Chapter 9
My stomach growls as Jay Lewis, the junior partner in charge of us, continues droning on about billable hours.
These meetings with the other first-year associates who selected an early start are fascinating—not.
These sessions are the worst part of my mornings, slotted just before lunch so I’m inevitably starving as I listen to a long speech about administrative procedures and firm practices that we already received in paper format on Monday.
Haley Jackson, who’s in the seat next to me, catches my eye and mouths, Ten minutes.
According to the main conference room’s clock, it’s twelve ten. This meeting was supposed to end at noon.
I huff a sigh under my breath. Haley smiles before refocusing on where Jay is standing at the head of the table.
Haley is pretty and single, so exactly my type.
Since we work together, it’ll never be more than banter and lingering glances.
I could come up with reasons why sleeping with a colleague is a bad idea all on my own, but Kit basically ensured it’s a line I will never ever cross.
It worked out for him, obviously, but I’m not a Kensington, working at Kensington Consolidated.
I was hired here because I’d graduated from the top of my class at Harvard Law, and I’m not stupid enough to wind up fired over a fling.
There’s a knock on the glass door. I exhale a sigh of relief, along with everyone else seated around the long conference table. Except for Jay, who frowns and checks his watch before walking over to speak to the interrupter.
“Parks,” he calls after a brief conversation. “You’re needed in reception.”
I frown, picking up my legal pad and pen before I stand.
I’m supposed to sit in on a deposition scheduled for two p.m., but opposing counsel wouldn’t show up this early.
The only person I can think of who might decide to randomly stop by the firm is my father.
At least he showed up here, not at my condo, so I can make up an excuse about a meeting.
Not even an excuse since Jay has picked up right where he left off.
My coworkers’ envious stares follow me out into the carpeted hallway.
I pull my phone out to skim message and email notifications as I approach the floor’s reception area. Kit, asking if I want to grab lunch next week. My meeting at four was canceled. A number I don’t have saved with a photo attachment. A spam—
“Flynn.”
I turn toward the row of chairs across from the elevators. Blink rapidly, glance around, then blink again.
Rory stands, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in her pencil skirt. It matches her pristine black blazer. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail; her makeup, if she’s wearing any, is subtle.
Her appearance couldn’t be more different from last weekend—barefoot, in pajamas—or more similar to every other time I’ve seen her, which is perfect.
I clear my throat, tucking the legal pad under my arm and my phone and pen in my pocket. Approach her slowly, unsure what the hell is happening.
“If you’re looking for a lawyer, I doubt you can afford my services.”
Rory doesn’t smile at the joke. She studies my face, then surveys my suit. Not the way Haley looked me over this morning—with interest—more like she’s memorizing what I’m wearing in case I go missing later.
“Can you talk?” she asks abruptly.
“Are words physically capable of exiting my mouth? Yes, as I’m demonstrating right now.”
She scoffs, reaching for the bag set in the chair next to the one she was seated in. It’s the one Wren gifted her at her graduation party, I realize, noticing the Sue Me stamped on one side. “Forget it. This was—I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I grab her arm as she starts to walk past me. Rory stiffens, so I quickly let go. But my hand hovers, waiting to stop her if she tries to leave again.
“Yeah, I can talk. Can buy you a coffee too.”
“Are you asking or offering?”
“Offering. Only one of us is a billionaire, and it’s not me, but I can afford that much.”
She glances around the fancy reception area before commenting, “You make twice as much as I do. At least.”
“Fine, you can order a large. Even add a flavor shot.”
“Incredibly generous, but I should go.”
I study her expression—poised and unreadable. I have no idea where the Manhattan Public Defender’s office is located, but it’s not on this block. She went out of her way to come here and request to see me.
“I’ll go with you. I was headed out to grab lunch anyway.” My stomach grumbles, conveniently on cue.
Rory hesitates, then nods.
I hold up my legal pad. “Gotta leave these notes. I’ll be right back.” I start to turn away, then glance back. “Unless … you want a tour?”
If I leave her in reception, I’m concerned she might not be here when I come back. She seems skittish, which is not a word I’d normally associate with Rory.
She looks surprised by the invitation. Her fingers flex on the strap of her bag before she says, “Sure.”
I sweep my arm out in a dramatic gesture, indicating she should walk first.
Most women would sway their hips or flip their hair, showing off certain assets. Rory strides past so fast that I have to hustle just to be a step behind her. Anyone observing us would surely think she was the one employed here and I was the guest.
“You don’t know where you’re going,” I call after her, although, so far, all she’s had to do is stay straight. Rory doesn’t slow her pace, so I add, “Left,” when she reaches the turn. I force my eyes to remain on the smooth strands of her ponytail rather than allow them to dip lower.
This hallway leads directly into the bullpen, so it isn’t much of a tour.
Rory pauses at the first cubicle, finally allowing me to pass her.
A handful of the other associates have wedding photos displayed on their desks.
One or two showcase sonograms. Most have pictures with significant others or parents or siblings.
There aren’t any frames on my desk. That’s never bothered me before, but now, trying to view the office through Rory’s eyes, it occurs to me that the space beside the computer appears rather empty.
“This is me,” I state, dropping the legal pad beside a stack of binders.
“Nice view,” she comments, glancing past the cubicles at the row of windows with a prime vantage of Manhattan’s iconic skyline.
“It’s a green screen actually.”
Her lips quirk, and there’s a burst of satisfaction that normally accompanies making an entire room laugh.
We start back the way we came.
“What is your off—”
Someone calls, “Flynn!” before I have a chance to finish the question.
I turn to see Jacob Patterson, a third-year associate, walking this way. He has one hand tucked into the pocket of his suit pants, a friendly smile fixed on his face.
“Any idea where Haley is?” he asks when he reaches us.
“I believe she’s still in a meeting,” I reply, quickly checking my watch. Twelve twenty—a new record for Jay. “Should be over soon. I’ll let her know you were looking for her if I see her.”
“Thanks, Flynn.” He might be talking to me, but Jake’s attention has drifted. He’s focused on Rory. “Hey, I’m Jake. Have we met before?”
She smiles as they shake hands, which annoys me for no reason. “Rory. I don’t think so. I don’t work here. I’m just visiting Flynn.”
“Oh. Oh, right.” Jake lets go of her hand, clearly making the incorrect assumption about our relationship.
The look he casts me is almost … envious, and I like that even less.
“Headed out to grab a quick lunch before the Hawkins depo,” I say, subtly letting Jake know we’re in a hurry.
“Enjoy.” He takes a step back, then snaps his fingers, refocusing on Rory. “You interned for Judge Randall, didn’t you?”
She nods. “Years ago. Back in college.”
Jake grins. “I thought so. I spent the summer after 1L in the DA’s office. Saw you in court a few times. Did you end up going to law school?”
“I did. I graduated in May.”
“From where?”
Her smile is modest. “Harvard.”
“Of course. That’s where you and Flynn met?” Jake glances over, finally including me in the conversation.
“Not exactly—”
“We already knew—”
Rory and I start, then stop simultaneously.
“He copied me,” she says. “I’d been talking about becoming a lawyer forever, and then he showed up in Cambridge too.”
“Copied is a strong word,” I state, attempting to hide my surprise that Rory is … teasing me? “But I was definitely influenced.” Just not by her.
I nod at Jake. “See you later.”
“Later, Flynn. Nice to meet you, Rory.”
“You too,” she replies.
We continue walking, in silence, as I attempt to shake off the weirdness of that conversation. I don’t know Jake very well, but he seems like a decent guy. His apparent interest in Rory is something I should be encouraging.
“I can give him your number, if you want.”
Rory glances over, twin lines appearing between her blue eyes. I’d never tell anyone, especially her, but that shade is one I compare other colors to.
“He thinks we’re dating,” she tells me.
“I’m aware,” I drawl. “But we’re not, so I’ll give him your number, if you want me to.”
“Does that mean you changed your mind about pretending? Is that why you didn’t mention it on Tuesday?”
I stop walking, right as a stream of other associates starts to exit the conference room. Several, including Haley, give us curious glances before heading in the opposite direction, back toward the bullpen.
I focus on Rory. “You mean …”
She reaches out and presses the down arrow next to the center elevator. “I mean the crazy suggestion you made on Friday night. Did you change your mind?”
“No.”
I still need a fake fiancée. And Rory being that fake fiancée is a best-case scenario. Not only because of what I already told my parents. I’ve known her since we were kids. There’s a degree of established familiarity that I don’t have with many people.
The elevator doors slide open, the lift empty.
“Where did you go this weekend?”
I lift an eyebrow as I jab at the Lobby button. “I didn’t realize us potentially pretending to be engaged required me providing a daily itinerary.”