Page 13 of Souls and Sorrows

“For fuck’s sake.” I lean forward, snatching the folder and turning to the first page of Citium’s file. “Does he not realize how close he is to going to prison forlife? Prosecution’s riding our asses over here while they try to figure out how two tons of radioactive waste got into the landfill across from an elementary school, and I can’t even get my notes together to prep for an indictment because the fucker won’t show up.”

“Oh, he’s aware of his offenses. I think he has very little faith in getting off.”

Irritation claws inside my chest. I don’t appreciate people wasting my time or money, or underestimating my goddamn abilities to secure acquittals. Especially when taking their case was a favor I owed to the managing partner of the firm anyway.

With one hand, I skim through the sheets of paper inside the file and motion at the telephone with my other. Zephyr perches on the edge of the desk, reaching down to dial on the telephone base.

When the ringing clicks off, signaling a presence on the other end of the line, I cut in before Samuel Armas, Citium’s CEO, can say anything. “When I agreed to take you on, I asked for one simple courtesy. Do you recall what it was?”

Samuel remains quiet, and I can almost hear beads of sweat popping up along his wide forehead.

“I said I don’t typically take on criminal cases anymore, and if I do yours, I want fair compensation. Didn’t I?”

“You’vebeenpaid already—”

“Ah, ah,” I interrupt, hovering my thumb over the red disconnect button. “I asked you a question, Sammy. The terms of our contractual work agreement. What were they?”

He hesitates. “Payment for billed hours at the disclosed rate and perfect attendance.”

“Perfect attendance,” I repeat slowly. “Because you’d been fired by your previous attorney for not ever showing up, correct?”

“I wouldn’t say fired—”

“Isthat correct?”

“Yes,” he grumbles.

Zephyr smirks, sliding off the desk and exiting the way she came in.

“Okay then. As long as we’re on the same page.”

Leaning back in my chair, I spin around and take in the Boston Harbor in the distance through the exterior glass wall. Blue ocean water kisses the cloudy skyline, and I momentarily forget every single one of my troubles, reminding myself that this is the best view in the office, best in town, and exactly what I’ve worked for all these years.

My father’s name may be on a plethora of commercial buildings on the East Coast, but it’smineon the wall outside this office. My name brought me here, and no amount of guilt or distraction can take that away.

“If I don’t see you this afternoon, that’s it for our working relationship. I have the grounds to terminate it, and youwillgo to prison for mail fraud and illegal hazardous waste dumping.” I pause, reveling in the slight puff of air Samuel sucks in through his teeth. “But that won’t be the worst of it because if you insist on wasting my time, I’ll be forced to find you and bring you here myself.”

A deep sigh crackles over the line. “All right, I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Propping the heels of my Oxfords up on the safe sitting behind my desk, I fold my arms across my chest and rock in my chair. “I have no use for a spineless jellyfish such as yourself, but I can guarantee that if you continue wasting my time, life in prison won’t compare to what I’ll do to you.”

“Are you allowed to speak to civilians this way? I could have you disbarred, Primrose.”

“You could try,” I concede. “But you haven’t exactly made a strong case for yourself thus far, so I’m certain no one would believe you.”

Then, I hang up.

4

My entire bodyprotests as I lift off the floor with one leg and come down on both, completing an assemblé as though I never stopped dancing in the first place. The hardwood floor is unforgiving on my feet, but I don’t mind it right now.

The ache serves as a reminder. Penance for my many sins since I won’t step foot near a church anymore.

Kicking one leg up on the portable barre, I fold my body inward, reaching for the point of my toes. There’s no mirror here, which I love. The theater itself is borderline abandoned, used only sparingly by religious cults and NA groups for meetings. I happened upon it one afternoon during a trip uptown, and have been rehearsing old numbers and crafting my own choreography in the months since, loving the solo role after a lifetime of being in the background.

Each movement comes to me naturally even though I’m a bit out of practice, flowing through my limbs like liquid honey as I soak in the solitude. Part of me likes the fact that I have no audience up here after performing for so long; it’s a reclaiming of sorts—dancing because I love it and not because I crave howotherslove it.

Onstage, I can’t even see myself, which means I can’t be my own worst critic.

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