Chapter 6
Chapter Six
W hen I see them, I do what any self-respecting, intelligent woman with a university degree and a black belt would do.
I hide under the desk.
Okay, so it’s a short-lived solution to a long-term problem, but I need to buy at least a few seconds to think before Kimo spots me. What’s the game plan? Do I pretend I don’t recognize him? Act like we’re old friends? Pull the fire alarm? No, I’m pretty sure that last one’s illegal if there’s not actually a fire, but the prison time might be worth it—surely Kimo’s case will be over by the time I get out...?
“Matilda?” I hear Barry’s worried voice, hovering somewhere above me. “Are you okay? Did you lose a contact or something?”
“Stop saying my name,” I whisper-hiss. “Don’t look at me. Act like I’m not here.”
There’s no time to determine if Barry is sharp enough to follow my instructions, because the next thing I hear is Jay’s smooth, confident voice, rapidly approaching my cubicle. “Barry Abrams. Let me introduce you to Kimo Kapono. Kimo, this is Barry, one of our attorneys who will be helping with your case. Barry went to UPenn and has worked with us for the past year. He’s going to be a real asset to the team.”
I’m convinced Jay must have a photographic memory. He always remembers every employee’s name and a shortlist of pertinent information about them, no matter how low on the ladder they are or how infrequently he’s interacted with them. Either that, or he spends his nights memorizing peoples’ faces and tidbits about them. Some people might find that latter prospect weird or creepy, but honestly, it’s what I would do if I were a partner at a prestigious firm like Eastman, Bergman even the thought of missing work for any reason, much less a pretend sickness, makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I haven’t missed a single day of work since I started here two years ago. But, desperate times, and all that.
“Matilda’s under the desk,” Barry blurts.
I roll my eyes so hard back in my head that I see stars. Barry, you idiot! I hiss at him internally.
But because even I have a filter in front of my boss and a client, what I say out loud instead is, “There’s my earring!” I rise awkwardly to my feet, smoothing down my dress shorts and drawing myself up to my full impressive height. In that moment, I decide on the game plan—no blushing, no stammering, no acting at all intimidated by this twist of events.
“Mr. Eastman, good to see you as always.” I summon the fortitude of my inner nun-turned-paralegal and coolly appraise my almost one-night stand who now happens to be my client.
He looks different today in his suit and tie, his hair pulled up in a loose bun. His suit looks like it’s well-made, and made specifically for his broad frame and height; the material is nice and it isn’t cut too small, but even so, it looks like he’s ready to burst out of it. Although his face is just as sunny and open as it was the night before, I can tell from his posture that he’s much more at home in the shorts and T-shirt I saw him wearing at the gym.
But I don’t let any of that show on my face, because as far as anyone knows, this is our first time meeting each other. Ever. I gaze at him evenly. “Mr. Kapono, a pleasure to meet you.”
I expect Kimo to play along. It’s in his best interest, too, not to let on that he was picking up a stranger in the gym last night—even if he did only work on my plumbing, and not in a dirty way.
Instead, his whole face lights up at the sight of me. “Ha, no way! Matilda Markov. That’s right, you said you were a paralegal. What are the odds?”
Jay looks back and forth between us, his impeccably handsome face creasing ever so slightly with confusion. I can tell he doesn’t like to be out of the loop. “The two of you know each other?”
“From the gym,” I answer smoothly, before Kimo can say anything that makes me look even worse than I already do in front of my boss. This man is clearly a loose cannon. “I had no idea you were the client,” I tell Kimo. I look at Jay, trying to convey to him with the sincerity of my big cobalt-blue eyes that I really did have no idea.
Jay rallies quickly. “Well, we care quite a bit about our employees’ health, so I’m glad to hear you’re taking advantage of that gym membership discount, Matilda.” He shakes my hand, still smiling but giving me a long, meaningful look. “Nice to see you, as always.”
I know that look. It’s a don’t fuck this up look. I’m usually on the giving end of that look, not the receiving end, but I recognize it well. I nod back at him, just a little, to show him he can trust me. After all, I’m his go-to paralegal whenever he’s in the office, and the one who basically keeps this place running, since everyone knows lawyers can’t be trusted to format a legal document to save their lives. “Thank you, Mr. Eastman.”
I let myself look back at Kimo, steeling myself a little. Based on our encounter last night, I’m not sure how well he reads social cues—if he’ll understand that I want to keep the nature of our almost-hookup quiet, or if he’ll be broadcasting to the whole boardroom that last night in a gym locker room, I offered to deflower an ex-priest before taking another stranger home with me. Bracing myself, I hold out my hand. “Mr. Kapono, I look forward to working with you on this case.”
Kimo just looks at me for one long, unnerving moment. “Hell, we’re sure to win, with a ballbuster like you on my side, Mattie.” He ignores my attempt to shake his hand and instead gives me a fist bump that turns into a quick side hug. I remain ramrod straight the entire time. How is this happening to me? How is this my life?
All things considered, it’s not the worst response in the entire world...even though no one in my entire life has ever called me Mattie, and even though he just called me a ballbuster in front of my boss.
Aware of Jay watching me closely, and Barry eagerly lapping up all the details of the exchange so he can chatter away like the little office gossip he is, I keep my face completely impassive as I motion us all toward the boardroom. “Shall we...?”
It isn’t until all three men are walking ahead of me that I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts. Shit. Just ahead of me, Kimo turns back around to give me a quick wink. Double shit.
Today’s going to be a very long day.
* * *
Fortunately I’m just one of many faces in the conference room, and nowhere near the top of the pecking order, so there’s no reason for me to draw any further notice once the meeting gets started. I’m just here to take notes while Jay and Kimo do all the talking. No reason to pay any attention to me whatsoever.
So why does Kimo keep looking over at me?
The first time I catch him watching me, I assume he’s just looking at everyone around the room in turn. But the second time, there’s a weird look on his face—almost like he’s waiting for some kind of reaction from me. Maybe he’s still hung up on last night? That doesn’t seem right, though, because when I catch him looking at me a third time, his face is sort of gleefully expectant, like he knows someone’s about to throw me a surprise party and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment but also he wants to see my face when they bring the cake in.
...At least that’s what I’m assuming happens at a surprise birthday party, based off what I’ve seen on television shows and observed in the wild. I’ve never been part of one, neither my own nor someone else’s. A sudden horrifying thought strikes me, and I dart my gaze over to Barry. Is this idiot throwing me a surprise party during a client meeting?
Fortunately, Barry’s expression is totally benign, and I know the man can’t act since he strong-armed me into attending his community theater performance of Fiddler on the Roof . (Truly, the worst three hours of my life. And once again, that’s coming from an orphan who grew up in the foster care system.) I frown, trying to focus on my notes, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Kimo watching me again.
He’s barely suppressing a grin, and quickly looks away once he realizes he’s been caught. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who caught him this time—Jay has noticed it, too, and he gives me a long, appraising look.
Even so, he doesn’t skip a beat with his next line of questioning. “So you maintain that your brother-in-law never showed any interest in having custody of the children until after you had obtained your money?”
Kimo’s smile fades at that, and he finally seems more focused on the client interview than on watching me. “He’s not my brother-in-law. He was my sister’s boyfriend, but they never got married. And yeah, he was fine with me and my māmā taking care of the kids until he realized they’d be getting an inheritance and living expenses. Suddenly he wants parental custody, go figure.”
I shift in my seat, hoping someone will ask what the children want out of this situation. It’s not my place to speak up in a client interview; Jay is running the show here. But obviously, as an orphan myself, I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder with this issue. No one ever asks what the kids think, while the grown-ups argue over the paperwork.
“Do you have any documentation of Pika turning down parental custody before you received your windfall, and/or from when he began showing an interest in custody proceedings? Text messages, emails, even social media messages would be helpful.”
Kimo sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’ll have to go back and check. Text messages have probably been deleted, but you never know, I guess.”
“I can have someone help you sort through that.” Jay glances down toward my end of the table, and I see the moment he decides, Not her, while looking at me. “Barry, set up a time to work with Kimo once the meeting is over.”
Barry beams at the attention. “Sure thing.”
Great. Just great. I’m positive that task would have gone to me if Kimo hadn’t been acting so weird at this meeting. I have a feeling Jay will tell me I’m off this case once Kimo leaves.
A flash across my phone screen draws my attention. I put my phone on mute for the meeting, but a silent notification pops up, telling me I have a new email. Normally I’d just ignore it, but the subject line distracts me: Congratulations on paying off your student loans !
What? I frown, certain this has to be some kind of spam or phishing. I’m nowhere near paying off my student loans. I’m looking at another decade, if not longer—thanks a lot, variable interest rates.
But when I glance at the notification again, I see the message appears to actually be from my lender. It’s probably some kind of promotion about how I can refinance? I try to put it out of my mind and focus on the interview, but I keep glancing over at the phone. It wouldn’t hurt to just check it, right? Sure, I’m in the middle of a meeting, but it will only take five seconds.
That settled, I open the email, waiting for the punchline of the joke where I had even half a moment’s hope that tens of thousands of dollars of debt has just vanished.
Instead, I am gobsmacked to find the message is exactly what it seemed from the notification:
Matilda Polina Markov, congratulations on paying off your student loans! As of 7/21/2023, your loans have been paid in full. Please keep a copy of this email for your records. To see the full breakdown, visit the EduBridge website and log in to your account .
Full on ignoring the meeting now, I open a new window to log in to my account. My jaw drops open as I see my loan balance is $0. Zero . Yesterday it was in the high five digits, and today—nothing. Almost like it was never there. Even the loan I cosigned with my sister Alina has been paid off in full. So make that hundreds of thousands of dollars , wiped completely clean.
The payment seems to have been made early this morning. Definitely not by me. Even if it’s some kind of autopayment error, I don’t have enough money in my bank account to cover the full amount—nowhere near that.
“Oh my God.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but immediately everyone’s attention is on me. Barry looks nervous that I’ve spoken out of turn; the other suits in the room look confused about who I am and why I’d ever be so bold as to speak when not spoken to in a client meeting; Jay looks surprised, like something like this has never happened to him before and he didn’t even factor it in as a possibility.
And Kimo...
Kimo is grinning like he just won the lottery. No, like I just won the lottery, after he put the winning ticket in my hands.
I have a strong suspicion that I know where this money came from. But...why? We had one random encounter last night. We didn’t even have sex! No foreplay, no blow job. We didn’t even kiss! And I know I have a good ass, but good enough for hundreds of thousands of dollars just for a brief glimpse of it? Even I’m not that arrogant.
What I am is suddenly debt-free. And about to be kicked off this case, if the now-resolved look on Jay Eastman’s face is anything to go by—if not out of a job altogether.
“My dog died,” I blurt. I vaguely remember seeing a picture of Jay with a golden retriever on his desk when I was first hired a couple years ago. Maybe he’ll be sympathetic. “He was...hit by an ice-cream truck. Then trampled by a high school marching band. There was a parade. The kids are obviously very traumatized.” Where is this coming from? Just shut up, Matilda! “I’m so sorry to interrupt, it just came as a bit of a surprise.”
Kimo covers his laugh with a cough, ducking his face to hide it. Fortunately for him, no one is paying attention to his reaction, since they’re all too busy staring at me. Jay once again looks completely thrown off his game, and I can tell it’s not a feeling he likes very much.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Markov. Do you need to excuse yourself?”
Translation: get the hell out of my meeting. I rise awkwardly to my feet, gathering my things. “Yes, that would probably be wise. Thank you. Sorry, again. Sorry.”
I hurry out of the room, but not before casting one quick glance back at Kimo. He is grinning at me, holding two thumbs up. Yep, either he paid off my student loans, or he’s an actual psychopath who hates dogs.
Either way, it’s obvious I’ve made a huge mistake.