Page 7 of Dial L for Lawyer
"Serena Morgan for Caleb Kingsley. Eight AM appointment."
The guard checks his list, hands me a visitor badge. "Thirty-second floor. The receptionist will direct you."
The elevator ride feels endless. I check my reflection in the mirrored walls—lipstick perfect, black hair sleek, armor fully in place. No one would guess I spent half the night crying and the other half practicing what I'd say to him.
Hi Caleb. I know I ghosted you, but could you save my career?
Caleb, wonderful to see you. About that whole disappearing thing...
I'm sorry I'm a coward who couldn't handle the idea of you getting to know the real me.
The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to reveal a reception area that whispers seductively about success. Floor-to-ceiling windows, leather and chrome furniture, crystal vases filled with fresh orchids that probably get replaced daily.
"Serena Morgan for Mr. Kingsley," I tell the impossibly polished receptionist.
"Of course, Ms. Morgan. He's expecting you. Last office at the end of the hall."
Each step down that hallway takes effort. My hands are shaking. I clutch my bag tighter, the folder of evidence inside crinkling.
His door is open.
I knock anyway.
"Come in."
That voice. Six months, and his voice still makes my stomach flip.
Caleb's office is exactly what I expected. It’s massive, intimidating, with a view that probably adds zeros to his hourly rate. And there he is, behind an imposing mahogany desk, looking like he stepped out of a GQ spread. Charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, no tie yet because it's early. His dark blond hairis perfectly styled, those devastating cheekbones even sharper than I remember.
His dark eyes lift from whatever document he's reviewing and lock with mine.
Time stops.
Six months disappear.
I'm back at the gala, in his arms, believing in fairy tales.
"Serena." His expression shifts to professional neutrality, and I remember why I'm here.
"Hi." I hover in the doorway like an idiot. "I'm sorry. I really should have called myself."
"Sit." He gestures to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. Not warm, but not cold either.
I perch on the edge of the chair, clutching my purse like a lifeline. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we aren’t saying. My nerves swirl about in my gut, and as much as I want to slip back into the snarky banter we shared before, I know it’s not the time. This isn’t the gala. It isn’t even a rooftop bar. This is an execution, and he's my only hope for a pardon.
"Thanks for seeing me so quickly.”
“Of course.”
“I was surprised, actually. I thought you might have had me banned from the building." I wince as soon as the words are out.That’s not keeping this professional, Serena!
His eyebrows draw together slightly. "Why would I do that?"
"Because I..." I force myself to meet his eyes. "Because I ghosted you.”
“Ghosted? Is that what the kids are calling being stood up these days?”
The words feel like stones in my gut. My face flames hot. "I?—"
