Chapter 5 Rosie
“Hey, wait up!” I call out to my older brother. Cain notices me running across the slick sidewalk in high-heels, and pauses, holding the door to our law offices open for me as I slip inside and shake off the snow and cold.
“Good morning, sis,” he says with a smile, nudging my side.
“Good morning. When did it get so cold?”
He chuckles. “Brookhaven’s lake has been frozen for months now. You need to walk out your back door and look at it next time you’re in town.”
“I know.” I smile. “How was your weekend?”
“Not bad. Piper’s finally sleeping through the night, so Rhiannon’s been in a great mood.” He steps into the golden elevator beside me, looking far too chipper for someone with a nine-month-old baby.
“What an angel,” I reply, grinning. “I'm going to make time to come out there this weekend and snuggle her.”
“You know you’re welcome anytime,” Cain says with a pointed look. “We thought we’d see more of you now that you bought the house on the other side of the lake.”
I sigh, shifting my briefcase to my other hand. The one that still has blood flow and isn’t frozen from the commute.
“I know. The plan was to spend weekends out there so I could be closer to you guys and Piper, but it’s been slow getting furniture moved in and making it feel like home.”
And lonely. So painfully lonely to be in that big house on the weekends by myself.
Not that it isn’t lonely in my apartment in New York City either. But there’s something to be said about being surrounded by families while you’re stuck outlining briefs when it feels like you’re the only single person left in the small town.
“Well, you know Rhiannon and Eden can always help. Actually, I think Eden mentioned that she has a design project this semester where she needs to remodel a room from scratch. She might be looking for a blank canvas to work on. Maybe one of the spare rooms in your house?”
I perk up at the idea. Eden is Cain's younger sister-in-law who is currently in design school at NYU and remodels furniture with her older brother in her downtime.
“That’s a great idea. I’ll text her and try to swing by this weekend. No reason to stick around in the city if I don’t have to.”
Cain smiles, his eyes lighting up in that proud way he gets whenever he talks about his new, little family.
It’s strange, seeing him like this. He was never the type to prioritize love or even slow down for it, but here he is, happier than I’ve ever seen him.
Only a year into his marriage to Rhiannon Carpenter, a woman that I've built a close friendship with who grew up in Brookhaven Lakes, Connecticut, and he's already a doting dad to Piper. She’s so adorable, the sweetest and silliest little girl, and I adore spoiling her anytime I get to see her.
The elevator doors slide open, and we step into the sleek office space where we work. It’s our father’s offices, but we both know that one day we’ll become the owners.
The office manager sits at the front, a woman we’ve known since we were kids. She greets us with a smile and wave, and just like that we mentally flip the switch from siblings into lawyers.
At least, that’s the plan until our father’s booming voice cuts through the chatter and hum of the morning bustle.
“Rosie! Cain! My office. Now!”
I flinch, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup. That tone is never good.
Cain, ever the dutiful eldest child, doesn’t hesitate, striding ahead even though he’s still juggling his own briefcase, coffee, and probably ten client emails buzzing his phone.
I follow a step behind, less enthusiastic about the impending lecture or whatever crisis our father has decided is worth interrupting our normal morning meetings for.
We weave through the maze of glass-walled offices, turning left, then right, until we reach his in the corner with its sprawling one-eighty views of downtown Manhattan.
It’s breathtaking, even now, with the city blanketed in fresh snow. Flurries drift lazily past the windows, softening the sharp edges of the skyscrapers beyond.
There’s a small part of me that wonders what it’d be like to take a day off just to enjoy this weather. I immediately ignore that thought. Because the last time I went out in the snow just for fun was when I was a child.
Too bad the picturesque view won’t do much to soften whatever storm my father's cooking up for us.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the two deep red velvet chairs in front of his desk. There are no pleasantries. No “How are my two brilliant children doing? The only family I still have left.”
Classic Dad.
I sit down, sinking into one of the plush chairs and stretching my toes in my too tight heels.
I’ve long stopped expecting warmth from our father. I’m annoyed by my father’s coldness mostly for Cain. Ever since he married Rhiannon and became a dad, Cain’s been nothing short of remarkable at balancing work and family.
He’s mastered compartmentalizing, leaving the office at a reasonable hour, and keeping his weekends sacred, meeting and client free. Even working virtually from their home in Connecticut as much as he can.
Piper’s lucky to have him. He’s nothing like the father we got. And yet, our own dad hardly makes an effort to visit her, his only grandchild. Maybe Cain prefers it that way.
I glance at my brother, who seems unfazed by the shift in his Monday plans as he smoothly transitions into business mode.
“How can we help?” he asks, his tone professional, direct.
But Dad doesn’t look at him first. Which is… highly unusual and a bit alarming.
His eyes lock on me instead, and for a moment, the steel in his gaze falters.
I’ve been trained not to flinch under pressure, especially not in a courtroom, but something about the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach tighten. It’s like he might regret what he’s about to say.
“I have a new client that I just signed,” he begins, his voice steady. “He’s in trouble and needs our help.”
“Okay…” I prompt, glancing at Cain, who remains completely emotionless. All our clients are in trouble. I can’t see how this is worth calling a special meeting to discuss.
“It’s a professional hockey player with the Manhattan Mayhem.”
Oh.
My brows rise. I glance at Cain again, but he gives nothing away.
Athletes aren’t usually our firm’s bread and butter. We specialize in artists, actors, influencers—the kind of clients who see life as a stage.
We’re an entertainment firm, not a sports firm. And the only time I’ve dealt with one was in retirement, helping them navigate lawsuits tied to their second careers.
But an active NHL player? That’s uncharted territory for me and the firm.
“What’s his deal?” Cain asks, breaking the silence.
Dad exhales sharply, like the weight of the case is already pressing on him.
“He’s caught up in a series of legal issues after several bar fights involving him and some teammates.
The most serious incident happened here in New York City about a month ago.
There’s an ongoing investigation, and photos surfaced of him holding a broken piece of glass to another man’s throat. ”
I blink. “That’s… terrifying.”
Dad nods grimly. “It looks bad. But unbelievably, it’s not how it seems. We have video evidence that mostly clears him, but the damage to his reputation is already done.
He’s going to need serious legal and PR support if we’re going to turn this and his career around.
The other guy is suing him, claiming he felt threatened despite being damn near blackout drunk.
He’s also had other minor public relations incidents in the past—including a very public fallout with his ex-fiancée. ”
“Okay…” I say slowly, waiting for the rest of the details.
“Cain will be lead counsel on his bar fight case,” Dad says, finally addressing my brother.
Cain rubs his temples, his exhaustion palpable. His caseload is already insane. This is the last thing he needs. But Dad, as always, is one step ahead.
“Only because it would be a conflict of interest for Rosie to be. But she'll be doing the brunt of the work and be his direct point of contact with the firm.”
I stiffen. Of course. Cain gets the credit; I do the work.
“Rosie, you'll handle interfacing with our PR team,” he continues, ticking items off on his fingers. “Build his case for court in two months, work on rehabilitating his public image, and ensure he stays out of trouble between now and then. You’ll also need to prep him for any upcoming appearances.”
I force myself to nod, though my brain is already racing.
Great.
I’m a freaking babysitter. I get to babysit a millionaire hockey player with anger issues and a PR nightmare for a reputation. Just what I needed to spice up my already busy workday.
This is hardly what I went to law school for and responsibilities that should fall to our PR team, not a junior partner at a prestigious law firm.
Beyond that, this makes absolutely no sense why I would be assigned instead of one of our hundreds of interns.
“Why would it be a conflict of interest for me to take this case? Do I know the guy?”
My dad smiles. It’s a slow, calculated smile that immediately puts me on edge. Then he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like a villain in some melodrama.
“Rosie, do you trust me?”
What kind of question is that?
Of course I trust him. When Mom walked out, he stepped up. He wasn’t perfect, but he was there playing the role of both parents, filling every moment of my childhood with structured schedules, endless ballet classes, and exhausting academic intensives.
It may have been overwhelming at times, but he was there.
He always said it was to prepare me for greatness, and maybe he was right. Harvard Law, top of my class, one of the youngest junior partners in the firm. His methods worked for both Cain and me.
But has he ever asked me if I trust him? No. Which means whatever he’s about to say comes with a catch the size of Manhattan.
“Yes…” I say hesitantly.
He smiles wider, nodding as if this is all working to plan.