19. Aaron
AARON
Minji and I hit the reset button on us and my face is sore from smiling.
Yesterday marked the end of my shadowing period at her firm, and I already miss the familiar routine.
Being in her world again—whether at the office or stretched out on her couch—makes the decade apart feel insignificant.
We’ve fallen into a rhythm I recognize from years ago.
Back then, we were working on schoolwork, but now I’m working on my manuscript as she reviews case files, her favorite true-crime podcasts playing softly, her lips silently mouthing legal arguments to herself.
I’m back at the firm today with no real reason to be. My brothers would roast me mercilessly for this level of eagerness. This morning, I played it cool, kissed her goodbye, and promised to call tonight, only to find myself in my car heading straight to her office two hours later.
Rosalyn’s eyebrows shoot up when I stroll through reception. “Aaron? Wasn’t yesterday your last day?”
I flash Rosalyn my disarming smile. “Just making sure I didn’t leave anything behind.
” I walk past her desk before she can ask anything else.
The urge to head straight for Minji’s office pulses through me, but that would be a rookie mistake.
With Minji, eagerness sparks retreat; indifference breeds suspicion.
I settle in neutral territory—the conference room—and open my manuscript.
My deadline is looming: six weeks until final submission, a book tour starting next week, and my publicist breathing down my neck for three newsletter chapters by tomorrow.
I glance at my phone and review my tour itinerary.
Chicago is the first destination, followed by Minneapolis, Seattle, and Dallas…
The cities merge into one another, each one distancing me more from New York.
And from her. Could I ask her to visit me on the weekend?
Would she even consider it? That could be pushing it.
A gentle tap at the door draws my attention. Minji appears at the threshold in her tailored charcoal suit. The crisp white collar of her blouse frames her neck perfectly, concealing evidence of last night that only I know is beneath the fabric.
“Eleven o’clock fell through,” she announces, slipping inside and sealing us off from the office beyond. “So, what brings you to the office? I thought you said you had to go to your publisher’s company today.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“We left each other less than three hours ago,” she says as she takes the seat beside me rather than across from me. This is a first, and I’m loving it. “But you did bring your laptop, so was there something you needed? Be honest.”
“Well, now that you asked. I would like for you to review this mediation chapter.” I turn my laptop slightly so she can see the screen. I don’t really need help, but I still need to keep up appearances. She leans close, reading a few paragraphs before letting out a scoff.
“You’ve captured the legal complexities well, but I think you’re still romanticizing the process.” Her voice shifts into lecture mode. “Custody battles are rarely resolved neatly, even when both parties want what’s best for the child.”
“What if we compromise?” I suggest leaning slightly closer. “The legal battle stays messy and realistic, but we show growth in how the characters handle it?”
She considers this, her hand touches the M pendant around her neck, and her head tilts slightly. “That could work,” she admits, tapping her pen against her legal pad. “Though I’d still caution against making it too…” She pauses, searching for the right word.
“Optimistic? Hopeful? Romantic?” I offer, unable to resist teasing her.
Her lips quirk upward. “I was going to say unrealistic.”
“Heaven forbid we allow a little hope into the legal process.” I lean closer under the pretense of looking at the notes. The subtle scent of her perfume, fruity and floral, that I now associate with the curve of her neck, makes it challenging to maintain my professional demeanor.
“Hope is fine,” she whispers. “False expectations are cruel.”
“Noted. So, we keep the process realistic but allow the characters to find their way to something better than where they started.”
She seems relieved that I didn’t press. “Exactly.”
Our fingers brush as we both reach for the same document, and I feel her pause, the brief contact sending electricity through my veins. Her eyes meet mine. “Aaron…” she begins.
The conference room door doesn’t creak, doesn’t give a warning, doesn’t even politely pause; it slams open, bouncing off its own stopper with a thud, and in walks William. He’s already halfway through a complaint to someone—maybe himself—before he’s even in the room.
I’ve never seen a man make it his mission to wear the ugliest fucking bow ties in the world.
Today’s is neon fuchsia with crimson ducks, and its absurdity is so absolute that I suspect it’s a deliberate act of self-sabotage, but no, I heard him talking about his collection a few days ago with such pride.
Each to their own.
Minji jerks back as if electrocuted, her hand yanking from where our fingers had just grazed. Her entire body cycles through three distinct emotional gears: embarrassment, annoyance, and then, with a click, the icy efficiency of her professional mask.
“Minji, have you seen the Nunez depositions?” he asks, performing one of those exaggerated double-takes to make clear he’s clocked my presence. His eyes flick to me and then back to Minji. I watch the math happen behind his eyes: one plus one equals a situation to exploit.
She doesn’t so much as blink. “Did you check the shared drive? They were uploaded yesterday at nine.”
“You don’t have to be rude every time we speak.” He huffs.
“I’d rather we didn’t speak at all. Yet, you won’t quit.” She rolls her eyes.
I straighten up in my seat, ready to go on the attack if William says something out of line to Minji again. The last time, I didn’t break his jaw, but this time I fucking will.
“I need the Nunez depositions for court tomorrow,” William says, his tone deliberately softened as he addresses Minji again. “The ones from the husband’s business partner.”
Minji’s fingers tap once against the table. “The shared drive, William. Same place as yesterday. And the day before. Though if you’d prefer to return my caseloads, I’m happy to take them back. The way you’re handling them is…” She pauses, selecting her words carefully, “Concerning.”
William’s eye twitches; it’s obvious he wants to say more, but his eyes drift to the small gap between our chairs. “You know, it’s interesting how much time you two have been spending together lately.”
“It’s called shadowing, William. It’s research.” Minji sighs. I can hear the annoyance in her voice. “Some of us actually prepare thoroughly for our work, so they don’t look incompetent to others.”
William’s jaw muscle pulses beneath his skin. I shift my weight, ready to step in, and this time, Minji won’t be able to stop me if this dickhead gets disrespectful again.
“I’ve been fortunate that Ms. Lee has been so generous with her expertise,” I chime in. “My readers appreciate authenticity, and Minji’s insights have been invaluable.”
William’s eyes narrow, his lips curve into something that resembles a smile only in the technical sense. “Yes, I’m sure she’s been very—.”
“Was there anything else you needed?” She stands.
“No. That’s all.” He turns to leave but pauses at the door. “Oh, by the way, the partners’ dinner is tomorrow night. Eight o’clock at Le Ami. I can pick you up, and we can drive there together.”
“I’d rather you not know where I live. I can get myself there.” She rolls her eyes in annoyance.
“You moved? I thought you loved that apartment in Washington Heights.”
“William, I moved out two weeks after you did.”
His eyes nearly pop out of his sockets. “Hold on. Minji, what about my golf clubs?”
“Do you really think I kept anything of yours when we broke up?” She lets out a laugh of disbelief.
“Hell, I didn’t keep anything of mine. Whatever was in that apartment, besides the things I had before you came into my life, stayed there when I broke the lease.
All the furniture… everything. I wanted nothing to do with you and I still don’t. ”
“Are you crazy? Those golf clubs cost me thousands of dollars.”
“Then you should have taken them when you left. Why did you think I was going to hold on to anything pertaining to you? If I did keep the apartment, did you think I would keep your things there?”
“Because… Fucking hell, Minji. Those were my good golf clubs. You gotta be kidding.”
“No, I don’t think she was kidding,” I interject, standing up and positioning myself in front of Minji.
She may not want this, but I’m getting sick of this shit with him.
Exes who never get the fucking hint are pathetic.
Especially when he was the one who cheated on her.
“This conversation is done. You’re interrupting us. ”
“She can speak for herself. This has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m aware she can speak. But what I’m telling you is that this conversation is done. So, you can either walk out of that door on your own accord or have the paramedics roll you out.” I tilt my head. “You choose, and you have five seconds before I choose for you.”
“Are you going to allow him to speak to me like that, Minji? I thought—”
“Three seconds left.” I step forward, and he gets the picture I’m not fucking around and steps out the door, slamming it behind him. I turn around to see Minji still standing, her fingers pressed against the conference table.
“You, okay?”
“You didn’t have to go all knight and shining armor. I can handle myself. I’ve been taking care of myself since I arrived in America fourteen years ago.”
“While I’m fucking you, I’ll be the one taking care of you.”