Chapter Twelve
Instead of slogging through a day packed with back-to-back meetings, Isabela spent the hours pacing the waiting area at Harborview Hospital.
Her nerves unraveled with each swing of the surgical unit’s doors.
Time had lost its meaning. Each new figure in scrubs made her breath hitch in hope, only for it to deflate when they turned in a different direction, never toward her.
Finally, by mid-afternoon, a doctor emerged with both relief and concern etched in his features. The good news was Marcus would make a full recovery. He had been wearing a helmet, which spared his head from trauma.
The bad news was a dislocated shoulder and multiple fractures, his tibia and fibula among them. After several grueling hours in surgery and half a dozen pins inserted to repair the damage, he was in recovery. But it would be a long road ahead.
Jasmine had already spoken with a detective. According to the report, several witnesses had remained at the scene. Marcus had been cycling to the office when a gray pickup truck slammed into him from behind. The driver fled.
Witnesses described a male wearing a hoodie. The vague description was hardly helpful. Still, the detective was optimistic. With traffic cameras and multiple onlookers, they were hopeful the vehicle would be identified and an arrest made soon.
Once Isabela knew Marcus was going to pull through, she excused herself. Jasmine was now surrounded by their two teenage daughters and extended family. Her presence felt more like an intrusion than comfort.
While her apartment would normally offer refuge, today it would only echo with thoughts of Marcus lying in a hospital bed, stitched and pinned together. So instead, she returned to the office.
It wasn’t where she wanted to be, but it was where she could focus. Or at least try. She needed to get something, anything, done to feel useful. Then she remembered her meeting with Chris.
For the first time all day, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He wasn’t her solace, she reminded herself. But still, the thought of seeing him steadied her in a way nothing else had.
It took a while to sort through the constant flow of coworkers checking on Marcus, but once Isabela sat down at her desk, she became a machine. She powered through her backlog of emails, each completed task a balm against the chaotic day. When Kelly knocked on her door at 4:29, she jumped.
“Sorry,” he winced. “Just wanted to let you know your four-thirty is here.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just a bit jittery tonight,” she admitted.
“Trust me, I get it.” Kelly looked exhausted. Heavy bags darkened his eyes. Today had been hard on everyone.
“Go home, Kel.”
“I’m fine staying,” he lied.
“No, you’re not. As your boss, I’m ordering you home. Drink a huge glass of wine and kiss Alexis for me, okay?”
“If you insist, boss. Do you need anything before I go?” he offered with a kind smile.
“No thanks. Just send Mr. Macklin back,” Isabela said.
“Will do. Don’t stay too late.” Kelly started to back out of the office.
“I won’t,” she promised.
He popped his head back inside the doorframe. “Text me if you hear anything new about Marcus.”
“Promise. Goodnight.” Isabela smiled.
“Night, Izzy.”
She smoothed her hair and reflexively reached for lip gloss before stopping herself. When Chris stepped into the room, her breath caught. He affected her on a visceral level. Something about him changed the air itself.
Wearing jeans and a perfectly fitted button-down, he gave her a sly smile. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Her voice betrayed her with a slight squeak, and she cleared her throat.
“That’s Kelly?” he asked, hitching a thumb over his shoulder.
“Yeah, why?” she asked.
“I’ve only emailed him. Just assumed your assistant was a woman.”
“Nope.” She braced herself.
Chris scratched his jaw. “You two seem ... close.”
“We work closely, yes. And we’re friends outside of work too.”
“I bet he loves that, Izzy.” She gave him a sharp look. “That’s what he said, ‘Izzy will see you now’.”
“That’s my nickname.” Isabela bristled, her thrill at seeing him quicky changing into annoyance. “He’s had a long day, we all have.”
“It’s not my business what you call each other in private,” Chris said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped. “If you’re insinuating something’s going on between me and Kelly, then believe me, the only thing he’s after in private are my abuelita’s recipes, which I don’t share.”
Chris smirked, “Oh. He’s gay.”
Isabela groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. “Do you wake up every morning and think, how can I embody every alpha male cliché imaginable?”
He looked genuinely confused.
“Kelly isn’t gay. He’s happily married. To a woman,” Isabela insisted.
Chris still looked skeptical, but he held up his hands in surrender. “Alright. I was wrong. My bad. I just figured if he wasn’t into you...”
Isabela lowered her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Exhaling heavily, she was suddenly aware of how exhausted she was.
“What’s wrong?” Chris’s tone shifted from teasing to concerned.
“It’s been an awful day,” she said, her voice breaking. “Marcus was in an accident this morning. It was bad.”
Chris moved without hesitation, rounding the desk and sitting on its corner. Then he reached for her hands. His callused thumbs stroked gently over her knuckles.
“I’m sorry, Isabela,” he said, and something about the way her name sounded in his voice nearly undid her.
For a moment, she let herself forget how inappropriate this was, a client comforting her. She just needed someone.
Isabela fought the quiver of her lip. “I thought he was going to die. I saw his wife and daughters in tears. They think it might have been deliberate.”
“Why would they think that?”
“There have been threats,” she admitted.
His eyes sharpened like a hawk locking on prey. “What kind of threats?”
She hesitated, but the way he pushed reminded her that this man was a detective and a good one. He offered a unique viewpoint that may help her get to the bottom of this.
“I shouldn’t be sharing this, but Marcus and I both got letters calling us ‘traitors.’ We also received pictures,” she said carefully.
Isabela hadn’t had a chance to talk to Marcus about her own threats, only finding out from Jasmine at the hospital.
Marcus and his wife had spoken with the police just the night before.
That was the mystery appointment her boss had been so eager to get to after the Torres meeting.
They had reported receiving a threating letter and a picture of their twin girls leaving high school.
“What was your picture of?” Chris asked.
She swallowed. “Me, entering my apartment.”
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Did you file a report?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “The detective at the hospital took my statement. He emailed the case number just before you got here.”
Without another word, Chris rose, the movement slow but certain, and reached for her hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers giving the gentlest tug until she found herself standing too.
Before she could think of anything to say, he folded her into him, closing the space between them as if it had never existed.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even think to protest. The moment his arms went around her, something in her chest loosened. She let herself sink into him, as her cheek pressed to the solid, unyielding wall of his chest.
His warmth seeped through her clothes, chasing away the chill that had been clinging to her skin since the parking garage this morning.
Every breath she took synced with his, steadying the erratic beat of her heart.
The frayed edges of her nerves began to knit back together in the quiet, wordless comfort of his hold.
For the first time all day, she felt tethered again. No longer adrift and alone.
“I’m sorry, Isabela,” he murmured into her hair, the sincerity in his voice piercing her like a needle through silk.
“It’s not your fault,” she replied, her voice barely audible.
But she was starting to wonder if it was. The timing matched. The targets were all related to his case. The nature of the threats fit. They’d begun not long after the firm took on Chris as a client. Was someone trying to make a statement?
His hand moved slowly up and down her back. The rhythm soothing and comforting in a way she didn’t know she needed until now. He said something else, low and unintelligible, but it didn’t even matter. That gravelly baritone was enough to silence the noise in her head.
Chris smelled like clean soap, faint cologne, and beneath that, something distinctly him. As his scent wrapped around her, it went straight to her head. It was as potent as a shot of whiskey, and she felt intoxicated.
Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, maybe the emotional whiplash, maybe just him, but something shifted. She leaned into him, her nose brushing against the exposed skin just beneath his collar, where his shirt gaped open. He smelled so damn good.
She didn’t mean to do it, didn’t even realize she had, until she nuzzled him again, her lips brushing the hollow of his throat. Her arms slid around his waist, clinging to the one thing in the world that felt solid right now.
Chris pulled back just enough to look at her, his breath mingling with her own. Something wild flickered in his eyes. Something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just desire; it was desperation, an ache, a question.
Then his hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones with startling tenderness. She rose on instinct, meeting his mouth with her own. The first brush of their lips was tentative, almost reverent. It lasted only a heartbeat.
Then, heat surged between them like a spark catching.
Their mouths fused, greedy and rough, as if they were starving for something only the other could give.
His hands slid from her face to her waist, gripping with purpose.
Then they moved lower, to her hips, anchoring her to him.
She let him. Welcomed it even. Craved it.
Her fingers threaded in his shirt, tugging him closer, needing the contact like air.
He groaned into her mouth, low and guttural, and it made her knees weaken.
She responded with a breathless whimper, clutching at him, molding her body to his.
There was no space between them now, just heat and urgency.
She had the faint realization that she didn’t want this to stop.
Especially when the hard length pressed against her stomach promised heaven.
A door slammed down the hall, shattering her lusty fog. She pushed at his chest, panicked. The office wasn’t even empty.
She tore away, gasping. “Oh my God. What are we doing?”
He looked like a man pulled from a dream. “Calm down, Izzy.”
“Isabela,” she snapped at him. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was totally inappropriate. I need to go. We need to reschedule.”
Ignoring the volcanic detonation that just occurred between them, he continued to hold her. She pushed on his chest again and he allowed her a step backward, still holding her upper arms in a steadying grip.
“Isabela, I understand if you want to leave. We can reschedule but it’s not safe at your apartment, can someone stay with you?”
“I’ll go to my parents’,” she said in a rush.
“Good.” He paused. “Is your car here?”
“Yes, in the garage.”
“Then let’s go. I’m walking you out,” Chris said.
She opened her mouth to argue.
“It’s not a request,” Chris said softly, but firmly.
Too emotionally drained to protest, she nodded.
After gathering her belongings, she locked up her office and led him down the quiet hall.
They walked in silence to the elevator, not speaking as they rode down to the garage.
Chris stayed close but didn’t touch her.
The entire time her lawyer mind battled against her human heart. How could she have done that?
At her car, he reached for her elbow again. “Listen...”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Isabela cut in. “I was overwhelmed. It was inappropriate. I should’ve cancelled the meeting.”
“Forget it,” he said, looking at the ground for a moment as if he needed to collect himself. “No apologies. Just be careful.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
He met her gaze. “Do that.”
Isabela slid into her car, hands trembling as they fumbled with the seatbelt. Her heart thundered as she turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. She pulled out of the parking space with the precision of muscle memory, because her mind was anywhere but here.
Only when she turned onto the main road, away from the parking garage, away from him, did the adrenaline begin to drain from her limbs. It left behind a kind of hollow ache in her chest, the echo of something seismic that had just rumbled between them.
She should have been horrified. Mortified, even. She was his attorney. He was her client. That kiss was a line drawn in fire and she hadn’t just crossed it, she’d sprinted over it like it didn’t even exist.
Instead, the recollection of his mouth on hers lingered. The way she had fit against him, like she belonged nowhere else. The way his hands had framed her face. The way he’d held her like she was something precious, like something he had wanted to consume.
She should have been reciting the rules, the ethics, the boundaries, the long list of reasons why this could never happen again. But instead, she clung to the memory. She didn’t want to forget.
Isabela wanted to give in, to let herself be pulled under by whatever was between them.
To get lost in him, even just for a night, and let the wreckage of the day slip away.
Because the pull wasn’t fleeting, it would still be there tomorrow, and the day after, and maybe even a year from now.
That realization might have been the most terrifying one of all.