Page 13 of After Everything
When the knock finally came, I practically lunged for the door.
Sarah stood in the hallway, and for a second, all I could do was look at her.
She was dressed down in jeans, a cream-colored sweater, and her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. No makeup except maybe a touch of mascara. She looked younger like this, more like the Sarah I'd known in law school, before the power suits and the polished veneer of corporate law.
Beautiful. She was so fucking beautiful.
"Hey," I said, and my voice came out rougher than I intended. I reached for her, my hand going to her waist the way it always did, ready to pull her close, to kiss her, to feel something good for the first time in four days.
She stepped past me into the room.
Not pulling away, exactly. Just... moving. Creating space between us before I could close it.
I stood there for a second, hand still outstretched, feeling stupid. Then I closed the door and turned to face her.
She was standing in the middle of the room, arms at her sides, looking around like she was cataloging everything. The unmade bed. The empty whiskey bottles on the desk. My suitcase in the corner, still half-unpacked.
"I'm so glad you're here," I said, moving toward her. "I've been going crazy. Emma won't answer my calls, and I just… I needed to see you. I needed?—"
"David." Her voice cut through mine. Flat. Professional. "We need to talk."
I stopped moving.
Something in her tone made my stomach drop. I knew that voice. I'd heard it in mock trials, in negotiations, when she was about to deliver bad news to a client.
"Okay," I said slowly. "What's going on?"
She crossed her arms. "My father isasking questions."
My blood went cold.
Her father. Richard Oakley. Managing partner at Oakley & Barnes. The man who'd built his firm on a reputation for conservative values and pristine ethics. The man who'd given a speech at our law school graduation about integrity being the cornerstone of the profession. The man who would absolutely lose his shit if he found out his daughter had been sleeping with a married co-counsel on the biggest case either of our firms had handled in years.
Sarah had always been careful about that. Paranoid, even. We never went to thesame restaurants twice. Never met anywhere near her office. She'd remind me to delete my messages each and every time. She'd made me promise—no, made meswear—that no one could ever find out, because if her father knew, it would destroy everything she'd worked for.
"What kind of questions?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She looked at me, and for the first time since she'd walked in, I saw something in her expression. Not affection. Not concern.
Fear.
"Someone saw us," she said. "At the Fairmont. Three weeks ago."
My mind raced. The Fairmont. Three weeks ago. That was the night we'd celebrated crushing the Richardson deposition. We'd been careful, hadn’t we? Separate cars, fake names... But we'd had a drink at the bar first. And then...
"Okay," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. Lawyer mode. Problem-solving mode. Yes, that’s what I needed. "Okay, so someone saw us having a drink. That doesn't mean anything. We're co-counsel,Sarah. We're supposed to be working together. Having a drink after a long day is completely?—"
"They saw us in the elevator, David." Her voice was ice. "Kissing."
Fuck.
"Who?" I asked. "Who saw us?"
"Does it matter?" She shook her head. "Someone from my firm. They told someone else. That person mentioned it to my father. He called me into his office yesterday and asked if there was anything 'inappropriate' happening with the Henderson case."
The way she said 'inappropriate'—like it was toxic, like it burned coming out of her mouth—made something twist in my chest.
"What did you tell him?"
