Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
She enters her building and I start walking toward the corner where I first ran into Cole. I suck in a breath, some part of me—no, all of me—wanting him to be there when I know that in morning light I’d been his charity case. It wouldn’t be what it was last night.
I round the corner and run into a hard chest. I suck in air and look up to find a good-looking man with dark brown hair, and brown eyes.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I lie, because the truth is, I’m not okay. I murmur an apology and rush past him, because he’s not Cole. But in my fairy tale, we don’t end how we did this morning. One day, I’ll just happen to walk around the corner and run into Cole, and I’ll be an attorney who won’t look like someone chasing his money, because I’ll have my own.
One day. Or never. He doesn’t even live in New York City.
Sometimes the right people meet at the wrong time.
Chapter twelve
Cole
Houston, TX
One week later…
I’m sitting behind the desk of my downtown Houston office, staring across the city, and Ashley sets paperwork on my desk. “No,” she says, as she does. “It’s nothing to do with Lori, whoever Lori might be. It’s the estimates on the remodel for your New York apartment. Looks like it’s going to take longer than expected.”
“How much longer?”
“Three months. I already have calls for additional estimates.”
My phone buzzes and the receptionist says, “Judge Conners is on the line.”
“Put him through.” The line blinks and I say, “Judge Conners. Give me some good news.”
“I’ll hear your plea for a new trial in court, at which time the prosecutor will be present, and be allowed to make his case for the past trial to stand.”
“Thank you, Judge.”
“Don’t thank me. I don’t do favors. Your client may very well be guilty. I simply serve the system as the golden promise of a fair trial. If he didn’t get one, he will.” He hangs up.
Ashley arches a brow. “Good news?”
“For my client. Keep the remodel as is. I’m not going to be able to complete my move until I finish this case.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” she says. “Can’t you hand this over to one of the other dozen attorneys in the firm? You’re a managing partner.”
My mind flashes back to the first board meeting after my father’s death, and the moments after I proposed our growth into New York City and beyond. The vote had been one that united our team in a way my father had divided us. “I didn’t earn the respect I have by handing off cases that can make or break this firm’s reputation or a man’s future. I have to finish what I started.”
“You sold your apartment,” she reminds me. “You have to be out in three weeks. And I’m moving to Europe with the man of my dreams, which is not you.”
Not me. She’s right. It’s not. She’s a gorgeous redhead with green eyes, and had we met outside of work, where I keep my private life, I might have fucked her. But despite liking her as person, and working with her for five years now, I can say that a morning-after goodbye would have come easily with Ashley. Goodbye is always easy for me, or it was, until Lori.
“Cole?”
I blink with the realization that Ashley is talking and I’m not listening. “Yes?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Get the prison on the line,” I say. “I need to talk to my client.”
“You have a meeting with a potential client in New York in three days,” she reminds me, “and I put in your application to cross state lines. I know you. You’re going to want to take this case.”
“Are you sure you can’t move to New York over Europe and help launch the new offices?”
“Hmmm,” she says, a finger on her chin. “Let me think.” She drops her hand. “No. I am living in Paris for six months while my soon-to-be husband appraises art for the Louvre Museum. There’s no way to compete. Maybe when I get back.” She taps the file on my desk. “I’ll keep your hotel room in New York City. I assume I need to find you one here as well.”
“You assume correctly.”
She nods and heads for the door, and hesitates, turning to face me, “I’ve never seen you obsess over a woman before. I hope you find her or she finds you.”
She turns and leaves.
No hope to it, I think. I’m going to find her.
Lori
New York City, NY
I head home from my last day at the law firm, which is ironically on my birthday, and my mother has a big, “new job/happy birthday” cake baked for me, despite her having to work tonight. I walk up the narrow steps of the building leading to our floor, and once I’m at our door, I pause. I always pause at this moment to steel myself for the punch in the belly I feel when I walk inside and face our odd place, nice furnishings in the beat-up, tiny space; a reminder of what my mother had, what we had, and have lost. Still, today I do it with hope, I remind myself. I am now making ten grand a year more than I was a week ago. I’m up for this scholarship program. I have hope.