5. Abigail
ABIGAIL
The stage lights scorch my eyes, and holding back tears feels like a battle.
Forget delivering a clear speech to a packed room—seems like every lawyer in Alton Hills is here tonight.
I push through the final lines, my heart pounding against my ribs, trying to make my voice sound natural, even though I’ve rehearsed this speech to exhaustion.
And the whole time, I’m painfully aware I look like a giant birthday cake in this pink skirt suit.
“…and that’s why, when we prioritize ethics, we create systems that are not only effective, but truly just. Thank you.”
Applause erupts. Relief and nausea crash over me in equal measure. It’s over. I did it.
My fingers fumble with the microphone just as Tina, the event coordinator, appears at stage right, hand outstretched. That’s when I remember. Judy’s foundation. For a moment, I think about running. Judy would forgive me, eventually.
Then I see her at the edge of the stage, watching me, hopeful. Tina reaches for the microphone, but I yank it back. The applause fades into a confused silence.
“Sorry. Just one more thing,” I say.
God, it’s silent now, and I swear someone turned up the lights.
“I’d also like to announce…” My voice cracks.
The quiet is so dense, I’m certain they can hear my pulse pounding in my ears.
“My dear friend and colleague, Judy Finch, has founded the Bold Justice Foundation. A nonprofit promoting color in law.” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
A few people in the front row glance at each other.
“...wearing color.”
The air turns thick as glue. I freeze, the microphone slick in my hand.
Tina steps in smoothly, taking the microphone. “Let’s give Judy a round of applause for this incredible initiative.” The clapping is scattered and hesitant. I slip offstage before it dies out completely.
Judy greets me with a tight smile. “That wasn’t the response I expected.”
“I should’ve rehearsed the announcement,” I say, my face burning. Before she can answer, I turn to Tina. She should be transitioning us to the mixer. Champagne, finger food, and a merciful exit. But that’s not what she’s saying.
“...a last-minute addition. Please welcome our very special guest, Will Carter of Carter and Ross.”
My stomach drops as the room erupts. Across the stage, Will cuts through the spotlight in a flawless gray suit.
He glances between Judy and me, offering a quick wink before effortlessly taking the microphone from Tina with a smooth charm.
The applause swells, but with one gesture from Will, it dies instantly.
“This is a little embarrassing,” Will begins, flashing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He pauses, letting the room hang on his words. “Because I’m here to talk about how an obsession with ethical illusions actually obstructs justice and creates systems that fail everyone equally.”
He can’t be serious.
My mind races. It would’ve taken two seconds to find out I was speaking tonight. So what’s his game?
With a muttered excuse to Judy, I slip away, circling behind the stage until I find Tina buried in her clipboard.
“When was this arranged?” I jerk my chin toward Will. She doesn’t look up.
He called this afternoon. Said he wanted to speak if there was time.” She shrugs. “After all the begging we’ve done to get him here, I wasn’t about to say no.” Finally, she glances at the stage and sighs. “Besides, who could say no to him?”
Me. The man’s average at best, aggressively so. He’d blend into a crowd if not for the thousand-dollar haircut and that suffocating aura of entitlement. Strip away the tailored suit and the prestigious last name, and he’d just be another forgettable face.
I retreat to Judy, arms crossed, as Will dismantles every argument I just made. There’s no way this is off-the-cuff. His rebuttals land like pre-loaded ammunition.
“…Ethics are subjective. Open to interpretation. What one person considers just, another sees as restrictive, even oppressive…”
“…Systemic bias doesn’t vanish just because we call something ‘ethical.’ Sometimes, that label just hides the cracks…”
“…Laws reflect their time. What’s moral today might be tyranny tomorrow…”
“…Ethics matter, but they can’t be the only compass. Justice needs flexibility. Pragmatism. Room to adapt…”
Will owns the stage like he was born on it.
He spoke for ten minutes, longer than my entire speech, and when he finally finishes, the room erupts.
People cheer and whistle as if they’ve just seen something revolutionary.
This was supposed to be my moment. Not that I really wanted it, but now I look like an idiot.
The worst part? I can’t even argue. Not because he’s right, but because he’s twisted the logic just enough to make it sound convincing.
“Any questions?” Will asks, smug as the applause dies down.
Oh, hell no. I’m not sticking around for this.
“I need a drink.”
Judy and I end up alone in the next room, the muffled impromptu Q&A buzzing through the wall. Not a single person followed us out. I drain my champagne in one go, the bubbles biting my throat.
“He did that to spite me,” I say, and then I tell her everything about our meeting yesterday.
Judy shakes her head. “He didn’t. He couldn’t have put that together last-minute.”
“He countered every point I made.”
“Or he recycled an old speech. And he didn’t counter you. He just framed things differently.”
Maybe. A few people drift in, and I force myself to drop it. I won’t let him ruin the rest of the night. Judy’s foundation needs donors, and that’s what matters right now.
About an hour later, Judy and I find a quiet corner near the bar. There’s been some interest in the foundation, though it’s hard to tell how much of it is genuine. My outfit draws glances. I do my best to ignore them.
No one’s mentioned my speech. Not a single word.
Neil didn’t bother to show, which is probably for the best. At least he didn’t witness Will destroying me up there. My shoulders sag, but I force a smile. I need to keep it together. If I let the embarrassment show, I might fall apart right here.
Tuning Will out is impossible. Earlier, the crowd around him was three people deep. Now it’s just a tight circle of women, hanging on his every word like being in his orbit is a privilege. And somehow, he seems to be drifting closer to us. Too close.
I turn my back to him.
“Should we go say hello?” Judy asks, leaning slightly to sneak a glance at him over my shoulder.
“Absolutely not.”
“Everyone else has,” she says, her voice light and just a little too breezy. Like she’s trying not to sound impressed, but failing miserably.
I narrow my eyes at her. She cannot be serious.
“He’s a lawyer, not a celebrity.”
Judy shrugs, but a telltale flush colors her cheeks. “Come on. He never shows up to these things.”
“So? He skips everything and suddenly it’s red carpet treatment when he decides to show his face?”
She folds her arms, clearly not letting this go.
“Even you have to admit he’s impressive. He’s tall. And very symmetrical.”
Symmetrical?
She opens her mouth to keep going, but I cut her off.
“He’s a cocky, smug—”
“Hi—Will Carter,” Judy says, her voice an octave higher as he steps up beside me. “I’m Judy—”
“Judy Finch. Founder of the Bold Justice Foundation.” Will’s voice drips with charm as he takes her hand. Judy beams, just like every woman who ends up in his gravitational pull.
“What color do you think would suit me best?”
She giggles. “Something muted. Maybe coral blue?”
“I’ll remember that.” He flashes a grin. “Mind if I steal Abigail for a moment?”
“Of course.” Judy looks over my shoulder. “Russ just got here.”
Will steps directly into my line of sight, leaving me no choice but to meet his eyes.
I hold the stare, steady, refusing to let him see how much he gets under my skin.
His eyes glint with smug satisfaction, that signature everyone-loves-me grin firmly in place.
Every muscle in my body tenses, my fingers tightening around my champagne glass.
But I say nothing. I let the silence stretch long enough to make him speak first.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come say hello,” he says, a soft tsk following the words. “You’re making me wait.”
The arrogance. As if I’d ever seek him out willingly.
“You made your point,” I say coolly. “Now leave me alone.”
“I have a question.”
His gaze drags down my body. Slow, deliberate and unapologetic.
“Why are you dressed like a marshmallow?”
“Goodbye—” I start to walk away, but he shifts, just enough to block me.
“Did you like my speech?”
“Your argument was weak. ‘Ethics are hard, so why bother?’ Real compelling. No wonder you had to lay on the charm.”
He smirks. “Glad you think I’m charming.”
I didn’t say that.
“While you were rehearsing until you were blue in the face, I improvised. I’ll run circles around you in court.”
There it is. I knew he came to prove a point. Pinnacle must have their boot on his neck if he’s going to these lengths. Good.
“You can run in circles while I run straight to a win.”
His smile sharpens. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”
“Neither do you.”
Our gazes lock again. I hold steady, refusing to blink. Refusing to let him see even a flicker of doubt. He doesn’t waver. His eyes are chocolate brown, hooded at the corners just enough to soften the intensity. Almost.
The moment stretches.
Then something shifts. His jaw loosens. His eyes flick downward, another slow sweep that makes my skin prickle.
I need to walk away. I just haven’t figured out how to do it without letting him see he’s tied a knot in my stomach.
So I don’t give myself time to think.
“Given your reputation,” I say, looking him over like he’s already disappointed me, “I expected more.”
I turn and walk away before he can respond.