20. Abigail
ABIGAIL
I’m late.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step into the Carter & Ross offices breathless, swiping sweat from my forehead.
The black smoke billowing from my engine should’ve been the first clue that today wasn’t going my way. But no, I brushed it off. Probably nothing, I told myself. Just some oil burning. The check engine light’s been glaring at me for months. What’s a little smoke compared to that?
Honestly, they should add a second warning light. One that flashes: Pull over now or your car will die in the middle of the road. Instead, my car gave up as I rolled off the freeway, leaving me to sprint three blocks in heels, in this heat.
Now here I am: twelve minutes late, sweat-soaked, hair clinging to my neck, looking like I just finished a marathon.
At least my client isn’t here to witness the mess.
Pissing off the mediator though? Not ideal.
Even if it is Neil’s friend, and someone I usually get along with. It still puts me on the back foot.
I smooth my dress as the same blonde receptionist nods toward Meeting Room Three.
I push through the door.
No mediator.
Just Will seated at the head of the conference table and seven Pinnacle Health executives lined up like a firing squad.
Seriously?
Does he really think this will rattle me? That I’ll fold just because he packed the room with suits?
I expected better from him.
“You certainly like to keep us waiting, Miss Reed,” Will says, glancing at his watch.
There’s no trace of my boyfriend. No warmth, no familiarity. Just cold formality and that sharp, clipped lawyer voice.
We agreed to keep things professional but that’s easier in theory. Seeing him like this? It stings.
I straighten my spine. I may look like a disaster, but I don’t have to act like one. I think of Donovan and his family. I need to focus. He’s counting on me.
“Where’s Steve?” I ask.
Will shrugs, casual. “Canceled last minute.”
I pull out my phone. No call. No email. No text.
If Steve canceled, why wasn’t the meeting rescheduled?
“Mr. Carter, the purpose of mediation is to have an impartial third party—”
“I know what a mediator does,” he cuts in. “Sit down, Miss Reed. Or would you rather waste more of my time?”
I freeze for a second.
I know how packed his schedule is. Just last night his thumb worked the arch of my foot while his other hand scrolled through his calendar. He rescheduled three meetings without blinking.
But I don’t feel guilty. I feel cornered.
Why wasn’t I notified? Did he do this on purpose?
It feels like being dropped onto a chessboard mid-game, blindfolded.
But if this is a game?
Then I’ll play.
I take the seat closest to Will, placing my bag and case files on the chair beside me, though I doubt I’ll need them now. Leaning back with deliberate ease, I mirror his posture, projecting the same cool confidence. Then I turn my attention to the Pinnacle team seated across the table.
The tall one with the steely gaze sits with arms crossed like a nightclub bouncer. Another, shorter but thick-built, has his hands clasped tightly, jaw clenched like he’s preparing for a fight. A third, younger and sharper around the edges, watches silently, expression unreadable.
I meet each of their eyes in turn, refusing to flinch. If this setup is designed to rattle me, they’re going to have to try harder.
“Are we doing introductions,” I ask, “or would that take too long?”
Will gives me a tight smile and rattles off their names. I don’t retain a single one. My mind is already spinning ahead, calculating. I need to take control of this meeting. I need them to see I won’t back down.
This is my chance to show them that dragging this to court will cost them money, reputation and time. If they think Will has the upper hand here, they’ll go the distance. But if I own the room, if I make them question their strategy, they might reconsider.
“We’d like to settle this today,” Will says, tearing a page from his legal pad and sliding it across the table.
I glance down.
$2,500,000.
I barely react. Just glance back up at him.
“You must have a heavy caseload, Mr. Carter,” I say. “In case you forgot, we already declined this offer.”
I slide the paper back to him.
“In case you forgot,” he says evenly, “this is as high as we’re going.”
I turn to the Pinnacle executives.
“You’ll be paying a lot more by the time I’m finished with you. Damages, legal fees, reputational fallout—”
“You can address me, Miss Reed,” Will interrupts sharply.
“Sorry. You looked like you needed help.” I glance back at the Pinnacle execs. “He’s really trying, but—”
“Miss Reed,” he cuts in, his tone firm. “We’re here to negotiate in good faith.”
“My mistake. I thought you came with an embarrassingly low offer.”
“Embarrassing? Interesting.” He leans forward. “I was going to say the same about your chances at trial.”
The remark lands hard.
“What are you going to do? Fill the benches with your suits and hope the judge sides with whoever looks more popular?”
Something darker flashes across his face.
“You don’t know what a bad day in court looks like, Miss Reed. But you will. By the time I’m finished with you and Mr. Jones…” He pauses. “Take the offer.”
His words hang in the air.
I pause, picturing Will, calm and ruthless, taking Donovan apart on the stand.
Could Donovan survive it?
Could I?
The moment passes, but it’s enough. He sees my hesitation, and he seizes it.
“We’re being as generous as we can. You won’t get better.”
Generous? It’s an insult dressed as diplomacy. The fire inside me flares back to life.
I shift my focus back to Pinnacle. “Let’s review the medical records—”
“And the same tired argument,” Will interrupts. “We don’t care what you think you have. You’re not getting 4.5. Not here, not in court.”
“Then I guess we’re done.”
I push back my chair and stand. The Pinnacle execs glance at Will. A small win. I’ve rattled them, at least a little.
“Sit down,” Will says.
“For another insulting offer? I don’t think so.”
I reach for my bag.
“2.6.” He tosses it out like a bone.
“You’re short by about two million.”
“Your number’s too high. Ours is too low. Let’s meet in the middle. Everybody walks away happy.”
I wouldn’t call my client happy, no matter how much he gets. But I sit. Reluctantly.
He watches me carefully. “You’ve got to give us something.”
There’s a shift in his voice now. He’s less sharp, more human. A flicker of sincerity breaks through the posturing. I pause. Maybe there’s room to move.
Normally, dropping my number this early would be a sign of weakness. You hold your ground, wait for them to sweat. But what if Will’s doing the same thing, holding low, waiting me out?
Maybe we’re both bluffing. Maybe we both know the real number is somewhere in between.
“We’ll settle today for 3.8,” I say.
Will’s grin is immediate. “Finally, she moves.”
For a second, I think he might actually accept.
But then he shakes his head. “Not enough. 2.6.”
Damn it.
“3.8,” I say again.
“2.6.”
I walked right into it. That sincerity? All performance. He played me.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and instantly regret it. He knows I do that when I’m rattled.
I’ve lost this round, and I know it. I stand.
“It’s too bad we couldn’t reach an agreement today,” I say as I gather my things.
“2.6. Final offer,” he says as I reach the door.
I turn back, lifting my chin. “I’m looking forward to court.” I flash a calm smile. “Maybe next time, bring even more friends. I love an audience.”
I dash to the elevators, desperate to put distance between myself and that room, to reach safer ground.
There’s a weight in my chest, a rising panic I struggle to hide.
I want nothing more than to call Judy, to vent, to let her calming voice quiet the storm inside me.
But I don’t have that luxury. My day is packed, and on top of everything else, I need to arrange to have my car towed.
I force a smile at the receptionist as I pass, then jab the elevator button repeatedly, willing it to move faster.
Firm footsteps approach behind me. I know it’s him before he even speaks.
“Can I have a word?” Will asks.
“I have to run,” I reply, keeping my tone as breezy as I can manage. He’s the last person I want to see right now.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, hoping he’ll take the hint. He doesn’t. Will follows, his presence suddenly making the small space feel even tighter. As the doors close, he turns to face me, his expression unreadable.
“Listen,” he begins, “I didn’t know they were all coming.” He sounds sincere. But now I know now he can summon it like a trick of light.
“Really? I assumed there would be more of you,” I say. I lean against the railing, resisting the urge to cross my arms. I won’t let him see he got to me. My posture stays relaxed. My face stays neutral.
“3.8 is reasonable,” he says, tone controlled but unreadable.
I freeze. What is this? Lawyer Will, working another angle? Or Boyfriend Will, quietly signaling that even he thinks his offer is garbage? Either way, I’m not playing. And this? This isn’t professional.
“Don’t,” I snap.
The elevator opens on the 27th floor. I instinctively step back to make room for the three men waiting. But Will moves forward, blocking them.
“Get the next one,” he says.
Before they can respond, he presses the Close Door button.
The doors slide shut. I blink, thrown by the suddenness of it.
“What happened this morning?” he asks. When I don’t answer, he adds, “You’re late, and you’re sweaty.”
I wince inwardly. I’d hoped it wasn’t obvious. Of course it was.
“It’s nothing,” I finally say. “My car broke down.” I fix my eyes on the numbers ticking down above the door. Faster. Please.
“I’m not surprised,” he says. “That death trap has been making a knocking sound for weeks. I’ll take care of it. Keys?”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he says. “But I’m going to. You can borrow my car.”
The Aston Martin? I wouldn’t even know how to drive it. It’s too low, too fast. If I scratched it—
“I’m fine.”
“Keys?” he repeats, like it’s nothing. Like he’s already filed away what happened in that conference room and moved on. Just like that. But I can’t.
How does he do it? How does he switch off?
The worst part is, I can’t even stay angry. We agreed we wouldn’t go easy on each other. I just misread things. I saw that flicker of decency and let it mean something. I should’ve known better.
“I’ll handle it,” I say, flinging the words over my shoulder as I bolt from the elevator on the ground floor. He doesn’t follow.