Page 12 of Dial L for Lawyer
My phone buzzes. A text from her:
Serena:
About that last ground rule. If we're going to do this without the past affecting the case, I need to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry about today, and the calling other lawyers thing. I'm sorry I didn't call you the moment David said to. I'm sorry it was Bennett who reached out instead of me. And I'm really sorry about the ghosting thing. I'm apparently sorry about a lot of things.
I stare at the text, caught between laughing and throwing my phone at the wall. She's sorry. Six months of silence, six months of me checking my phone like a lovesick idiot, six months of jerking off to the memory of how she felt pressed against me—and she's sorry. Now.
Me:
Stop apologizing and eat something that isn't cookies.
Serena:
I bake them. I don't eat them.
Of course she doesn't. I noticed the way her clothes fit differently today—still perfect, still driving me insane, but she's thinner. Stress, probably. The urge to feed her, to take care of her, is overwhelming.
I almost text back:You always were a masochist, Morgan.But the ache in my chest betrays how badly I want to keep her talking, how desperate I am for any scrap of connection, so instead I type:
Me:
Tomorrow, 9 sharp. Conference room three. Don't be late.
Serena:
OK. I'll bring coffee. The good stuff from Bloom & Brew.
The idea shouldn't make my chest tight, but it does.
Me:
I also like snickerdoodles.
Serena:
I'll bring them too, then.
I put my phone face down on the desk, but it vibrates two more times before I can even turn to the compliance brief on my screen.
Serena:
Thanks, Caleb.
Seriously.
I stare at those two messages longer than I should. Six months of radio silence, and now she's thanking me. For what? For doing my job? For not throwing her out of my office? For not telling her that I've thought about her every goddamn day since she disappeared? For not mentioning that I can still feel her phantom touch, still wake up wishing for her, still see her everywhere—in every woman with dark hair, in every laugh that's almost but not quite hers?
I lean back in my chair, staring at the Chicago skyline, knowing I'm in for a late night at the office while I review everypiece of evidence she gave me, looking for the holes in their case. Because there will be holes. There always are.
But right now, for just a moment, I let myself remember the way she felt in my arms on that dance floor. The way she laughed at my terrible jokes. The way she confided in me as though I was the only person who ever understood her. The way she whispered in my ear and giggles when I whispered a little too close to hers. The way she looked at me like I was everything she wanted but couldn't let herself have.
Before she decided I wasn't worth the risk.
CHAPTER 5
Serena
Conference room three is all glass walls and polished mahogany, the morning sun cutting sharp lines across the massive table. I arrive ten minutes early with a box of warm snickerdoodles and two cups from Bloom & Brew. Setting everything out feels like preparing for battle, each item a peace offering or a shield, depending on how this goes.
