Chapter 7
Quinn
The library had grown quiet. It was the kind of silence that pressed at my ears until I heard my own pulse.
I sat tucked away in the study—a narrow nook hidden behind the stacks where no one ever wandered—papers spread out in front of me, my laptop open but idling on the same document it had been for the last half hour.
My eyelids felt heavy, the words on the page blurring as I forced myself to keep going through the discovery. Bit by bit, page by page, I searched for anything we might’ve missed—any small detail, any sliver of doubt to make this uphill battle less impossible.
But my mind wouldn’t stay focused. It kept drifting back to the envelope.
The one that had been taped to the top of a box of my things.
I’d called Preston soon after I’d burned it, half expecting to hear him laugh it off, say it was some kind of joke or clerical mix-up.
But he’d sounded genuinely confused—or at least he pretended to be.
My assistant hadn’t known anything about it either, and I trusted her.
She was meticulous, organized to a fault.
So if it wasn’t them, then who?
Why would anyone bring that up now, after all this time?
I rubbed at my temple, the familiar weight of exhaustion settling behind my eyelids. I supposed I did have more of a spotlight on me these days. Being on a case like this, representing a man like him…it was bound to draw attention.
Still, that headline had been buried years ago. Someone had to go digging for it.
I just didn’t know what the point of it was.
Someone cleared their throat.
My eyes jerked up from the paper, unfocused and blurry, until they landed on him.
Graham stood in the narrow aisle, leaning a shoulder against one of the tall bookcases, watching me.
For a second, my tired brain struggled to process why he was there. The haze of exhaustion faded, bringing those blue eyes into sharp focus—steady and unreadable.
He hadn’t sought me out in the library before, even though we were often here at the same time.
I’d catch glimpses of his car in the tiny parking lot, or inhale a faint trace of his scent—spicey amber and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on—as I passed through the maze of shelves on my way to the bathroom or searching for a book.
My brow furrowed. He stood there, framed by the stacks in this hushed, solemn place we both seemed to find refuge in. There was something about his expression…although it was controlled, I noticed a flicker of anxiety there.
“What do you want?” I meant for it to sound cold and dismissive, but the words came out almost…fragile.
His jaw hardened. He glanced at the empty chair across from me.
“You know,” he began slowly. “This used to be my favorite spot to work in.”
My eyes narrowed. “Okay?”
He stiffened. “Since you keep coming here, I wanted to know if we could share the space.”
“No,” I said immediately. The response was almost reactionary.
His brows rose, though he didn’t look angry. “No? Has someone made you the owner of this room?”
I sat up straighter. “I work in here.”
He inspected the chaos spread before me—open folders stacked unevenly, my laptop half buried under papers, pens scattered among the sticky notes.
“I see that.” He didn’t comment on the mess, though. “But I also like to work in here.”
“I’m not leaving.”
His face went strangely blank, but there was a tightening of his features.
Then he moved, coming right to the table and sitting at the chair across from me. He crossed his arms over his chest.
I glared at him.
He arched a brow. “What?”
He knew exactly what was wrong, but I ignored him. I shrugged like his presence did not annoy the hell out of me. “Nothing,” I said.
“Good.”
He set his briefcase on the table and took out a computer, pushing over my mess until it was all contained on my side of it. Like there was such a thing. My stomach sank. He really was going to do this, wasn’t he?
My question was answered as he ignored me and focused on his computer screen.
Fine. I could play this game. I dragged my attention back to my own work, trying to get back into a flow state.
It didn’t work. After almost twenty minutes, I was barely able to make any progress.
“How’s your head doing?” Graham’s voice disrupted the silence.
I glanced up, grimacing at the memory of getting clocked right in the forehead by Calliope, the library’s resident menace. Strangely, I hadn’t seen the cat much in the week since that incident. Maybe even she knew to keep her distance.
“If it’s all right with you, Doctor, I really don’t want to chat.”
“You can call me Graham,” he said.
“I’d rather not.”
Graham inhaled slowly, his chest expanding as if he had to force the words out. “You seemed…uneasy yesterday.”
Heat climbed up the back of my neck. I didn’t want to tell him about the envelope and what was inside. I didn’t want anyone knowing about my past—especially not him.
I didn’t say anything in reply.
He didn’t seem upset by my silence. If anything, he looked like he’d expected it. He leaned back in his chair, his expression settling into something curious.
“I’m going to assume you know just about everything about me.” He leaned back in his chair.
I blinked at him, unsure where he was going with this.
He wasn’t wrong. In preparation for the pretrial hearing, I’d learned everything there was to find about Dr. Graham Ramsey.
I knew his credentials, where he’d gone to school, the jobs he’d held, and the cases he’d worked on.
I knew about his brothers’ security company and that his sisters-in-law were deeply involved in my client’s case.
The conflict of interest had been obvious.
I was surprised the prosecution had even tried to get his profile into evidence at all.
“What’s your point?” I asked dryly.
Graham lifted a shoulder. “I’m wondering why you didn’t recognize me. That first time we met here, in the library.”
I wasn’t sure why he kept bringing that day up. I brushed the ends of my bangs back; they were already starting to grow out. “I wasn’t particularly interested in what you looked like,” I said. “I think I saw one or two photos in my research, but they were from when you were much…younger.”
I vaguely remembered a photo that might’ve been from his undergraduate years.
His hair had been shorter then—not loose, with those soft curls falling over his forehead and ears.
The pictures hadn’t done his eyes justice, either.
The blue that came through in photos wasn’t even close to the vibrant shade they were in real life.
Graham grimaced. “So you’re saying I look old, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t what I was saying. “You look perfectly…fine.”
Fine wasn’t nearly adequate, but it was all I would concede to.
“You know all these things about me,” his voice dipped lower, “but I know next to nothing about you, Quinn.”
The way he said my name sent a ripple of goose bumps down my arms. I didn’t like it—how intimate it sounded, as if he knew me. He very clearly did not.
“The difference is,” I said tightly, “it was my job to know you.”
His lips thinned. Something flashed over his expression—something he pushed down almost immediately.
I recognized it with a tight squeeze of my heart.
I hadn’t considered it before, because he was always surrounded by family, always at the bed-and-breakfast, but I was almost certain I saw it: a shadow of loneliness.
“I suppose you’re right.” Graham sounded disappointed.
After another beat of silence, I scowled. I was too tired for this conversation; it was making me more talkative than I usually would’ve been. “Trust me, there’s not much to know. I’m quite uninteresting.”
Graham gave me an appraising look. “What made you want to become a lawyer?”
I tried not to flinch. My teeth clenched, my expression hardening.
It really was a simple question, but apparently I wasn’t a simple-questions kind of girl.
I could’ve told him the easy things. I could’ve spouted off my credentials—the degrees I’d earned, the internships, the grueling, sleepless nights spent studying and working until I was sick.
But I didn’t do personal. Even something as harmless as that question felt too close to the chest.
“Like I said before,” I muttered between clenched teeth. “I don’t want to chat. If you’re going to work in here, do so, but we don’t need to speak to each other.”
He looked away. “Fine.”
I was relieved he wasn’t pressing the issue. I should’ve told him to leave me alone. I should’ve said he had no business coming to find me or asking questions I had no obligation answering.
But something about his presence soothed an ache in me I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.
No one in this town liked me. They barely tolerated me. Though I wasn’t a people person, it turned out that having no one was…harder than I’d anticipated. I hadn’t realized it until Graham forced himself into this space.
I was feeling a little lonely too.