Page 18 of Damon

“Or a secretary.”

“You’re the intern,” he reminds me.

“True, but my boss says I’m a shit hot intern, so maybe I’ll get a secretary.”

Damon chuckles then shakes his head. “You’re a confident spitfire, aren’t you?” His eyes roam over my face, assessing my reaction to his jibe.

I bite my lip and smirk right back at him. “I’d have thought you would know that by now,” I taunt, then flick my hair over my shoulder dramatically.

“It’s a good thing. You need to be ballsy to work in law. Strong opinions and self-confidence are a must. You’re going to go far.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without you and Connie,” I remind him. “Your kindness, never mind the connections to Harrison, has opened up so many opportunities. I can never thank you enough.”

“What you are doing for me means so much more…” He trails off. “You’re the reason I can succeed in bringing Connie’s dream to life.” He hasn’t mentioned her so often in weeks, and her name takes me by surprise. Over time, her constant presence has seemed to be diminishing. She’s still there in photos and the odd memory, but she appears more in the past than the present. But today her name keeps popping up in our conversation—she is firmly here with us.

“Connie’s dream or your dream?” I probe, knowing it will annoy him. His face contorts, irritated by the question. The relaxed banter between us disappears, and he reverts to being closed off and brooding.

“Our dream. Mine and my wife’s baby.” He straightens his shoulders. “Have you got what you need?” I nod. “Good, let’s go home.” His jaw tenses. “I mean, we are going back to my house.” After correcting his slip-up, he turns and walks away.

Chapter eight

Chase, Chase and Waite Law Firm, Canary Wharf

Damon

“Are you still determined to move her out when the baby is born?” Harrison asks bluntly. My fury resurfaces, the same way it has every time he’s asked this question in recent weeks. This time we’re standing in the middle of his office with Emma merely feet away from us. He’s been questioning me every time we see each other, poking relentlessly at my most uncomfortable thoughts.

“Yes. Nothing has changed. Our original agreement remains.”

“Plenty has changed,” he argues. “You and Emma are in a completely different situation from when you met back in January. Your life looks nothing like it did then. Your responsibilities are unrecognizable.”

“What has happened in my life has nothing to do with her. She entered this process for financial support…nothing more.” As the words pass my lips, even I don’t believe them anymore. Things have been changing since a few months after Connie’s death.

I’ve taken up the role of her partner in this pregnancy, a role that Connie previously filled. I find myself enjoying time with Emma, imagining what it will be like once the baby is here. Then I must remind myself that when that happens, Emma will be gone. I’ll be on my own. A single father.

Harrison watches my reaction to his questions. He leaves long pauses after he speaks and when I answer. I know this tactic, a method of trying to get me to fill the void with information. His attempt at working me like he would a client only makes me more frustrated.

“Stop treating me like a criminal you’re trying to milk for evidence,” I mutter, and a smirk passes over his lips. He knows he’s making me uncomfortable, and he’s enjoying it. “You’re an asshole.”

“And a fucking good lawyer,” he adds. “All I’m suggesting is that perhaps you being on your own to begin with as a father isn’t the best idea. And…” He pauses, collecting his thoughts before speaking. “Maybe Emma will need support too. Also, it could help with childcare. She’ll be due time off. You and her could work together to give this little girl the best start in the world.”

“No.” Without another word, I turn and walk over to where Emma is lifting papers, moving them around, and putting them back on her inexplicably messy desk. “Found what you’re looking for?” She visibly startles when I speak.

“Shit,” she snaps. “Don’t do that. I’ll have this baby here between the photocopier and the computer.”

I fail to contain my laughter; it bursts from me. She narrows her eyes in my direction then returns to looking for the file she needs.

“Do you really need the file? You’re not meant to be working,” I remind her.

“I do,” she replies, her voice sharp. “Found it! We can go now.”

“Which one is it?” I ask as she stretches for a large pile of papers. She points to a folder near the bottom. “You need a better filing system,” I tell her, reaching forward and removing the documents obstructing the one she wants.

“Or a secretary,” she says cheekily.

“You’re the intern.”

“True, but my boss says I’m a shit hot intern, so maybe I’ll get a secretary.”

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