Page 36 of Client Privilege

“Claude Mercier?” Damian asked.

I nodded, surprised. “You know him?”

“I collect Canadian art. His work is extraordinary. I didn’t realizethe professor who had helped you and the Claude Mercier I know of are the same person.”

“He’s the one who helped me get the gallery internship where—” I stopped, Marcus’s shadow suddenly falling across the table.

“Where you met Marcus,” Damian finished quietly.

I nodded, the pleasant mood threatening to evaporate.

“Your professor saw something special in your work,” Damian said, redirecting the conversation. “I’d like to see it someday.”

“Most of it’s gone. Marcus either has it or destroyed it.”

“You’ll create more,” he said with such certainty that I almost believed him.

The conversation shifted to safer topics—books we’d read, places we’d travelled. Damian described growing up in Vancouver, his decision to study law instead of following his father into medicine. I found myself relaxing, drawn into the rhythm of normal conversation.

When he described a disastrous sailing trip with his law school roommates, I laughed—a real laugh that bubbled up unexpectedly from somewhere I thought had dried up long ago. The sound startled me into silence.

“What?” Damian asked, his eyes warm.

“I just—I can’t remember the last time I laughed,” I admitted.

Something shifted in his expression. “You should do it more often.”

The moment stretched between us, charged with something I wasn’t ready to name. I looked away first, suddenly aware of how comfortable I’d become in his presence.

“It’s getting late,” I said, though I felt no desire to leave.

Damian signalled for the cheque. “We have another full day tomorrow.”

As we stepped outside into the cool night air, Toronto’s skyline glittered around us. I found myself studying Damian’s profile, the way the city lights caught the angles of his face. This evening had feltnothing like the elaborate dinners with Marcus, which had always been performances designed to showcase his generosity, his sophistication, his control. With Damian, the conversation had flowed naturally, his questions asked out of genuine interest rather than as a means to gather information he could use against me later.

I caught myself wondering what it would be like to do this again, to spend more evenings in his company, and immediately forced the thought away. He was my lawyer, nothing more. These warm feelings in my chest were just gratitude, I told myself. They had to be. Anything else would be inappropriate, dangerous even. I couldn’t afford to blur those lines, not when my entire future depended on his professional judgment.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said, trying to distract myself from my thoughts, as we waited for the valet to bring Damian’s car.

“Thank you for the company,” he replied simply.

Damian

I PULLEDinto my driveway just after eleven, the house dark and silent as always. Normally, I welcomed the quiet after long days of legal battles and client meetings. Tonight, it felt hollow.

The evening with Alex kept replaying in my mind as I hung my coat and moved through the empty rooms. The way his face had transformed when he spoke about his mother, the animation in his hands as he described his early art projects. Most of all, that unexpected laugh—startling both of us with its genuineness.

I poured myself a scotch and stood at the kitchen window, staring into the darkness of my meticulously landscaped but rarely usedbackyard. When was the last time I’d truly enjoyed dining with someone? Not a business meal or obligatory firm function, but actually lost track of time in conversation?

Christopher and I had stopped having real conversations months before he left. My brief relationship with Robert prior to Christopher had been more about mutual convenience than connection. Before that… I couldn’t remember.

The realization was uncomfortable. I took a long sip of scotch, letting the burn distract me from the direction my thoughts were taking.

Alex wasn’t just any client. He was vulnerable, traumatized, fighting for his safety and freedom. And I was his lawyer—the person entrusted with protecting his interests. The professional boundaries couldn’t be clearer.

Yet I couldn’t deny the pull I felt toward him. It wasn’t just physical attraction, though that was undeniably present. It was something more fundamental—a recognition, perhaps. Behind his wariness and trauma, I glimpsed someone who saw the world differently than I did, someone whose perspective I wanted to understand.

“This is completely inappropriate,” I said aloud to the empty kitchen.

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