Chapter 23
Jemma
Jemma didn’t know whether to be incredulous, annoyed or flattered. Her romantic history wasn’t extensive, but that had been by choice. She’d never doubted her attractiveness, nor her ability.
Yet Hamish had stayed on top of the covers.
It was made worse by the fact that he had, with her permission, stripped to his boxers. Tradie boxers. Black, tight, and not the least bit unappealing.
Judging by his deep, regular breathing, he’d managed to sleep.
She, on the other hand, could have counted each of the rhythmic breaths he’d taken.
Fortunately, they’d stayed up chatting over their glasses of water as though they were a good Scotch until 4 am, so she’d only had to pretend to be asleep for a couple of hours before she could sneak out to take a long shower.
She was rinsing their glasses from the previous night when Hamish emerged from the shower, fully dressed now. He held up the toothbrush she’d given him.
‘Chuck it?’
‘Why don’t you leave it here? In case you need it again sometime.’ God, where was her self-respect? She needed to go for a run, drum it into her brain that he’d rejected her. ‘Having survived the night, thanks to you, I’m heading to the beach.’
‘Because that’s what everyone does on a winter morning.’
‘Best time—I’ll have the place to myself. I know you’re not into running, but I’ll buy you a coffee.’ So much for her head-clearing solitude. ‘There’s a kiosk on the front. You know, for the lazy folk.’
Hamish glanced at his phone, probably checking his other social engagements. ‘I’m in if you promise we can walk, not run. I’m fully embracing my year off footy training.’
Her heart kicked at the unexpectedness of his acceptance. ‘Settle on a fast stroll … ?’
‘Deal.’
She picked up her car keys, dangling them from one finger. ‘First we have to walk back to where I left the car last night.’
Hamish shook his head and sighed. ‘Booze and parties. The sordid life of our elite legal profession.’
For once she didn’t appreciate the niche exclusivity of her lifestyle. ‘Yeah, it gets a bit that way.’
‘I would have thought the Adelaide legal scene would be chill compared to, say, Sydney?’ Hamish double-checked the door as they left the apartment but Jemma didn’t feel a need to scan her surroundings. There was something to be said for having a muscular bodyguard shadowing her footsteps.
‘I suppose it’s quieter in some ways,’ she said. ‘But alcohol is the lubricant of choice for the system, so the drinking and networking culture is still prevalent.’
Just enough sun peeked through the clouds to defrost the edges of the crisp morning. She darted across the road.
Hamish joined her on the median strip, grabbing her hand. ‘You have a death wish? That was literally the only car in sight.’
‘You wanted me to wait for it?’
‘I doubt waiting is something you have much experience with.’
‘Sounds like a great way to waste a life.’
‘Or perhaps how to enjoy a life,’ Hamish suggested. ‘You admitted last night that you like the slower pace of the country.’
‘Yeah, for a holiday. But you can’t spend your whole life like that. There’d be no incentive to strive and achieve.’ Relieved to see her car was where she’d left it, she beeped it unlocked.
‘I find the need to make a living is something of a motivator,’ Hamish said dryly. He folded himself into her car. ‘Besides, where’s the incentive in being stressed as, having some loony after you, and not feeling safe in your own space—’
‘Well, obviously that’s not usually part of the job,’ she snapped.
‘I get that. But last night, you were telling me all about cases you’ve argued, and how important it is that you win, for you personally, not just the client. So it kind of sounds like maybe it’s not so much that you want to achieve as you’re scared to risk failure.’
‘Risk is simply due to a lack of planning: and I don’t plan to fail.’ She stamped the brakes at the lights. Failure meant ridicule and she was never opening herself up to that again. ‘I’ve accomplished everything I’ve set out to do. Making partner is the pinnacle.’
‘And then what?’
‘When I make partner? I continue to work.’
‘Nothing actually changes?’
‘My pay rate. My title.’
‘So nothing material. Where’s the challenge in that?’
‘In my field—not to be confused with your paddocks’—she was determined to keep the conversation, the entanglement, the relationship, light—‘every day is a challenge. You continually have to prove your worth.’ She glanced sideways and caught Hamish frowning.
‘That sounds exhausting,’ he said quietly. ‘Like you’re always performing, always waiting for someone to pull the rug out.’
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. ‘It’s not about performance. It’s about being sharp. Staying ahead. If you slip, someone else takes your place.’
‘That’s not ambition, Jemma. That’s fear.’
She didn’t answer—couldn’t. Not when his words landed too close to truths she didn’t want to admit. Damn, this was why Kain had been such a good choice; it never would have occurred to him to question her. ‘Are you seriously lecturing me on a career you know nothing about?’
‘Hell, no.’ Hamish sounded surprised. ‘You’re the one who brought up the need to achieve and I’m trying to work out whether that’s what drives you, or if you’re operating to survive, rather than thrive.’
She huffed in exasperation. ‘This is a high-pressure job. It’s that expectation, that stress, that keeps me sharp. Without it, what’s the motivation to get a job done?’
‘Pride. Self-satisfaction.’
She squinted, then flipped up the rear-view mirror as the climbing sun ignited the glass. ‘Those can’t exist without competition to measure them against.’
‘Of course they can. You said yourself you’ve ticked off almost everything you set out to do. That means your goals were internal. Personal. Not a contest.’
‘You’re wrong,’ she said flatly, even as his words sparked something uncomfortable inside her. ‘My wins are always against someone: a competitor for the job, the opposing barrister, whoever. Success has a benchmark.’
He shook his head, undeterred. ‘Isn’t happiness the true measure of success? Feeling proud about what you’ve done or achieved because it was right, not because you’ve outperformed someone else?’ He reached forward to close the vents as the car filled with exhaust fumes.
She bit back the urge to point out that his view was too simplistic. ‘Having a career is about being so successful that no one can ever judge you.’ Again. ‘Not about something as transitory as happiness.’
‘But can’t that job feed your soul, too?
Take mine: it’s not just about the farm or the workshop.
It’s about being part of the community too.
You saw with Tracey’s backyard, heaps of people turned up to help.
To work. Same happens if someone runs into strife on their farm. Or like when my mum was … sick.’
She’d noticed last night how that loss still pained him.
‘No one in Settlers is just a nameless face,’ he continued, ‘everyone—well, most people—cares. And that’s what gives life meaning and passion: the chance to make a difference for people you actually give a damn about. And then you’re happy, which to me is success.’
‘But I do make a difference,’ she shot back. ‘Society can’t operate without law and consequences.’
‘True. But you said Gerard has you defending cases whether you believe in them or not. So, when you win them—which I’ve no doubt is regularly—do you get to witness the difference you’ve made?
Is there something tangible at the end of your day, something that makes you feel good?
Or is the job purely about scoring points? ’
Considering the type of clients she sometimes represented, perhaps she wouldn’t care to witness the difference she’d made to the community. ‘It’s definitely all about the points,’ she said. ‘There is no world in which winning doesn’t equate to success.’
‘I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one,’ Hamish said, somehow managing to sound not the least annoyed.
Normally she’d be confident in and proud of her dispassionate focus, yet Hamish’s easy certainty raised questions that she didn’t care to unpack right then.
‘You’re a bit introspection-heavy for this early—!
’ A jolt of clarity interrupted her words, clearing her confusion like the heady scent of eucalyptus after rain.
‘Huh,’ she grunted, surprised into temporary ineloquence.
‘I guess I kind of understand what you mean. I’m doing some pro bono work in Settlers and it does feel …
different.’ Jemma wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or appalled at the revelation.
‘Maybe it’s because I care about making sure everything works out for the clients, not just about getting a result on paper. ’
To his credit, Hamish didn’t even look smug. ‘Could you do more of this pro bono stuff for other people, not just Evie and Paul?’
‘Hey, I never gave my clients’ names!’
Hamish grinned. ‘Small town. Get used to it. But can you do more of that kind of stuff, if that’s what fills your cup?’
She snorted. ‘Gerard would just love that. We do our seventy-five hours free and not a minute more.’
‘Have you ever considered working somewhere else?’
‘No!’ she blurted, as though Gerard would somehow sense the disloyalty that had been lurking in the back of her mind for a few weeks.
Hamish frowned at the front window. ‘You said you can practise as both solicitor and barrister?’
‘Gold star.’
‘Ego and rating both noted.’
She huffed a laugh—the kind that seemed to come easily when Hamish was around. ‘I was awarding the star to you for your listening skills.’
‘Fair. But obviously I need to work on my comprehension, because I don’t get why you’d stick with a job that you’re not crazy about.’ He twisted to face her. ‘Life’s long—at least, if we’re lucky. You’re not locked into the firm forever, right?’