Chapter 24 #2
“Minji.” He steps closer, cologne arriving before he does.
“I made mistakes. But we made sense—the firm’s golden pair.
” His hands sketch invisible connections between us.
“With the Seoul office opening, think how it would look if we presented as a united team again. We can go together. You always wanted a family, right? We can have kids, and you can raise them in your home country.”
There’s a pause, as if he expects me to be flattered by his offer, as if the prospect of returning to the scene of his treachery—of performing ‘the golden pair’ act for the benefit of office politics and male ego—is some kind of Cinderella invitation I should fall to my knees and accept.
He looks at me with those bland, trust-fund blue eyes, still believing in the omnipotence of his own charm.
Maybe once, I would have second-guessed myself, wondered if I was being too harsh, too bristly, too much.
But after years of watching men like William step on necks and call it a handshake, I know better.
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you. I honestly fucking loathe being in the same room—no, the same planet as you.
” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to say this once more because talking to you literally makes me lose brain cells, and then I get this urge to just punch you in the throat.
So, let’s take a walk down memory lane. You dumped me at your Fourth of July barbecue in front of your friends.
You cheated and moved out literally the next day.
You really think I would want to have a family with you?
” My voice is cold enough to condense the air between us.
“You graduated from Harvard Law, so use your fucking brain.”
“A regrettable error in judgment.” He fidgets with that hideous bow tie, feigning regret.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “What’s this really about? You haven’t mentioned us in thirteen months.”
“The timing wasn’t right before.” Another step toward my desk. “You were so career-focused. I thought space was what you needed.”
I almost laugh at the audacity. “Space? Space to you means cheating. Am I getting Punk’d? And let’s not forget you broke up with me and started dating Isla from that coffee shop we used to frequent three weeks later.”
“A rebound.” He dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand. “It didn’t mean anything. She meant nothing.”
“I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear that.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “What’s the real reason you’re here, William? Because this sudden interest in rekindling a non-existent relationship seems suspiciously timed.”
“There is no ill-intention or master plan to reconcile with you.”
“I find that hard to believe.” I stand. “You had a year to ‘reconcile’, yet you choose now, right after the partners’ dinner.”
William’s smile falters. “This isn’t about partnership.”
“Isn’t it?” I cross my arms. “Or maybe it’s about me finally moving on, and you can’t stand it.
Did I hurt your feelings when you saw me with him?
And you could lie, but we both know you watched me walk out of the restaurant that night and get into a man’s car.
” I watch the realization dawn on his face.
“Wait—you’re seeing someone?” His tone shifts from pleading to incredulous.
“You can’t be serious, Minji. You aren’t the type to move on so quickly, and you don’t do casual hookups, so please stop lying to me.
I didn’t get a good look that night, but I’m sure it was a car service that picked you up. ”
I stare at him, jaw tight. There’s no winning this conversation, but I’m too stubborn to disengage. It’s like slamming my head against a brick wall, knowing it’ll never budge, but still doing it out of principle.
“I’m not lying,” I say calmly, though my hands want to tremble at how much he’s gotten under my skin. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “I am seeing someone.” I don’t owe him details, or stories, or even a name.
He looks genuinely stunned, but then—of course—he recovers, smoothing his hair, fixing his tie, all gestures meant to make me remember how carefully put together he is.
“Who is it? It’s that writer Arnold, isn’t it?
That is the only other person you’ve been around, but I don’t think you’re his type.
No offense, I just think he would want a woman with more body. ”
Do I really need this job? I can just punch him in the throat and call it self-defense.
“His name is Aaron, and what does it matter if it is him? Also, refrain from talking about my body, whether directly or indirectly.”
William’s eyes narrow, calculation flickering behind the performance of surprise. He leans in, lowering his voice to a private register. “So, it is him.” He scoffs. “Well, I think you can do better than some… wannabe Casanova milking heartbreak for profit.”
My lips flatten into my practiced, professional smile.
“He doesn’t milk anything. He writes stories about human connection, finding home and love—wait, why am I even trying to explain myself to you?
Just know, William, you and I will never be a thing again.
We broke up a year ago. Move on. You were quick to find someone while we were dating.
Why is it hard to find someone when we’re not?
Also, don’t answer that because it wasn’t a question. ”
William scoffs, rapping his knuckles on the door frame—a tic I remember from late nights prepping together for depositions. “You could still do better.”
“Not your business, William.”
“Everything about you is my business,” he says in a near-whisper, as if intimacy is currency.
I make a gagging noise. “Seems like you picked up a few romance novels yourself. Please don’t ever say that to me again.
You’re a repulsive man, and I hate you.” My hand falls to my mouse, a subtle fuck you, the universal signal for get out of my office.
But before he can reply, I add: “If you’re done here, I have work to do. ”
He stands there, chewing the inside of his cheek, feeling defeated in a way he’d never admit aloud.
For half a second, he looks lost, revealing a hint of the boy I first met when I started interning—the one who used legal pads as conversation starters and spelled ‘his’ with a heart over the ‘i.’ That moment quickly disappears, replaced by the man who whispered promises against my skin while texting his next conquest. My phone vibrates on the desk, displaying Aaron’s name.
William’s gaze flicks to it, and I swear I could see his right eye twitch. Good.
“I have a motion to prepare. And let me be crystal clear,” I meet his gaze directly. “There will never be a chance of reconciliation. Not now. Not ever.”
“So, dinner to discuss Thornton is completely off the table?”
“The only table is this desk between us, during business hours, discussing nothing but the Thornton case.” Did he just not hear what I said? “And considering you’re lead counsel, perhaps focus your attention there instead of my personal life.”
William’s polished facade cracks—just a hairline, but enough. His fingers flex at his sides, as if he’s grasping for control that’s slipping away.
“You’re making a mistake, Minji.” His voice drops to that velvet register that once made my knees weak but now raises my blood pressure. “We complement each other. In court. In life. The partners see it, too.”
I slam my legal pad against the desk. “I wasted four years thinking you were worth it. That was my only mistake.” I point to the door. “Get out. Have some self-fucking-respect. I don’t want you. Now, leave. Some of us have actual work to do.”
He hovers, eyes scanning my face for whatever the fuck he is looking for. Finding nothing, his jaw tightens. “You and the writer, it won’t last.” His knuckles whiten around the doorknob. “Men who write about love for a living are sampling from the buffet, not ordering a full-course meal.”
“Goodbye, William.”
The door clicks shut. I collapse back, lungs emptying like a punctured tire. The sheer audacity of that man—waltzing in here with his reconciliation script like I’m some supporting character in his personal redemption arc.
My phone buzzes. Aaron’s message appears. It’s a photo of him grinning beside a mountain of his books, thumbs up, those ridiculous dimples creating shadows on his cheeks that make my stomach flip, despite myself.
I set the phone face down and open Tamara’s motion document. The cursor blinks, patient, while William’s parting shot echoes: Men who write about love for a living are sampling from the buffet...
The thought snags like a loose thread. Aaron, with his easy smile and effortless charm. Book tours. Adoring readers. Women with dog-eared copies of his novels and hearts in their eyes. Has he been—would I even have standing to—
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is exactly what William intended, planting doubt like invasive seeds. I refuse to water them.
My phone buzzes again and I expect to see Aaron’s name but it’s Demi.
Demi
Babes, I hope you didn’t forget I’m coming to your place tonight! If you did IDC I’m still coming over, because bitch you’ve been M I motherfucking A!
Me
ofc not
Demi
you did, but it’s okay. I’ll be there after this floral job.
Demi
Also, if you’re sad, we’re watching straight-up trash reality TV, aka Love Behind the Headlines. NO gray lady legal dramas tonight.
I gaze at the screen, lips twitching. I wouldn’t quite say I’m feeling ‘sad’, but Demi always senses even the tiniest shift in my emotional state. It’s unsettling how she manages that—and utterly essential.