16. The Cost of Wanting More
Chapter sixteen
The Cost of Wanting More
Maya
The celebration at the island's coffee shop was loud, joyful, and everything I'd hoped for.
Emily Russell bought a round of pastries for everyone.
The grocery store owners toasted with cappuccinos.
Tessa gave a dramatic reading of her notes from the courtroom, complete with theatrical gestures and spot-on impressions of the opposing lawyers.
"And then Ethan just drops the email chain like a bomb," Tessa said, her voice rising with excitement. "You should have seen their faces! Victoria Curtis looked like she'd swallowed a lemon. The judge was ready to hold them all in contempt. It was beautiful."
Everyone laughed, clapped, congratulated me on the victory.
But I kept looking at the door, waiting for Ethan to walk through it.
He'd texted twenty minutes ago saying he needed air, that he'd be there soon. But something about that message felt off. Too casual, too carefully worded.
"He's probably just processing," Tessa said quietly, appearing at my elbow with a fresh latte. "Big courtroom victory, lots of adrenaline, needs to decompress."
"Maybe." But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Richard Sterling sat at a corner table, nursing black coffee and reviewing something on his tablet. I excused myself from the celebration and slid into the seat across from him.
"That was incredible," I said. "What Ethan did in there. The way he presented the case, exposed the fraud, protected the bakery. I've never seen anything like it."
"Neither have I." Richard's expression was troubled. "What Ethan did today—disclosing those internal communications—that was brilliant legal strategy. It was also potentially disbarring."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"The emails he showed the judge, the ones proving the investment group manufactured your legal problems?
He took those when he was still employed by the firm, before you were officially his client.
That's theft of confidential information, Maya.
The crime-fraud exception he argued doesn't protect him because the timing is wrong. "
"But he was exposing fraud—"
"After the fact. With documents he shouldn't have had access to once he left the firm." Richard's voice was gentle but firm. "Marcus Campbell is going to file an ethics complaint. Probably already has. And the state bar doesn't care about good intentions. They care about following procedure."
I felt like I'd been punched. "He knew this would happen. He knew using those emails could cost him his license, and he did it anyway."
"To save your bakery. Yes." Richard studied me carefully. "That's what people do when they care about something more than their own career. They make sacrifices."
"But his law license—that's everything. His entire future, his livelihood, his identity. He threw it all away for a case that isn't even—" I stopped, the words catching in my throat. "I'm not worth that. I'm not worth him destroying his entire career."
"Aren't you?" Richard's gaze was steady. "Or maybe the question is: does Ethan think you are?"
I couldn't answer that. Couldn't process the implications of what Richard was telling me.
Ethan had sacrificed everything. Not because of the fake dating arrangement, not because of some misguided sense of guilt, but because he genuinely believed my bakery—my legacy, my choice, my future—was worth protecting at any cost.
Even the cost of his own career.
"I need to find him," I said, standing abruptly.
"He's probably at the waterfront," Richard said. "That's where I'd go."
I found Ethan exactly where Richard predicted—sitting on a bench overlooking the harbor, his posture defeated in a way I'd never seen before. Not the confident lawyer who commanded courtrooms. Not the careful professional who kept everything controlled and measured.
Just a man who'd given up everything and was trying to figure out what came next.
"Hey," I said, sitting beside him without asking permission.
"Hey." He didn't look at me, just kept staring at the water. "Sorry I missed the party. Wasn't really feeling celebratory."
"Richard told me. About the emails, about the timing, about what's going to happen." My voice came out quieter than I intended. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you warn me that using that evidence could cost you your license? I just thought it would make finding a job harder.”
“I didn’t tell you because it was the only way to win.
" He finally looked at me, and I saw exhaustion in those blue eyes.
"The fraud was real, Maya. The coordinated campaign against your bakery was documented.
But without those internal communications, it was just my word against theirs.
Circumstantial evidence that a cautious judge might dismiss.
I needed concrete proof, and those emails were it. "
"Even though using them meant destroying your career."
"Even though." He turned back to the water.
"Your grandfather gave me a second chance twenty years ago.
He taught me that building is better than destroying.
And I spent the last five years destroying things for profit, telling myself it was legal so it was okay.
Using those emails was my chance to finally build something that mattered. Even if it cost everything."
My throat tightened. "You should have told me. Let me make that choice with you. Let me decide if my bakery was worth your future."
"It's not your bakery, Maya. It's your legacy.
Your family's history. Five generations of building and growing something beautiful in a community that values tradition and connection.
That's worth protecting." He met my eyes again.
"And besides, it wasn't just about the bakery.
It was about becoming someone I could respect.
Someone who does the right thing even when it's hard.
Someone who builds instead of destroys."
"By destroying your own career?" The irony wasn't lost on me.
"By choosing what kind of destruction actually matters." A small, sad smile crossed his face. "I'd rather lose my law license doing the right thing than keep it by staying silent about fraud. At least this way, when I look in the mirror, I see someone worth being."
I wanted to argue, to tell him he was worth being regardless, that he didn't need to sacrifice his entire future to prove his integrity. But I saw the resolution in his expression, the peace that came from finally making a choice he could live with.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now Marcus files his ethics complaint. The state bar investigates. I probably get disbarred within six months." He shrugged, the gesture trying for casual and failing. "I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll become a barista. I've gotten pretty good at memorizing coffee orders."
"This isn't funny."
"I know." His voice cracked slightly. "But if I don't laugh, I'll probably fall apart, and I'm trying really hard to hold it together right now."
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. "You don't have to hold it together. Not with me."
"Yeah, I do." He squeezed my hand but didn't look at me.
"Because if I let myself feel everything I'm feeling right now—the fear, the regret, the certainty that I just destroyed my entire future—I won't be able to function.
And I need to function. I need to finish what I started, make sure the independent survey confirms the fraud, ensure your bakery is protected even after I'm gone. "
"After you're gone?" My heart kicked. "You're leaving?"
"Eventually. Yes." He finally looked at me, and I saw pain in his eyes.
"There's nothing for me here, Maya. No career, no prospects, no way to rebuild what I lost. I came back to Lopez Island for an assignment.
That assignment is over. It's time to figure out what comes next, and that probably means going somewhere I'm not a constant reminder of everything I destroyed. "
"You didn't destroy anything. You exposed fraud. You protected a business. You did the right thing—"
"At the wrong time, using the wrong methods, with the wrong ethical justification." He pulled his hand away gently. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. But the reality is I'm facing disbarment for theft of confidential information. That's not heroic. That's just... sad."
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down between us.
"The fake dating arrangement," I said finally. "It was supposed to be one week. Strictly professional. No real feelings."
"I remember the rules."
"We broke every single one."
"I know." His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Tessa says we're both terrible at pretending." I forced myself to say the next words, even though they terrified me. "She says we fell for each other and we're both too scared to admit it."
Ethan was quiet for so long I thought he wasn't going to respond. Then he asked, “Even if we did fall in love and we admitted it, what good does that do either of us?"
"I don't know." My voice shook. "But I fell for you, too.
Somewhere between the farmers market and the courthouse, between coffee deliveries and business plans, between watching you defend my credentials and seeing you sacrifice your career to protect what I've built.
I fell for you, Ethan. And I don't know what to do about it. "
He turned to face me, and I saw everything I was feeling reflected in his expression—fear, hope, certainty, doubt, all tangled together.
"Maya—" he started.
His phone rang. We both looked at the screen: Marcus Campbell.
"Don't answer it," I said.
"I have to." He answered, his voice carefully controlled. "Marcus."
I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but I watched Ethan's face shift from resigned to shocked to furious.
"You can't do that," he said. "That's not—" He paused, listening. "I don't care what your justification is. That's targeted harassment, and you know it."
Another pause.