25. Will
WILL
Islump at my desk, my head heavy in my hands. Court with Abigail is in two days, and for the first time in my career, I have no idea what to do.
I knew something was off. I’ve felt it for weeks. Brushed it aside. Made excuses. She’s just nervous, I told myself. That’s normal. But what’s not normal is how she jerks awake at night, like she’s being hunted. Or how she barely eats anymore.
Last night, I finally got her to say it out loud. But I already knew. I just didn’t want to know.
None of my options are good.
I could hand off the case and let someone else take it. But that would make me look like I’m backing down, weak and unprofessional. And the thought of another lawyer going after her? No. Absolutely not.
I could play it soft. Tank the case on purpose. That would mean humiliating myself in court, betraying a high-profile client, and torching years of credibility. Vince would never forgive me. And when Abigail and I go public, everyone would know I folded for her.
Besides, she’d never respect that. How could she?
So I can’t pass it off. I can’t pull my punches. And I sure as hell can’t tear her apart.
I sink deeper into my chair.
Abigail is the best thing in my life. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to play this exactly how I always do. But the thought of going up against her in court. No. I can’t pretend this is like any other case.
Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit. If I let this play out, she could win. Her case is solid. But that tremor in her voice? That’s not what confidence sounds like. If she were anyone else, I’d exploit it. I’d take it apart piece by piece.
I haven’t even drafted a real strategy yet.
I never do. I like the pressure. It sharpens me.
Still, I know where I’ll focus: doubt. Undermine the claim.
If I can’t get Donovan to admit his life isn’t as ruined as it seems, I’ll make the judge question whether the damages match the demand.
Chip away at the number until it’s a shadow of what they’re asking.
That’s what I do.
But doing my job means letting Abigail see all of that. The version of me I don’t want her to know. The one who plays to win.
She cares about her client. She really cares. Because she’s everything good in this world. And when I’m done dragging him, she’ll look at me like I’m everything that’s wrong with it.
I keep telling myself she’ll understand. That it’s just work. But that doesn’t make it easier. She’s going to see me. All of me.
There has to be another way. But if there isn’t. If it comes down to choosing?
It’s no contest. It never was. I’ll choose her.
Just like I already know I won’t ask her to sign a prenup. Let everyone call me a fool. I’ll be the happiest fool they’ve ever seen.
Then, like sunlight cracking through a storm, the answer comes to me.
I reach for my phone.
That afternoon, I’m in a better mood. It’s sorted. Done.
Then Henry walks into my office.
How he keeps convincing Martha to buzz him up—despite very clear instructions—is beyond me.
“Not now,” I say, already tired.
He ignores me, of course. Strolls in with that familiar air of entitlement and drops into the chair across from my desk, sprawling out like it belongs to him.
“She got a car out of you, then?” he says, tone light, like he’s commenting on the weather.
I look up, sharp. “How the hell do you—”
Then I stop. Of course. He knows Michael at the dealership.
“Had to be top of the line, right? Best of everything.” His voice stays breezy, but the accusation simmers just beneath. “Interesting.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. I’m not taking the bait. Not yet.
I lean back in my chair, watching him like I’m giving him space to either say something worth hearing or dig his own grave.
“What did I tell you?” he says finally.
“You don’t know her,” I reply. “And until you do, shut your mouth.”
“You’re blind right now. She’s already getting things out of you—”
“Like you’ve never bought Isla a gift.”
He scoffs. “Exactly my point.”
The difference is, Isla, his on-again-off-again girlfriend, is a whirlwind of chaos and selfies. A fame-chasing, drama-loving socialite who once stormed out of a brunch because the lighting was “career-threatening.” She’s everything Abigail isn’t. But I don’t say any of that.
He’s being a fool, but I know it’s coming from a protective place. So I offer him the last of my patience.
“Not every woman cares about that stuff.”
“Pull the other one. Name one.”
“Abigail.”
He stares. “What, she cast a spell on you or something? Love voodoo?”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“I talked to Mom,” he says. “She’s concerned.”
“Don’t drag Mom into this.”
Henry keeps talking. I stop listening. Eventually, I raise a hand to shut him up.
“One day, you’re going to meet someone who changes everything. And you’ll get it.”
He studies me for a beat too long.
“Fine. If you’re so sure.”
I am sure. More than I’ve ever been about anything. And I want him to see it.
I open the drawer beside me and gesture for him to come here.
He rises slowly, cautious now. Something shifts in his expression, like he’s bracing for a blow. But when he leans forward and sees what’s inside, his face twists. Surprise gives way to something harder.
“Jesus, you’re an idiot,” he mutters.