14. Jackson #2
I consider deflection before choosing honesty. "My father's doctor is recommending a specialized procedure that insurance won't fully cover. If it helps with the ongoing chest pain, it's worth every penny, but?—"
"But it's a significant expense," she finishes, understanding immediately. "The junior counsel position would help with that."
I nod, discomfort crawling under my skin at discussing financial matters so directly. "The signing bonus alone would cover most of it. But Tarryn, this doesn't change?—"
“Hey,” she says softly, grabbing my hand again, “we’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” I say, hoping she’s right. But there’s a look in her eyes, an understanding that actually does settle the stress and doubt that has suddenly reared its ugly head.
Jealousy is an unfamiliar emotion—one I've rarely indulged and never welcomed. Yet watching Tarryn laugh with Daniel Everett, head of Blake Financial's litigation department, ignites something primal within me, a possessive heat that defies professional decorum or rational thought.
Her head tilts back slightly as she laughs at something Daniel says, exposing the elegant column of her neck in a way that sends blood rushing southward despite my attempts at control.
Her hand touches his arm briefly in a totally normal gesture, yet my body responds as if to direct threat, muscles tensing instinctively.
Christine materializes beside me at the coffee station, her voice pitched low for privacy while her eyes track my focus with predatory assessment. "Attractive pairing, don't you think? Miguel mentioned Daniel's been looking for someone with Tarryn's contract expertise for the Holloway case."
The implication—that Tarryn might be reassigned, moved to another department, separated from the Westfield account and, by extension, from daily contact with me—sends a jolt of alarm through my system. "Daniel should focus on his own department rather than poaching talent from others."
"Interesting choice of words. 'Poaching' suggests ownership." Christine stirs her coffee with precise movements, each turn of her spoon as deliberate as her strategy. "I actually suggested Tarryn might be perfect for his team. She has exactly the collaborative temperament his department values."
Before I can respond, Daniel says something that makes Tarryn laugh again, the sound carrying across the break room with painful familiarity. When she glances in my direction, her smile falters slightly, awareness passing between us.
"If you'll excuse me," I say to Christine, setting down my untouched coffee. "I have a client call in five minutes."
My office provides little sanctuary from my turbulent thoughts. And beneath it all runs the constant, pulsing awareness of Tarryn—her proximity in the adjacent office, the lingering scent of her perfume from when she leaned over my desk earlier, the memory of her confession in the speakeasy.
Because he wasn't you.
A knock interrupts my thoughts. Christine enters without waiting for a response. "I hope I'm not interrupting," she says, closing the door with deliberate slowness. "I wanted to discuss your presentation strategy for Westfield."
"I appreciate the offer, but I have my approach well in hand. Was there something specific you needed?"
She moves farther into my office, fingertips trailing along the edge of my desk. The predatory grace of her movements reminds me of a jungle cat sizing up potential prey.
"I couldn't help noticing your… connection with Tarryn seems to have deepened recently."
The direct approach surprises me—Christine typically favors innuendo over confrontation.
"Tarryn and I work well together professionally. Our different approaches complement each other."
"Please." She dismisses the explanation with a single word, her manicured hand slicing through the air. "I've been practicing law longer than you've been shaving, Jackson. I know the difference between professional synergy and whatever is happening between you two."
My expression remains neutral despite the internal alarms her statement triggers. "Is there a point to this conversation, Christine?"
"I'm concerned about office dynamics." She adjusts a pen on my desk, aligning it perfectly perpendicular to the edge. The precision of the movement carries its own quiet threat. "Particularly how they might affect certain… career trajectories."
"Miguel seems satisfied with our work product. I don't see the issue."
Her smile turns predatory, a shark scenting blood in water.
"The issue is that I'm aware of your relationship with Tarryn, and I'm concerned about how it might be perceived by the executive committee.
Office romances rarely end well for the parties involved—particularly female attorneys with promising futures. "
The thinly veiled threat hangs between us, its implications unmistakable. I feel my jaw tighten but force my voice to remain even. "Are you suggesting you would use personal information to influence professional evaluations? That seems ethically questionable at best."
She laughs softly, the sound carrying no warmth. "Actually, I'm here to offer you an opportunity."
"An opportunity," I repeat, instantly wary.
Christine leans forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Miguel is on his way out. The partners are looking to restructure leadership, and I'm positioning myself to take over his role."
The revelation hits like a physical blow. Miguel—our mentor, the steady presence who's guided both Tarryn and me since we arrived—being pushed out? And Christine gunning for his position? I struggle to keep shock from registering on my face.
"That seems… ambitious," I manage, carefully choosing my words.
Her eyes flash with something dangerous. "I've been passed over too many times, Jackson. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. The partners keep promising advancement that never materializes. I'm done waiting for what I deserve."
I make a noncommittal sound, mind racing through implications. Christine supervising both Tarryn and me would be a nightmare scenario.
"This is where you come in," she continues, studying my face with unsettling intensity.
"The partners value your opinion. You've made quite an impression in your short time here.
" Her voice drops lower, intimate in a way that makes my skin crawl.
"A word from you about my leadership capabilities would carry significant weight. "
The manipulation is so blatant it's almost laughable. Almost. "And in exchange?"
"I ensure you get the junior counsel position instead of Tarryn." She delivers the proposition with casual cruelty, as if offering to pick up coffee. "Your talent deserves recognition, Jackson. Why let personal entanglements hold you back?"
Heat rises from my collar, anger burning through my veins. Not just at the suggestion, but at how casually she assumes I'd sacrifice Tarryn for professional advancement.
"That's quite an offer," I say, my voice deceptively calm while rage builds beneath the surface.
She smiles, taking my response as encouragement. "I know talent when I see it. You and I could reshape this department together." Her fingertips brush my desk again, the gesture suddenly taking on a different, more intimate implication. "There are many forms of… productive partnership."
The suggestion ignites something fierce within me. Not just for myself, but for how she's attempting to use Tarryn as disposable collateral.
"Let me be perfectly clear, Christine," I say, each word precise as a scalpel.
"Whatever you think you know about my personal life is irrelevant to professional evaluations.
And if you attempt to use speculation or innuendo to influence firm decisions—or Miguel's position—I'll ensure the ethics committee understands exactly what kind of 'leadership' you're offering. "
Her expression hardens, the pleasant facade cracking to reveal the cold calculation beneath. "You're making a mistake, Jackson. I was offering you a professional courtesy."
"No, you were attempting blackmail and doing so rather clumsily." I move toward the door, opening it in clear dismissal. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have actual client work to complete."
She pauses at the threshold, voice dropped to ensure only I can hear. "She'll be collateral damage, you know. When personal matters become professional issues, women always suffer more severe consequences than men. Always."
The threat, specifically targeted toward Tarryn rather than me, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth long after Christine departs.
I sink into my chair, Christine's words spinning through my mind like toxin.
The desire to shelter Tarryn from this storm wars with my respect for her formidable capabilities.
If Christine is truly making a play for Miguel's position while simultaneously threatening Tarryn's career, we're facing a more dangerous adversary than I realized.
Tarryn's apartment door opens to reveal her in silk pajama shorts and an oversized Northwestern t-shirt—a glimpse of the private woman beneath the tailored suits and careful professionalism.
Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and the scent of something delicious wafts from the kitchen behind her.
"You're early," she says, stepping back to let me in. "I was just about to put dinner in the oven."
I drop my jacket and briefcase by the door, exhaustion from the day suddenly hitting me full force. "Sorry. Should I come back later?"
"Don't be ridiculous." She closes the door, then studies my face with the perceptive gaze that's always seen through my careful masks. "What's wrong?"
Instead of answering, I pull her against me, burying my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her.
Warm notes of vanilla hit my nose, mingling with the scene that’s just unmistakably…
Tarryn. Her arms wrap around my waist, body melting against mine in perfect alignment, offering wordless comfort.