Chapter 7 #2
“My birthday month, and before you ask, it’s April 9th.
Now come on.” She doesn’t waste any time walking out of the conference room and towards another.
The photography setup occupies the largest conference room, and it’s transformed with lighting equipment and a minimalist backdrop.
Several associates mill around, most of them looking as though they’d rather be anywhere else.
Caleb spots us immediately, waving Minji over. “There’s our star attorney! We’ve got you scheduled right after William.”
“Wonderful.” Her tone suggests it’s anything but.
I hang back, observing the organized chaos.
The photographer, a lanky man with a beard and trendy glasses, directs William into various poses, each more awkward than the last. I still want to break his fucking jaw for not only calling me boy, but for disrespecting Minji.
I’m trying to get brownie points though, so I’ll need to be on my best behavior.
“Right arm a little higher, chin up, now give me serious but approachable,” the photographer instructs, his camera clicking rapidly.
“Perfect! That’s exactly what we need for July!
” William beams with self-importance as he steps away from the backdrop, straightening his tie.
He spots me and his smile falters slightly before he recovers.
“The writer’s still hanging around, I see,” he says to no one in particular, but loud enough for me to hear. I offer a friendly wave that seems to irritate him further. Small victories.
The photographer waves Minji forward. “Your turn. Let’s try for something softer this year—you’re our February spread.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “February? With all the hearts and cupids? Like the month of love?” She crosses her arms. “I handle divorces for a living. Couldn’t I be April instead?”
“April’s gone.” He adjusts his camera strap. “February suits you—trust me.”
She approaches the leather chair centered before a backdrop now transformed with pink and red hearts. The photographer’s assistant scatters heart-shaped confetti across the floor while arranging a plush teddy bear and heart-shaped balloons in the corner.
Minji perches on the edge of the chair like she’s sitting on broken glass. Her shoulders form a perfect horizontal line, jaw clenched. Nothing like the woman I knew years ago. The photographer circles her, his expression falling with each shot.
The photographer lowers his camera with a sigh. “Could you try to relax? Think of something pleasant.”
“Like winning a case?” Minji’s arms remain firmly crossed.
“More like a sunset beach. Or someone special.” He gestures vaguely. “Whatever naturally brings out your smile.”
Her gaze flickers to mine for just a heartbeat. Did she just…?
“We need to move on,” the photographer mutters after several failed shots. “This pose isn’t working.”
Caleb glances at his watch. “Minji, we’re behind schedule. Just soften up, please?”
The tension radiates from her—jaw clenched, shoulders rigid. I find myself stepping forward. “May I try something?” I ask them both.
“Why not?” The photographer steps back. “She might respond better to you.”
I approach slowly, holding Minji’s gaze. “The sooner you look lovestruck, the sooner this ends,” I whisper. “And I know that’s what you want.”
She clears her throat. “Perhaps you should model instead. You’re the romance expert.”
“Or,” I lean close enough that my breath warms her ear, “you could imagine Baron’s lips against yours, his hands making you forget everything but the way he makes you feel.”
I step back and catch her eyes widening, cheeks flushing. “That shade of pink suits you,” I whisper, moving aside.
Click, click—the camera fires rapidly. I watch her pulse flutter at her throat, and the faint parting of her lips makes my own breath hitch.
“Perfect!” the photographer exclaims. “Exactly what we needed. The camera loves this look on you.”
She blinks, as if remembering where she is, and her features slowly transform back to professionalism. But the photographer is already adjusting angles, trying to freeze the last traces of warmth in her eyes.
“Don’t move,” he instructs, circling her. “Whatever you’re thinking, just keep thinking it. Please.”
I see panic flash across her face—she realizes she’s been filmed looking like a woman utterly enchanted by whispered words, and that image will end up on calendars. Perfect.
“Maybe lean forward a bit,” the photographer suggests. “And Mr…” He glances at me.
“Singleton,” I offer.
“Mr. Singleton, stay right there. She’s responding beautifully to your presence. Whatever you said worked.”
Shit. Minji is going to rip me a new one later.
I look at Caleb. I’m not supposed to be here—yet he’s clearly thrilled. “Stay, Aaron. This is so much better.” He nods. “This will be the best calendar yet.”
Minji’s eyes find mine again, and I can see the internal struggle on her face. Yep, she’s going to yell at me later.
“How about a few with a genuine smile?” the photographer presses, oblivious to the crackling tension.
I step closer, voice low. “Think of that elderly couple you helped and how happy you were when you got their postcards. That will get you out of this chair faster.”
Her smile blooms, real and warm. The camera clicks immediately—I know that’s the shot they’ll use.
“Magnificent!” the photographer declares. “One more—look straight at the camera this time.”
Minji shifts her gaze away, but the warmth stays.
“And we’re done!” The photographer scrolls through his shots, grinning. “These are fantastic. Ms. Lee, you’re a natural when you let your guard down.”
She stands quickly. “Thank you.”
Caleb claps his hands together. “Excellent! Now, Thomas, you’re up next.”
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I ask as we walk towards the door.
“It was horrible. Didn’t I tell you not to say anything? Don’t answer that. Please remember you’re a shadow while you are in this office and shadows don’t speak.”
“I’m sorry about that, but I must say you looked breathtaking in there.”
She glances at me, then checks to make sure no one is within earshot. “This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
“What? That someone might see you as more than the formidable Minji Lee?”
“That you might blur the lines between professional and personal.” She stops walking, turning to face me directly. “Just because of that silly dinner.”
“A silly dinner you orchestrated.”
“Whatever. I agreed to let you shadow me, not whatever this is becoming.”
“This isn’t becoming anything—” Lord knows I want it to become something “—unless you want it to become something.” I wink.
“Of course not,” she rushes out.
“If you say so.” I chuckle. “I would love to stay and chat with you, but I’m meeting my brothers for an early dinner.”
“Brothers? Do you have two—never mind, enjoy your dinner.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I reply, turning to leave. I’m halfway down the hallway when her voice stops me.
“Aaron?”
I glance back, finding her still standing where I left her, one hand absently playing with the pendant around her neck.
“Thank you.” She pauses. “For earlier with William.”
“Anytime.”
I push through the door of Amy Ruth’s, and the restaurant swallows me whole—soul food aromas mingling with after-work chatter and clinking glasses.
Bodies pack the bar three-deep, ties loosened, amber drinks catching light from the fixtures overhead.
I weave between tables until I spot them: Grayson’s linebacker frame and Axel’s slicked-back hair, tucked beneath an old Harlem photograph.
Axel talks with his hands as always, his silver ring flashing with each movement, while Grayson just nods and plays with his drink.
They’re lost in their own world until I’m right there, my presence suddenly blocking their light.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Grayson announces, sliding over to make room.
“I just saw your ass a few days ago,” I remind him, settling into the booth.
“Yeah, but you haven’t seen me.” Axel grins, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“And whose fault is that?”
“Well, I’ve been busy, and we were supposed to have dinner a few nights ago, but you backed out,” Axel responds.
“Right, because owning a comic company is that stressful, and I had something important come up.”
“Hey, as a fellow creative, you should know it is.” Axel lifts an eyebrow at me. “Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m only teasing, don’t get sensitive. If anyone knows how stressful it is, it’s me. But nonetheless, I am happy you are able to find the free time to spend with us.”
“So, tell us how it is working with the TA. I’m dying to know if things have changed from the last time we spoke,” Grayson chimes in. “Did you get her to believe in happily ever after?”
“TA?” Axel asks.
“Remember back in college, Aaron was smitten with his TA for chem?”
“Wait, the Korean girl who practically lived in our dorm suite for two months and then ghosted you on Valentine’s weekend… that TA? She’s the attorney you are shadowing?”
“Damn.” Grayson chuckles. “Why did you have to bring up the ghosting? You know that shit killed him for three months until he met Vanessa.”
I’d protest, but Grayson is right. If anyone has a Ph.D. in my pathological need for closure, it’s him. “Yes, that one. She works at Parras Law now. She’s—” I stop, because for all my bravado, the word I want is still missing.
Axel cracks a wicked grin. “Bet you never thought she’d be on the other side of a glass table again, huh?”
The memory is so sharp I have to blink. I remember those late nights in Butler Library, the two of us in a study booth, her hand on my thigh and the low glow from her laptop painting her face in silver.
The way she’d go quiet for minutes at a time when she was thinking through a problem, then turn to me and deliver some devastating punchline about the periodic table or my lack of focus.
I remember her laugh, short and self-amused, only ever for herself.
“She doesn’t remember me,” I say, and the words are heavier out loud than I expect. “Not even a flicker.”
Axel’s grin turns into a scowl. “Nah, that’s bullshit. She knows exactly who you are. She’s just pretending. Women remember every scrap.”
“I’m serious. I even tried to jog her memory at dinner. Nothing.”
“Maybe that’s for the better, Ron.” Grayson leans back into the booth. “You can write your romance, get your research, and if she does remember, you can have your big finale at the end—like in that John Cusack movie where the two idiots chase each other all over the world.”
“Point is, you get a story either way,” Axel cuts in. “And isn’t that what matters for the book?”
Another round arrives. Grayson insists we toast ‘to old ghosts and new beginnings.’ It should sound corny, but tonight, with these two around me, it feels more like a prayer.
“Speaking of new beginnings, my company is throwing an event.” Axel clears his throat.
“A party of sorts for a new release coming out next month. You two are invited, of course. This event will be the talk of the comic world. I hired some lady named Sara Fletcher to throw this party, and for the amount of money I’m paying her, there better be talking paintbrushes. ”
“What?” I laugh, cutting into my waffle. “Setting the bar high, aren’t we?”
“For what I’m paying, hell yeah. Check this out, she even has a florist coming out to do some 3D wall and that alone is costing me nearly ten grand.
The florist better have a gold fucking thumb for what I’m paying.
” Axel groans. “But seriously, this launch is huge for us. The Midnight Warriors series will put Axel Comics on the map with the big players.”
“Look at you,” I say with genuine pride. “From sketching superheroes on napkins at the orphanage to running your own comic empire.”
“Hardly an empire,” he objects, but I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. “Just doing what I love.”
“Speaking of love,” Grayson interjects, never one to let a subject drop. He gets on my last damn nerve. “You should bring the TA.”
“Her name is Minji,” I correct him.
“Minji,” Grayson repeats, drawing out the syllables as if tasting them. “What a beautiful name. I think you should invite her to Axel’s party. You never know, maybe she’s into comic launch parties.”
“Something tells me she’d rather walk barefoot on burning Legos than go to a comic event.”
Axel leans in. “You know what women like? Surprises. Invite her. If you keep acting like a nervous undergrad, you’re going to write yourself into a corner.”
I shake my head. “You ever see what happens when you surprise a lawyer? I’m not trying to get sued, Axel.”
“Gray’s point still stands. Take the chance.” He flicks a glance toward Grayson for backup. “Besides, the whole city’s going to be there—artists, writers, that one guy from NPR with the mustache. Why not bring some elegance to the chaos?”
Grayson grins with all the subtlety of a battering ram. “You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I protest, but it sounds as flimsy as it feels.
“You’re seventy percent scared, twenty percent excited, and ten percent horny,” Grayson says. “Textbook Singleton.”
“Make that one hundred percent ready to throw this cornbread at your face.” I shake my head.
Axel reaches for the syrup and tops off his chicken and waffle mountain, slipping back into big brother mode.
“Look, if you want to win her over, start with something she actually cares about. Comic books, probably not. But hear me out. Maybe there’s a way to tie it back to her.
Make the invite strategic—like you’re bringing her as the expert legal advisor for your fictional villain. ”
I shake my head, but my mind’s already racing ahead, plotting a way to get Minji to this damn party. What’s the worst that could happen? Absolute humiliation? Been there, done that. I survived being ghosted by her once; I can brave a few rounds of rejection.
Chicken and waffles disappear between stories of us growing up—Axel’s desperate PlayStation blood donation scheme, Grayson’s spelling bee sabotage that evacuated the entire orphanage.
The Horizon Home for Boys gave us matching scars: those family visiting days when we’d wear our only good clothes, hair combed with water, practicing our smiles in the bathroom mirror.
Three boys nobody chose, watching other kids leave with new parents. But we chose each other instead. Black, Asian, and White—brothers without paperwork. Sitting here with them now, the knot in my chest from earlier unravels, replaced by that old electric current of belonging.
By the time the check comes, I know what I’ll do. I’ll invite her, make it strictly business, and provide an ironclad, easily ignorable out. That way, if she says yes, it’s not a risk; it’s just research. If she says no, I’ll chalk it up to being a responsible adult and never mention it again.