And then it was just the two of us, standing in the corridor like gunslingers at high noon.
“Your office is this way,” Mason said curtly, then he spun on his heel and began walking.
We walked in silence, past frosted glass walls and offices filled with people who didn’t know they were witnessing the beginning of a wildfire. Mason’s stride was brisk, purposeful—like if he moved fast enough, he could outrun whatever the hell this was.
I kept pace easily, studying him from the corner of my eye.
Fifteen years had changed him in ways I hadn’t expected.
The boy who’d glared at me across a lacrosse field was gone, replaced by this polished, controlled man who looked like he’d ironed out every wrinkle in his personality along with his shirt.
But I could still see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth. He was furious. Or rattled. Maybe both.
Good.
He halted in front of an office door, and I nearly collided with him.
Up close, he was even more devastating—those blue eyes sharp enough to cut glass, that jaw tight with barely controlled tension. He’d filled out since high school, all lean muscle and coiled energy. A body that came from religious gym sessions and a punishing work schedule.
For half a second, neither of us spoke. Just stared at each other like we were trying to solve an equation that had no answer.
Then Mason’s expression hardened. “Let’s get something straight,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “What happened in high school? That stays in high school. We’re professionals now. Let’s act like it.”
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and gave him my best smile—the one that usually made people nervous. “Sure, Price. Whatever you say.”
“I’m serious, Thatcher.”
“So am I.”
For a moment, we just stared at each other, the air between us crackling with something I refused to name. Something that felt too much like the charge before lightning strikes.
“Let’s try to have a good working relationship,” Mason bit out, his voice clipped. “Case files are already on your desk. Read them, get familiar, and we’ll meet tomorrow morning at eight to strategize.”
“Can’t wait.”
His eye twitched. Just barely. “Try to be on time.”
“I’m always on time.”
“We’ll see.”
Price walked away, his footsteps sharp and precise against the polished floor, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding and a hollow feeling I couldn’t quite name.
I turned and pushed open the door to my office.
It was smaller than Mason’s but still impressive—floor-to-ceiling windows, a sleek desk, a view of the city that would’ve been breathtaking if I could focus on anything other than the memory of the look on Mason’s face as he limped off the lacrosse field.
I sank into my chair and stared at the case files stacked neatly on my desk, but the words blurred together.
Closing my eyes, I saw him again—seventeen, defiant, being helped to the sideline while his team celebrated around him.
I’d stood there frozen, stick still in my hand, watching him go and hating myself for the sick twist in my gut that was half guilt, and half something I didn’t have a name for.
The rivalry had burned hot from the moment we first faced off freshman year—two cocky teenagers who recognized something threatening in each other.
Every spring for four years, it was the same story: Collegiate versus St. Christopher’s, Price versus Thatcher. We’d circle each other on that field like wolves, every game a battle of wills that went beyond scores and championships.
Mason played with precision and control; I played with fire and instinct.
The local papers ate it up, calling us “Richmond’s fiercest prep school rivalry” like we were gladiators instead of kids with trust funds and lacrosse sticks.
And I’d loved it—loved having someone who matched my intensity, who pushed me to be better, meaner, sharper.
I’d wanted to destroy him on the field. And now, fifteen years later, here we were—not opponents on opposite sides of a field, but colleagues expected to work together.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
* * *
I didn’t see Mason again until late afternoon.
I’d spent the day buried in case files—contracts, regulatory filings, endless emails between corporate lawyers who wrote like they were getting paid by the syllable.
The PharmaTech-MediCorp merger was a beast: two massive pharmaceutical companies trying to combine forces while navigating a minefield of antitrust laws, FDA regulations, and shareholders with competing interests.
It was exactly the type of high-stakes chaos I lived for.
Around five o’clock, there was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called, not looking up from the brief I was annotating.
The door opened. I knew it was him before I even saw him—something about the way the air shifted, like the temperature dropped a few degrees.
“We need to talk,” Mason said.
I set down my pen and leaned back in my chair. “I’m listening.”
He closed the door behind him, and suddenly the office felt about ten sizes smaller.
He stayed near the door, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Even annoyed and bristling with tension, he was unfairly good-looking—all sharp angles and controlled tension.
Mason probably looked perfect even first thing in the morning, which seemed deeply unfair given what an asshole he was.
“This is going to be a problem,” he said.
“What is?”
“Us. Working together.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why? You got something against teamwork, Price?”
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp. “Don’t pretend this is normal.”
“What do you want me to say?” I stood, rounding the desk to lean against it, closer to him now. “That I haven’t thought about you in fifteen years? That seeing you didn’t make me want to—”
I stopped myself. Punch you in your perfect face had been what I was going to say, but standing this close to him, watching the way his throat worked when he swallowed, I wasn’t entirely sure that’s what I wanted to do.
His jaw clenched. “Finish your sentence, Thatcher.”
“Forget it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you talk a big game, but you don’t actually want to deal with any of this.” He gestured sharply between us.
I took a step closer, closing more of the distance. He didn’t back away, but something flickered in his eyes—wariness, maybe, or something else entirely. “I’ve thought about you,” I breathed. “More than I probably should have. Do you ever think about me, Mason?”
For just a second, his mask slipped. I saw something raw there, something hungry and angry and buried so deep he probably thought it was gone. His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, then snapped back up.
Then it was back: the control, the ice.
“We’re not doing this,” he said, his voice rough.
“Doing what?”
“Whatever this is.”
“This,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse was doing something stupid, “is two adults who happen to have a history. We can handle it.”
“Can we?”
“I can. Can you?”
He stared at me, and I could see the war happening behind those blue eyes—the part of him that wanted to walk away, and the part that wanted to stay and fight.
Or maybe do something else entirely. Finally, he exhaled and took a deliberate step back, putting space between us like he needed the distance to breathe.
“We have a job to do. A case to win. That’s all that matters. ”
“Agreed.”
“Good.”
He turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob. For a hot guy, he was one hell of a prick—all that perfect control and rigid professionalism like he’d forgotten he was human somewhere along the way.
“Mason,” I said.
He paused, but didn’t turn around.
“For what it’s worth,” I said quietly, “I’m sorry. About the injury. I never meant—”
“Whatever.”
Then he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
I waited until his footsteps faded, then let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
“Holy shit.” I sat down behind my desk and shook my head.
This was going to be a spectacular, inevitable, and beautifully catastrophic disaster.
But this was a great job with the number one law firm in Virginia.
My parents would kill me if I fucked this up, and I didn’t move all the way back home just to torpedo my career.
Could I somehow move past our teenage rivalry and actually work with Mason?