15. Tarryn #2
"She's wrong about us," Jackson says, his voice dropping to that register that sends heat curling through my belly. "What's between us isn't something that diminishes you, Tarryn. It makes us both stronger."
My breath catches as his hand rises to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek in a touch so gentle it makes my heart ache.
The professional boundaries I've fought to maintain crumble under the weight of his gaze, his proximity, the undeniable pull between us that's only grown stronger with each attempt to deny it.
"Jackson," I whisper, his name both warning and invitation. "We can't…"
But my body contradicts my words, swaying toward him like a flower seeking sunlight. His eyes darken as they drop to my lips, his intention clear as he leans closer, closing the infinitesimal space between us.
"We can," he murmurs, his breath warm against my mouth. "We already are."
The moment stretches between us. My hands rise of their own accord to rest against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my palm, a perfect match to my own racing pulse. Just one more inch and our lips would meet, dissolving months of careful distance in a single moment of surrender.
The door swings open with deliberate slowness.
"Oh!" Christine's voice, pitched with false surprise, shatters the moment. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."
Jackson steps back instantly, but the knowing curve of Christine's smile makes it clear she's seen enough. Her gaze flicks between us, cataloging Jackson's darkened eyes, my flushed cheeks, the charged atmosphere that no amount of professional distance can disguise.
"Just finishing up some copies for tomorrow's presentation," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathless as I gather the papers with trembling fingers.
"How… dedicated," Christine replies, her smile sharpening. "Though I'm surprised it takes two senior attorneys to operate a copy machine."
Jackson's jaw tightens, but his voice remains steady. "I was just asking Tarryn about some revisions to the liability section."
"I'm sure you were." Christine's gaze settles on me, triumph gleaming in her eyes. "The partners' meeting has been moved up to three o'clock, Tarryn. Miguel specifically requested your presence."
My stomach drops. "I'll be there."
She lingers a moment longer, savoring her victory before turning to leave. "Oh, and Jackson? Miguel would like to see you in his office. Immediately.”
I wait until Jackson heads to Miguel’s office, giving myself precisely three minutes to gather my courage before following Christine to her office. When I enter, surprise briefly disrupts her calculated composure.
"Did you need something, Tarryn?" she asks, setting her portfolio on her desk.
I close her door, the soft click somehow sounding final. "Before you do whatever you're planning, I want to understand why you're so determined to destroy us."
The directness of my approach catches her off guard. For a moment, her mask slips, revealing something raw beneath the polished surface—pain, perhaps, or rage so ancient it's calcified into something harder.
"Destroy you?" She laughs, though the sound holds no humor.
"I’m trying to stop you from destroying yourself.
" She moves to her window, staring out at the Chicago skyline as if seeing something beyond the gleaming towers.
"This is about watching another promising career sacrificed on the altar of office romance. "
When she turns back to me, her expression has transformed.
The cool calculation is gone, replaced by something more honest, more wounded.
"You have no idea what it's like, do you?
To lose everything you've worked for because you made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong person at the wrong time. "
"David Richards," I say quietly.
Her eyes widen fractionally, the only indication of her surprise. "You've done your homework."
"I saw the photograph in your drawer," I admit. "You looked happy."
Something breaks in her expression—a hairline fracture in perfect porcelain. "I was," she says, the simple admission carrying the weight of years of regret. "We both were. Rising stars at Miller & Walsh, engaged to be married, partnership track ahead of us."
She turns back to the window, as if the memories are easier to face when not looking at me directly. "We were careful. Professional during office hours, discreet about our relationship. But careful isn't always enough."
"What happened?" I ask, though I can guess the outline.
"Senior partner worked late one night. Walked in on us in David's office." Her mouth twists bitterly. "Nothing even particularly scandalous—just a kiss, his hand in my hair. But that was enough."
She runs a perfectly manicured finger along the edge of her desk, the gesture somehow making her seem more human than I've ever seen her.
"The partners called it a 'character issue' in my review.
Said they were concerned about my judgment, my professional boundaries.
Meanwhile, David received a formal warning and made partner six months later. "
The familiar injustice of it tightens my chest. How many women have similar stories? How many careers derailed while their male counterparts flourished?
"I'm sorry that happened to you," I say, meaning it despite everything she's done.
Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "I don't want your pity, Tarryn. I want you to understand what you're risking." Her voice drops, becoming almost gentle. "I'm not your enemy. I'm what happens when women like us forget that in this world, we don't get to have everything."
The sadness in her voice strikes deeper than her previous threats ever could. Because part of me knows she's right—the world does judge women more harshly, does create impossible standards, does force us to make choices men rarely face.
"I know about you and Jackson," she continues, voice hardening. "But do you know he offered to support my bid for senior counsel when Miguel gets ousted if I'd overlook your… indiscretion?"
The accusation lands like a physical blow. "I don't believe you."
"Why wouldn't you? Men protect their interests first, Tarryn. Always." She moves closer, her expression almost sympathetic. "He gets the promotion, you get a few nights of passion, and when it falls apart—which it will—your reputation is the one that suffers."
My hands clench at my sides, anger surging through me. "You're lying. He already told me everything."
"Am I? Ask him about our conversation in his office last week." Her smile is tired now, resigned. "He's using you, just like David used me. The difference is I'm trying to save you from my mistakes."
"I'm done with your games," I say, finding strength in my rising fury. "I'm going to Miguel."
Christine's laugh is cold, brittle. "With what? Accusations about me trying to protect your career? Complaints that I caught you nearly kissing in the copy room?" She shakes her head. "Good luck. He'll never believe you over me."
She moves to the door, opening it with deliberate slowness. "This isn't over, Tarryn. When it all falls apart—and it will—don't say I didn't warn you. Now do us both a favor and get the hell out of my office."
I step out into the hallway as she slams the door behind me.
I remain standing there, my heart pounding against my ribs.
The confrontation didn't go as I'd planned.
Instead of exposing her manipulation, I find myself questioning everything—Jackson's motives, my own judgment, the possibility that Christine might be right about some things even as she's wrong about others.
My hands shake slightly as I pull out my phone, typing a message to Jackson.
Me: Need to see you tonight. My place after work. Important.
He responds immediately.
Jackson: Of course, I'll be there.
I stare at his reply, wondering if I've just made everything worse. Christine's poison has found its target, seeding doubt where certainty once grew. Tonight, I need answers—not just about Christine's claims, but about what we're really fighting for in this increasingly complicated game.
Is it the promotion? Our careers? Or something deeper, more fundamental, that's worth the risks we're taking? The question follows me back to my office, settling into my bones like a chill I can't quite shake.