Do You Take This Man (86)

“I knew you’d want a heads-up,” Eric said, tapping my desk. “I’m going to step in with Gretchen. Can you catch me up later this afternoon?”

Gretchen knocked on my door, her silhouette imposing outside the wall of frosted glass, and I nodded at Eric.

“Come in,” I said, steadying my voice. Gretchen looked professional, composed, and pissed. It was in the set of her mouth, which was different from her normal assessing expression.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Eric said, giving us both a nod.

The definitive click of the door was the only sound in the room besides my pounding heartbeat, and Gretchen took the seat across from me, letting the silence hang.

“I assume Eric told you what happened,” she said. “Please catch him up on your work this afternoon. We’ll be pivoting our strategy now.”

“Sure.” I swallowed. “Gretchen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know press would be anywhere near that wedding.”

She held up a palm. “You didn’t make Dina Mayfield have an affair, lie to her husband, or touch the man in public where a photographer could catch it. Like me, you advised her to tell us everything. She didn’t.”

I knew what was coming.

“But we don’t represent people because they do the right thing.”

I added, “We represent them because they’re our clients.”

Gretchen nodded. “And this wedding officiant thing has compromised your ability to represent her. I know you agreed to do this to keep some of our other clients happy, and that you’re winding down, but this needs to end immediately. You’ve asked me to help guide you in your career. My guidance is to wrap up what you need to in the next week and get out of these weddings.”

I nodded. “I will. I have a small one on Saturday—it’s not for a client—but I’ll cancel the rest.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry, Gretchen.”

“I know, and you need to fix it. You’re off this case, but you’re a talented attorney.” She leveled me with a stare. It wasn’t cold, but she was studying me. “Normally, I don’t involve myself in the personal lives of our attorneys outside of it affecting the firm, and this does not affect your work, but that photo revealed more than just Dina Mayfield. Are you seeing Lear Campbell?”

I flushed, and heat spread across my face.

She shook her head. “Never mind. You don’t need to answer that, and I shouldn’t have asked. But, for what it’s worth, I’ve known him for a very long time. I’d hate to see him hurt.” She stood and rapped the corner of my desk. “You’re tough like me, I think. Sometimes we hurt people we don’t mean to.”

The sound of her delicate knuckles against the polished wood added an emphatic punctuation to the sentence.

When the door closed again, I pressed my fingertips to my temples.

No Lear. No Mayfield case. And I had given the person I looked up to most at work reason to believe I would hurt her friend. Her friend I had hurt.

That thread of guilt I’d felt at the wedding grew thicker in my veins.



* * *



? ? ?

“SHE LIVES!” BRITTA’S smile filled my screen later that night, though her voice was hushed.

I winced and glanced at the clock on my wall. It was after ten, and I hadn’t left the office all day. “Sorry, is it too late?”

“No, just give me a minute.” The phone fell to her side, and I listened to the bedding rustle and then heard Wes’s muffled, sleepy voice. “It’s RJ. I’ll be in the living room,” she said softly.

“Hi, RJ.” The end of my name trailed off, and I imagined Wes had already gone back to sleep. Minus three friend points for not thinking before calling at ten at night.

“Sorry,” I said when she held the phone to her face again, their living room in the background, the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her. “I forgot he has to be up so early.”

“He’s already back to sleep. He’s been getting up early to train with Cord. Lately he’s passed out by nine.” She pushed a curl off her face, eyes bright. “I don’t think he even fully woke up. What’s going on? Haven’t talked to you in a few days.”

“It’s been a week.” That was an understatement. “You remember I told you I was on a big case?”

“Sure,” Britta said. “Something happen?”

“I’m off the case.” No one enjoyed making their client mad, but it was chilling when Dina’s anger turned to me specifically, hearing her accusation that the spectacle of the weddings on the side had taken my focus and attention from her case. When I talked with Eric, he told me more details. I had asked him to, but every new piece of information was an added papercut.

“I know you can’t give details, but are you okay?”

The breath that escaped my lips was shakier than I wanted, and my chest felt tight.

“I’ll rephrase,” Britta said, searching my face on the screen. She, Kat, and Del always joked about how I lawyered them—made use of silence and a stony expression to get them to talk—but Britta never needed to do anything to get me to talk. “Tell me why you’re not okay.”

“It’s stupid,” I said, pulling in another breath I wished were steadier.