29. Abigail
ABIGAIL
It’s first thing Monday morning, and the office is too bright for this conversation. Sunlight floods through the windows, bouncing off Neil’s glass desk. I have to squint just to look at him.
I told Will the meeting was in an hour. I knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He means well. I know he just wants to protect me but he doesn’t always know when to back off.
And this is my job. I don’t need my boyfriend stepping in like I can’t handle a meeting on my own. That’s just embarrassing.
Neil taps his pen against a yellow notepad, his expression unreadable.
“So,” he says, “you and Carter?”
“My relationship with Will is personal,” I say evenly. “It has nothing to do with work.”
“Nothing to do with the low settlement, then?” His thick eyebrows lift.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He taps the pen again. Three sharp beats. Then silence.
“I don’t want him coming here. I don’t want him at company events.”
“Okay,” I say. It’s not exactly fair, but I can live with it.
Neil sighs and glances toward the window, like he’s debating whether to say more. Then he leans forward.
“Off the record,” he says. “Carter’s not a good person. The things he’s done. The people he’s hurt.” He shakes his head slowly. “There’s not a moral bone in his body. Be careful.”
He means it. This isn’t about office politics or protocol. It’s personal. A real warning. Maybe even genuine concern.
I didn’t expect that.
He’s wrong, of course. He only sees the version of Will that shows up in a courtroom. He doesn’t see the man I know.
Still, I nod. I can tell he believes what he’s saying. And even if he’s wrong, I can respect the intent behind it.
Neil straightens, and just like that, the moment’s gone.
“Back to work,” he says.
On the way back to my office I text Will to tell him not to come. The meeting’s already over. With him, it’s always better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
The message is barely sent when my phone rings.
“What happened?” Will demands.
“I caught him in the hall. It wasn’t a big deal—” I start.
“Tell me everything.”
“Neil doesn’t want you at company events. That’s it.”
“Bastard. I’ll be there—”
“I just won’t go to them. Problem solved.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You’re alright?” There’s frustration behind the question. I sit in my chair and wince slightly.
“No.” I glance at the door and bite my lip. “I’m a little sore, actually.”
Last night, he got a little rough. I didn’t mind.
“I’ll kiss you better tonight,” he says.
Heat rises in my neck. There’s a mixer tonight, but I’m not going. I’m perfectly happy never attending another one again.
“And then,” he adds, “we need to start prepping you for meeting my mother.”
Right. That’s this weekend.
“If she’s anything like Henry, I think I’ll survive.”
“She’s worse. More direct.”
It’s hard to imagine anyone more direct than Henry, but I don’t say that. We hang up and I lean back in my chair.
Will loves me. I know that. But his mom’s opinion will still matter. No matter what he says, of course it will.
I don’t have much experience with moms. Growing up, it sometimes felt like I was the only person in the world without one. I mean, technically, I have one. But she was never around. Not in any way that mattered.
Some of my friends’ moms were great. They included me in things. Dinners, shopping trips, the occasional check-in. I was grateful, but it wasn’t the same. I was always a guest. Welcome, but not theirs. Not really part of it.
Judy’s mom lives interstate, but she still calls her almost every day. I’ve seen the way Judy’s face lights up when she picks up the phone. That happy smile. The softening in her voice. It makes something pull tight in my chest.
It’s not jealousy. Not exactly. But it’s close.
I used to roll my eyes at it. Pretend it was too much. Too dependent. That was easier than admitting I wanted it too. I told myself I didn’t need that kind of relationship. That I was fine on my own. But the truth is, I wish I knew what that kind of connection felt like.
I wake my computer. Grateful for the distraction of work.
The day drags. I make it through meetings, emails, and an awkward hallway run-in with Neil, but something feels off, like I haven’t quite caught up with myself. Everything has changed. It’s a good change, and I am happy, but I’m still finding my balance.
By the time Will shows up at my place that evening, I’m already in pajamas, face washed, hair pulled back in a messy bun. He doesn’t comment. He just kisses me on the forehead like he always does and settles beside me on the couch.
Now we’re curled up together, his laptop balanced on his knees, the screen flickering with images of silk, satin, and sequins. Dress after dress, each one more extravagant than the last. Delicate beading, sweeping trains, and price tags that make my stomach lurch.
“I thought you didn’t care what she thinks?” I ask, watching him scroll.
Will doesn’t look up. “I don’t,” he says. “But I care what she says. And I don’t want her using this as an excuse to tear you down.”
Tear me down? I don’t get it. She can’t be that awful. And I can’t wear these dresses.
“These are...” I pause. “These are art. The kind of thing Judy might pull off. Not me.”
“Fashion’s just her thing. She’ll respect you more if—” He stops mid-thought, like something just occurred to him. “Maybe I should ask Henry.” He reaches for his phone.
I place my hand over his before he can grab it. “I’m not dressing up in peacock feathers to impress your mom.”
Then I close the laptop, firm enough to make the point.
“I want her to like me, sure. But I want her to like me. Not some version I dress up just to impress her. If she wants to insult my clothes, fine.” I shrug.
Will leans back and rubs his face with both hands, letting out a heavy breath. “I can’t imagine anyone not liking you,” he says. “But she’s not like you.”
“Tell me about her?” I ask.
He pauses. “Her name is Silvia. She grew up here. Married my dad in her twenties. Her parents ran a shipping business—”
“Those are facts. I could find those myself. Tell me about her.” I give him a look.
He falls quiet.
“I don’t know her,” he says eventually. “Hardly see her.”
“Why?” I ask gently.
“She’s busy.” The word lands heavier than it should. “That company is all she cares about.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. And for a moment, I see it. The wound beneath the surface. The boy who lost his father and was left to grieve alone.
“I know you understand that,” he says quietly.
I nod, though the words catch in my throat. I do understand. I carry the same wound. But it is what it is, and I don’t like to talk about it.
I rest my head against his shoulder and let him feel that I’m here. That I understand. Then I shift the conversation.
“What makes you think she’ll be icy to me?” I ask.
He exhales through his nose. “Henry brought his ex to a few events. Mom called her a social-climbing airhead. Said it to her face.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Well, I’m going to wear what I want. I’ll be myself. And if she doesn’t like me,” I shrug, “that’s her problem.”
His thumb taps a slow rhythm against his thigh, the way it always does when something’s gnawing at him.
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed. That’s all.”
“I’ll be fine. Seems like half the women in this city hate me already. What’s one more?”
“No one hates you,” he says. “They’re just jealous.”
“Only because they want you,” I reply. “Can’t say I blame them.”
A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Still sore?”
I nod.
That grin widens into something more dangerous. “Sounds like I’ve got work to do.”
He pulls me off the couch, and before I can catch my breath, he leans down, lifts me over his shoulder, and carries me toward the bedroom.
Our laughter echoes down the hall.