Page 7 of Worth the Wait

I place the diploma on my new bookshelf, my hand lingering on the frame. I'd arrived home from freshman year full of modern business theories and ambitious plans, eager to revolutionize my father's struggling company. I can still hear the echo of our arguments bouncing off the thin paneled walls after hours, his stubborn pride colliding with my youthful certainty. The way those arguments and frustration turned into bitterness… that I took out on Tarryn.

“You’re pushing me away again,” she pleads through broken sobs on the other end of the phone. “Please, Jack.”

“I’m not, Tar!” I snap.My body still flinches at the memory of my harsh tone.“I can’t do this right now, I’m too—I’m too…”

“Too what, Jackson?” Her voice sounds hollow, like she already knows what’s coming despite all the times I told her it wouldn’t.

“Too tired to deal with this. Too frustrated. Too—done, Tarryn. I just need space.”

Then came the heart attack—a thunderclap moment that redefined my world in the space of a single phone call.

My fingers absently trace the edge of my desk as I remember the sterile hospital corridor, the metronomic beeping of machines matching my racing pulse. I remember the desperate calls to Tarryn that went straight to voicemail, the text messages that delivered but never received responses. She had every right to put those boundaries in place. Every right to never speak to me again after I destroyed her world… but it didn’t make it any easier. The memory constricts my chest even now, making it difficult to breathe in my expansive new office despite the years that have passed.

I shake off the heaviness of recollection and check my watch. Time to embrace this new chapter—junior counsel at Blake Financial. A fresh start in a new city where the ghosts of Maple Ridge can't follow me.

Or so I thought.

The car glides through Chicago's morning traffic, and I rehearse what I know about Blake Financial's key players. Taylor and Austin Blake, of course, a powerhouse couple that took the Chicago financial world by storm several years ago. Miguel Ramirez, managing partner, Yale Law, known for his aggressive expansion of the firm's corporate client base. Christine Blackwell, senior counsel, Harvard Law, specializes in corporate restructuring with a reputation for ruthless efficiency. A handful of junior attorneys with impressive credentials but not enough experience to pose any real competition for the junior counsel position Miguel dangled during our last meeting.

"We're looking for someone who can bring fresh perspective to our negotiation strategy," he said. "Someone who isn't afraid to take calculated risks."

The building is an architectural maze of gleaming glass and sharp angles, exactly what you'd expect from one of Chicago's top financial firms. The security guard checks my ID, hands me a temporary badge, and directs me to the elevators with practiced efficiency.

Miguel is waiting in the lobby when I arrive, his handshake firm, his smile conveying he’s genuinely pleased to see me.

"Jackson! Right on time. Let's get you settled." He claps me on the shoulder, guiding me toward the elevator. "We've got you set up in a corner office on the twenty-third floor. North view. You can see the lake on clear days."

"I appreciate that," I say, following him into the elevator. "I'm looking forward to diving in."

"Eager. I like that." Miguel presses the button for the twenty-third floor. "We'll do a quick tour, introduce you around, then I've scheduled a meeting to discuss your integration into the Westfield contract team."

The doors close with a soft ping, and Miguel launches into an overview of the firm's structure. I nod at appropriate intervals, but my attention catches on something else—a laugh floating down the hallway as we step off the elevator. A laugh I would recognize anywhere, even after eight years.

It can't be.

But my body knows before my mind fully processes it, a visceral reaction that sends electricity crackling across my skin. I've heard that laugh in my dreams for years—bright, slightly husky around the edges, with a musical quality that used to make me do ridiculous things just to hear it again.

"The junior counsel position we discussed will be opening up officially next quarter," Miguel is saying as we walk, obliviousto my sudden distraction. "Though, I should mention there's another promising attorney who'll be in consideration. Healthy competition, you understand."

I force myself to focus. "Of course. I welcome the challenge."

We turn a corner, and Miguel gestures to various offices, introducing me to an increasingly forgettable parade of associates and paralegals. I shake hands, make small talk, and try to ignore the way my pulse has picked up speed, the way my ears strain for that laugh again.

As we pass an open office door, I notice a woman hurriedly ducking inside, as if avoiding someone in the hallway. The glimpse is fleeting—just chestnut hair and a familiar profile that makes my heart stop. I catch just enough to recognize the elegant curve of her neck, the way she moves with that distinctive grace I'd know blindfolded.

Tarryn. Here. Impossible.

I convince myself I'm imagining things—Chicago is a big city, and the odds of Tarryn being at this specific firm are pretty much impossible. Still, the possibility leaves me distracted throughout the remainder of the tour, my responses to Miguel becoming increasingly mechanical as my mind races.

"And this will be your office," Miguel says, showing me into a spacious corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows. "Take a moment to get settled. I'll have my assistant bring you the Westfield materials to review before our meeting."

"Thank you. I appreciate the warm welcome."

"Blake Financial values talent," he says simply. "We're expecting great things from you, Jackson."

As soon as Miguel leaves, I drop into the leather chair behind my new desk and pull out my phone, fingers shaking slightly as I type a name into the search bar: Tarryn Wells.

Nothing comes up in the firm directory. Of course not. I'm being ridiculous. Chicago is a city of nearly three million people. The odds that she's here, at this specific firm…

---