Chapter Seven
Lark
Morning light spilled through Wade's navy curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed as I gradually woke. My body felt languid, muscles pleasantly sore from the night before. The weight of Wade's arm across my waist anchored me to this moment—this unexpected sanctuary I'd stumbled into.
I turned carefully to face him, not wanting to wake him just yet.
Sleep had erased the laugh lines around his eyes, revealing a childlike vulnerability his waking self rarely showed.
Last night replayed in vivid flashes—his hands confident on my skin in his workshop, water cascading over us in the shower, the way our bodies had fit together as though they were made for each other.
What had begun as a calculated charade for the town's benefit—and a welcome distraction from my troubles—had transformed into something genuine. Something even more terrifying.
"Good morning beautiful," Wade murmured, his eyes still closed but a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I can practically hear you thinking."
A flush warmed my cheeks. "I wasn't—"
"Sure you weren't." One eye opened, blue and bright with mischief. His hand slid to my hip, drawing me closer. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in years," I admitted, the truth slipping out before I could filter it.
"Hmm. Me too." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then rolled from the bed with a stretch that rippled through the muscles of his back and shoulders. The sight made my mouth go dry. "How do you feel about pancakes?"
"Enthusiastically in favor," I replied, watching him pull on a pair of worn sweatpants that hung low on his hips. "I should check my messages first though."
"Take your time. I'll start the coffee."
As Wade padded barefoot into the hallway, I reached for my phone, expecting the usual barrage of client emails and meeting reminders. Instead, a single message stood out, turning my blood to ice water.
To: Lark Hayes From: James Keller Subject: Emergency Board Meeting - TOMORROW
Lark,
While your administrative leave was scheduled for two weeks, circumstances have accelerated our timeline. The board has called an emergency meeting for tomorrow, 11 AM CST, to make final determinations regarding both the Apex-Meridian breach and this year's partnership selections.
Your attendance is mandatory. Though the video conference option is available, I strongly advise returning to Chicago immediately. Andrew has presented additional evidence that requires your in-person response. The partnership committee is watching how you handle this crisis very closely.
I've supported your candidacy for years, Lark. Don't give them reason to doubt my judgment.
James Keller Managing Partner Keller & Benson LLP
I bolted upright, a cold sweat breaking across my skin. My fingers clenched the phone so tightly my knuckles bleached white against the screen. Of all days—the regatta and Theodore and Edna's wedding were today.
And all of this just as Wade had begun to matter in ways I hadn't anticipated.
I slipped into yesterday's clothes, mind cycling through scenarios.
If I left immediately, I could be back in Chicago by evening, prepared for tomorrow's meeting.
But that would mean abandoning Wade, missing the regatta we'd been practicing for, and disappearing from the wedding we'd been invited to attend.
Alternatively, I could stay for the regatta, then catch a late flight or participate virtually tomorrow. Neither option felt right. After years of unwavering focus on my career, the fact that I was even considering the second option was startling.
I remembered reaching out to Bailey Wilder yesterday after leaving the Artisan Market, before heading to Wade's for kayak decorating.
Rory's suggestion that Bailey might offer valuable perspective as someone who'd left corporate law had seemed worth exploring, and thankfully she'd agreed to meet me this morning ahead of the events.
I could use her advice now more than ever.
By the time I made my way to the kitchen, I'd arranged my features into something resembling composure.
Wade stood at the stove, flipping pancakes and whistling a tune contentedly.
Morning sun streamed through the windows, catching the auburn highlights in his hair.
The quiet domesticity of it all—coffee percolating, pancakes sizzling, Wade's soft humming—struck me like a physical blow.
This glimpse of an ordinary morning felt impossibly precious.
"Everything okay?" he asked, glancing up. "Your expression just went somewhere dark."
"Just work," I replied, manufacturing a smile. "Nothing that can't wait."
He studied me, his gaze more perceptive than I'd given him credit for but didn't press. "Blueberry or plain?"
"Blueberry, please." I moved to the coffeepot and poured the dark brew into two waiting mugs. "I need to run an errand before the regatta, by the way. I'll meet you at the dock?"
"Sure," he said, sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate. "Anything I can help with?"
His voice softened, the careful gentleness in his tone making my throat constrict. For a split second, I nearly confessed everything—the email waiting on my phone, the career ultimatum, the chaos of emotions I couldn't sort through.
"Just something I need to handle on my own," I said instead, accepting the plate he offered. "I won't be long."
We ate with minimal conversation. Occasionally our eyes would meet across the table, and what was there was both fragile and fraught.
When it was time to leave, Wade walked me to my car, pulling me into a tender embrace that felt almost possessive.
"See you soon," he murmured against my lips after a kiss that left me dizzy.
"Count on it," I replied, hoping I sounded more certain than I felt.
As I drove away, the image of him standing in his driveway, hands in pockets, watching until I turned the corner, stayed with me.
***
Wilder & Wilder Law occupied a charming, converted Victorian on a quiet side street.
Unlike the imposing glass towers of Chicago firms, this place looked inviting, with window boxes spilling summer blooms and a porch swing beside the entrance.
A discreet brass plaque confirmed I was in the right place.
Inside, the reception area continued the welcoming atmosphere—polished hardwood floors instead of cold marble, local artwork instead of intimidating abstract pieces, and a bowl of fresh fruit on a side table rather than corporate magazines.
The young receptionist showed me into Bailey's office immediately.
Bailey Wilder defied my expectations completely.
In my experience, women who left big firms for small-town practice usually did so because they couldn't handle the pressure.
But Bailey exuded confidence and sharp intelligence, her handshake firm, her gaze direct and assessing.
Her office told its own story—meticulously organized law books shared shelf space with family photos and handcrafted pottery, suggesting a life carefully balanced rather than surrendered.
"Rory had mentioned you might call," she said, gesturing to a chair across from her desk. "She didn't give details, just that you might need some professional perspective."
I settled into the chair, hesitating over how much to reveal.
"I'm in a complicated situation with my firm in Chicago," I began, choosing my words carefully.
"There was a breach of confidential information regarding a major merger I was handling.
Somehow my login credentials were associated with the access, though I had nothing to do with it. "
Bailey nodded, her expression revealing nothing. "And you've become the scapegoat."
It wasn't a question. "Apparently," I admitted. "I just received notice of an emergency board meeting tomorrow. The timing suggests decisions have already been made."
"Partnership track?" she asked.
My eyebrows rose. "Yes. How did you know?"
"Because that's when firms tend to play their dirtiest," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Politics is as much a factor as performance in these situations." She tapped her pen against her legal pad. "Who stands to benefit most from your removal?"
The directness of her question caught me off guard. "My main competition for the single partnership opening is another senior associate, Andrew Cavendish. He's the one who 'discovered' the breach."
"Quite the coincidence," Bailey remarked, arching an eyebrow. "Any allies in senior management?"
"I thought so. James Keller, the managing partner, has been my mentor since I joined the firm.
But lately..." I trailed off, unable to articulate the subtle shift I'd sensed.
"Sloane Rafferty, another senior associate who's close with several partners, has been unusually involved in the situation.
She's been calling repeatedly since I arrived in Wintervale. "
"Pay attention to that," Bailey advised. "Sometimes the people who appear most helpful are actually protecting other interests." She made a note on her legal pad. "You mentioned she's been calling. What's her angle?"
I frowned, considering. "Supposedly to keep me updated. She’s been a friend to me, but we’re really not that close."
"Someone in her position could potentially be involved if she wanted to," Bailey observed. "Though without more evidence, it would be premature to make accusations." She made a few notes. "I'd need to look into this more thoroughly if you decide to formally engage my services."
The suggestion that I might need to officially hire Bailey hadn't occurred to me, but it made sense. This situation was growing beyond what I could handle alone, even with my own legal expertise.
Bailey's expression softened, though her posture remained professional. "Perfection is an impossible standard, especially for women in our field. No matter how many hours you bill or clients you bring in, there's always someone looking for a reason why you don't belong at the table."