Page 24 of Pride & Precedents

"Yes, ma'am," we chorus again. Adam takes his phone off speaker.

"You heard her. I can't keep the lady waiting," Adam says. "So what do you need, Henry?"

I furrow my brow in thought.WhatdoI need?They can't erase what happened last Friday. I wouldn't want them to. But they are right. You don't shit where you eat. I sigh.

"I don't really know that anything can be done. Just keep your fingers crossed that I'm not in HR by the end of the week."

"Or," Cory chimes in. "You can play extra nice at work, and maybe she'll drop the whole thing."

"Extra nice?" I question skeptically. "I'm her boss. I'm not there to be nice."

Adam chuckles.

"Those sound like the words of someone about to get written up. I agree with Cory. Don't harass her or anything. Just be nicer."

"We all know you can be a bit stiff, bro," adds Noah. "Loosen up, play nice, and hopefully, this all blows over."

I hope to God they're right. I don't have time to hire and train someone new right now. I'm right in the middle of Naomi's case and I can't screw up with a VIP.Loosen up. Play nice.That's going to be my motto until things cool down.

"Maybe I'll stop keeping her so late? Bring in some donuts or something?"

Noah laughs.

"Hearing you figure out how to be nice is like watching monkeys try to use tools."

I hang up at the sound of my brothers' laughter. I can tell I'm never going to live this conversation down.

Chapter twelve

Henry

I'm at a loss. After a night of fretting, it's like yesterday never happened. Camila didn't show up late. She didn't stomp when I called her into my office to discuss outstanding invoices. She didn't roll her eyes or glare when we reviewed the last of the client files moving to archive, even though I had several questions and she's been trying to close out this task for weeks. She's been professional to a T.

Unfortunately, she also didn't drink the iced caramel frappuccino with extra whip I left on her desk before she got in this morning. Byron at Starbucks thought I had a screw loose when I ordered it with my usual black coffee. My first attempt to "play nice" is now up for grabs in the communal kitchen. At leastsomeonewill enjoy it.

I should be jumping for joy. After all, I probably don't have to worry about getting a slap on the wrist from HR. I probably do, however, need to switch my nightly hot showers to cold.

Gone are the frumpy K-Mart suits my aunt could've worn. Instead, Camila's wearing a form fitting pencil skirt and four-inch stilettos. She traded her worn out cardigan for a blouse that plunges so low I can see the magenta lace of her bra whenever she leans over my desk. Her usual no-nonsense buns and ponytails have been replaced with loose, wavy locks long enough to brush the tops of her breasts. If we didn't work together, I'd be thinking about running my fingers through her tresses, feeling the silkiness against my skin and envisioning it wrapped around my fist. Since we work together, though, that's the furthest thing from my mind.

On the second day after the "the storm out", she wears a cream wrap dress that stops above the knees to reveal shapely legs and another pair of stilettos. Her hair is down again, but pulled back from her face to highlight gold hoop earrings that brush against the long column of her neck any time she talks. It's borderline distracting. The skin there looks smooth and sensitive…is something I would say if we weren't colleagues.

Walking into Naomi and Tanner's first mediation, I almost bump into Camila when she bends down to pick up papers from her leather folio.No more plain legal pad for her.It takes almost all of my concentration not to think about what someone whodoesn'twork with her would think after seeing the outline of a thong against her tight navy skirt. Someone whodoesn'tworkwith her might think about sliding that skirt up to expose the plump, lush globes, pushing that thong to the side, and—

"Shall we begin, counselor?"

Both the mediator and stenographer look at me expectantly, and I clear my throat to regain some self-control. Camila raises an eyebrow in question.

"Yes, of course. Please proceed."

I open my copy of the client file to validate Tanner's answers and ensure Naomi does not needlessly disclose anything that could impact the settlement. As we anticipated, the largest liability is the pending TanFit IPO. Most judges would question a spouse filing for divorce so close to when the other stands to receive a windfall. I'll need to prep Naomi for hostile questioning from the other attorney on this.

Despite the awkward start, the mediation proceeds as expected. Tanner flew out to attend in person, and both he and Naomi appear calm throughout. But I don't miss the tic in Tanner's jaw each time property is discussed. Years as a divorce attorney means I have a nose for when a client is trying to withhold information. I make a note to investigate further.

It's been two weeks since the incident and Camila hasn't slipped and called me "Henry" once. She comes in on time and works diligently, but doesn't stay a second past when I dismiss her to go home. She's even pushed back against staying late once or twice, mentioning "after-work commitments".Does she have a hot date or something?

She used to ask about my weekend, offer to grab me a coffee, tease me about my repetitive lunch orders. All of that's goneand in its place is painfully dry small talk. The weather. Her commute. The date of the next department happy hour. And nowI'mthe one initiating these conversations, if you can call them that. They last no longer than is polite before she's back at her desk or off to the library for more research.

With everyone else, she's her usual chatty self. She led this month's paralegal professional development session, lingering in the conference room to joke around with the team before heading out for drinks. When she's at her desk, she's talking and laughing with anyone that passes by; usually that dweeb, Jeremy, from the mailroom. They laugh togethera lot. He finds a reason to visit her desk almost daily, bringing her packages as soon as they arrive or volunteering to help her stuff envelopes. She's too blind to see the poor boy's got a crush on her. I wish it didn't all unfold in full view of my desk.

---