ZACH
Paperless office, my ass.
My desk is ground zero. My in-tray is a long-lost memory buried under shaky, white stacks of contracts and files piled high all over my desk. Not long ago, this mess would have looked like success to me. The trust of so many high-profile clients. More money to be made. But these days...
These days...
Everywhere I look, it's just... more work.
My email inbox is a sea of red follow-ups, and Tracey has plastered a hundred yellow sticky notes everywhere, reminding me to do things. Even the work I try to get rid of is creating more work.
The graduate hovers near the door to my office, the papers clutched in her hand a clue she has questions about the task I assigned her. Just as she seems to muster up the courage to knock, her hand falters, and she disappears again. Maybe she's scared to admit she doesn't have it all figured out despite graduating top of her class. Too afraid to show weakness.
Ha. As if she's the only one.
Fear thrives in this firm—one false move, and boom, career over. If you want to climb the ladder and make the sacrifices worth it, you learn pretty damn fast to bury any signs of weakness.
I blow out a frustrated sigh and lean back in my chair, throwing my pen down so hard it topples one of the mountains of paperwork. I can't concentrate. I'm nothing but weakness. Ten years of my career teeters on the brink of collapse like the shaky stacks cluttering my desk.
Funny. Everything I used to think was important suddenly means nothing.
My eyes are fuzzy, tired from never sleeping enough, and I seek out the two things on my desk that actually mean something. Framed photos of Eden proudly line the clear space under my computer monitors, and I can't stop the smile creeping on my face. That woman keeps me guessing, frustrated as hell, but she's the best damn thing that ever happened to me.
Tracey's eyebrows shot to the ceiling the first time she saw the photos. It's no secret she has serious doubts that Eden wants anything to do with me. I'm guessing my fuckup with the roses will remain legendary gossip among the Executive Assistants until the end of time. But the nervous twitch of Tracey's lips when she asked me if I understood the consequences of those photos rammed home the real reason for her surprise.
Tracey knows I've gone directly against my boss's orders by allowing any of my personal life to creep back into my work.
Even after three years, Mike's warning still bellows through my mind as clear as day. Personal lives stay at the door. If you can't prioritize the firm as a senior associate, you have no chance as a partner when the stakes are even higher.
Shame burns through me to remember being called before the boardroom of partners. Colleagues—superiors—I respected staring down their noses at me, shaking their heads with disgust, while Mike read me the riot act. Like I needed him to tell me I wasn't performing at my best. Like I didn't know I had let everyone down.
But what else could I do?
Mum's cancer sent everything off the rails. Dad needed help managing all those appointments, all the nights when she couldn't even keep down water. The chemo made her so sick. Dad needed help with all the simple things, too—cooking and taking care of himself.
And what if Mum had...
Shit.
My hand fumbles for the glass of water sitting by my computer. Even after I gulp down a few sips, the lump in my throat still feels tight, suffocating.
Bracing my head in my hands, elbows propped on the edge of my desk, I force in a few deep breaths. Count to ten. Count the blessings. Mum's okay. The doctors got the cancer early. She's in remission. Everything's okay. The script the therapist taught me runs through my mind on repeat as I get my panic back under control.
After Mike's ultimatum, after Mum was better, I got back on track, and my priorities were clear: focus on my work, rebuild everyone's trust, and keep my personal life out of the office.
Fuck, what personal life? The librarian? Michaela?
And then along came Eden, my happy little hurricane, blowing up those plans in the best ways possible. Now my priorities are even clearer—and they sure as hell don't seem to include the firm anymore.
With a weary sigh, the weight of my collapsing career heavy in my joints when I push off the chair, it's time to see how much more I can fuck up my life in a single day.
I've put off talking to Michaela for too long.
Michaela's office is on the other side of the floor, but the walk through the winding, busy corridors still feels too quick. I pause at her door, my breath stuck in my throat. I am hopeless at confrontation. This is going to be a trainwreck.
I take a tentative step inside her office, stopping by the door and keeping as much distance between us as possible.
Michaela's neck is crooked at an angle any physiotherapist would cringe to see. Her eyes stay locked on her computer screen as she bends to stuff a bite of sandwich in her mouth. When she hears the soft rap of my knuckles on her door, her eyes slide toward me, and her blonde eyebrows pop up in surprise.
"Daafght a shamoth?"
Now it's my turn to raise my eyebrows because I'm not exactly fluent in mouth-full-of-chicken-sandwich.
Michaela chews frantically, grabbing for the glass of water by her keyboard. "Sorry!" She gulps down two big sips and then flashes me a sheepish smile. "Did I forget a settlement?"
I shake my head.
"Oh." A blotchy red flush is creeping up Michaela's neck. Her hand flutters around her desk to swipe a tissue to dab at her mouth, and then she balls it up in her fist to point at the empty seat across from her desk. "Do you wanna—?"
I shake my head again, staying rigid by the door. What do I say now? I stuff my hands in my pockets, eyes dropping to examine a small scuff on my shoe as I run through the options of how to tell her we are strictly professional. From now on, she needs to talk to Tracey. No more messages.
"Don't be nervous, Zach."
I flick up my gaze. Michaela has leaned back in her chair, and her chin tilts up to me, blue eyes watching me closely as she bites down on her lower lip.
"Michaela, I'm—" I freeze.
I'm what? In love with someone? Seeing someone? Even though I desperately want to be part of Eden's life, our relationship is rocky, hanging together by a thread of small moments where I keep forcing myself back into her life. She's not mine, and as much as it breaks me to admit it, we're not together.
Eventually, my mouth catches up to my brain, and I say, "There's someone."
Michaela stares at me, not blinking. "Someone."
"Someone special," I add quickly, and without even thinking, my mouth keeps mumbling away, "I'm in love with her."
Michaela's arms fold across her chest, and her short pink fingernails drum against the white sleeve of her blouse for a few beats before she digs them into the fabric. "You're in love."
"Yes."
"The great protege of Mike Gardener doesn't have time for love. Work comes before relationships, right? Wasn't that always your excuse?"
My eyebrows pinch together. "My excuse?"
"For us."
"There was no us."
"All those hours you spent in my bed suggests otherwise." Michaela's lips curve up, but a chill shudders through me. There is nothing friendly in that smile.
With one quick step, I have my hand on the office door and softly click it closed. No one else needs to hear where this is going—for her sake as much as mine. Not that she seems bothered. When my eyes raise to meet hers again, she's still smiling with her cool, unblinking glare fixed on me.
"Michaela, whatever the hell we were, you started it, and you ended it." I'm half tempted to throw her behavior back in her face, but I manage to get my temper under control. "Do you remember? Nearly a year ago."
"Oh, I remember, alright. What choice did you give me? Did you think I would just sit around waiting for you forever? You stuck your nose in a stack of client files and ignored me for fucking weeks."
"You said we were nothing serious! Friends with benefits. Your words."
"Oh, please, Zach. Don't pretend even for a second that you're the kind of guy who's up for friends with benefits." She lets out a short laugh. "We were exclusive—"
"No." Now it's my turn to laugh. "It never bothered me, but you were never exclusive—"
She shoots me down instantly, leaping up from her chair and leaning over her desk, an accusing finger pointing right at me. "We were a couple in every way except the label."
My breath comes faster. This is ridiculous. Insane. We were never a couple. Nothing serious. Michaela was seeing other people, and she rubbed my face in it more times than I care to remember. How many conversations did we have where she reminded me we weren't a couple? Was that all bullshit? A way of acting out to try to force my hand because she wanted to be a couple? She played a lot of damn games.
"Michaela—I—"
What the hell am I doing? Am I about to apologize? Oh, hell no. Maybe I did miss something with Michaela. Maybe she wanted more, and I was blind to it because my head really was buried in client files. But I treated her with respect and a hell of a lot more patience than she deserved some weeks. Whatever there was between us, it's more than over now anyway. She's not the priority. She never was. But Eden is.
I raise my palm, stopping everything. Her. Me. We can't do this. "Rehashing the past won't help either of us. You moved on. I have, too. I've found someone who means everything to me. She's the only one for me, and I need to prove she's the only one. I can't have your messages popping up on my phone anymore."
"Tell your insecure little someone that we work together."
I shake my head. "There's no reason for you and me to talk, Michaela, and there's definitely no reason for you to be texting me. If you need me, drop me an email. If it's urgent, call Trace. She knows how to get in touch with me no matter where I am."
Michaela's eyes narrow down into a cold line, and I can see the heave of her chest as she glares at me across the room. Suddenly, all the anger drains from her, and she stands tall, that slow, cold smile spreading back on her face.
"Maybe it's time I talk to human resources," she says in a sweet tone.
"Michaela, you're better than that." I say it more to convince myself. "You're not that type of person."
"Maybe, I am. What do you think human resources will say about the big bad senior associate preying on the defenseless junior?"
I blow out a slow breath. "You know the truth of what happened between us. I didn't prey on you. It was never like that."
"You did me a favor always demanding we keep our relationship out of the office. All those secret catchups. The hotels. I still have all the receipts. That's another thing you like about me, if I remember correctly. My attention to detail. Who do you think they'll believe if I come crying? You?"
"Michaela, don't do this. Please... don't push me on this."
"And what if I do?"
"Then I will take every step necessary to protect myself. I will need to talk to Mike about re-assigning you away from the property transactions."
A flash of fear sparks in her eyes. She may be able to create a whole shitstorm of trouble for me with human resources, but she knows that if I even hint her name in Mike's direction, it's a career death sentence. Nothing jeopardizes the firm's reputation, and junior lawyers are easily replaced.
"You would get that fucking sleaze to hide your dirty little secrets, wouldn't you?" Michaela laughs, but it sounds uneasy and forced. "Peas in a pod, you two. Master and student. God knows, you could learn a thing or two from him about burying inconveniences when they no longer suit you."
Michaela's accusation pierces a dark place inside me—reigniting Yvette's bitter words at the salon—but I'm careful to keep my emotions hidden, below her radar. There's enough mess at my feet without adding more shit to the pile.
"We're done, Michaela."
I open the door and ignore her panicked protests to keep talking, striding away from her office without looking back.
My house of cards is collapsing, but I cling to the fact I was honest. I did the right thing by Eden. Weeks—months—too late. But I finally did the right thing.