There is no fighting this.

  I’m careful when it’s over. I stay on my knees, breathing through the rising tide of emotion. I stand up and I hear myself telling him, “That was some fantasy,” in a voice filled with light and laughter.

  He’d never know I’m on the cusp of crying, never suspect his tender touch on the top of my elbow, his way of helping me up off the ground to ensure I’m all right and cared for—it’s too much. We have to cleave it here, immediately after the fact. Continuing to touch will lead to something like hope, and I’d like to avoid that at all costs.

  He tries to get me to look at him, but I won’t. “Can I use this bathroom?”

  “Of course.”

  I clean up as best as possible, and though everything tries to race forward—the guilt, the fear, the shame—I conquer it all with forced, deep breaths. Good sex can just be good sex. That feeling in the pit of my stomach doesn’t have to take precedence.

  When I’m done in the bathroom, I’m surprised to find Hudson is standing on the other side of the door, his forehead wrinkled with concern, his mouth a sharp, disapproving line. He’s cleaned himself up too. He looks perfectly put together again.

  “Scarlett—”

  I have a good idea of what he’s about to say—because I’ve heard it before—and due to the chance that it will devastate me, I cut him off. My laugh sounds like it’s coming from across the room, that’s how outside of myself I am.

  “Don’t get soft on me now,” I tease.

  His expression doesn’t loosen. He’s wound tight. He looks like he’s shouldering some huge burden. “I know that was a lot.”

  I smile. “But nothing I didn’t ask for.”

  He reaches out to smooth my shirt and fix my collar. Gentle, reverent touches.

  “I have to get to work,” I tell him.

  It feels like a petty game I’m playing with myself, to be the one to shut it down first, to nip it in the bud before he can.

  He straightens and holds up a finger, remembering something.

  “My mom wanted me to give you this.”

  He hurries to his desk where he picks up a frame with a yellow satin ribbon tied around the middle. When he holds it out for me to take, I realize it’s one of his mother’s landscape paintings, no bigger than a piece of paper. It’s her signature style, sweeping blue skies and saturated green hills.

  I don’t even know what to say.

  “She painted this for me?” I almost sound troubled by the idea.

  He rubs the back of his neck, staring down at it. “I’m sure there’s subliminal messaging incorporated into it somehow. The words ‘Marry Hudson’ are probably swirled into the clouds.”

  I laugh and fight the urge to clutch it against my chest. “If I write her a thank you note, will you pass it on to her?”

  “Of course.”

  My tone shifts. “Did you ever talk to her about us? Come clean and all that?”

  “I tried to.”

  He sounds guilty about it.

  “Hudson!”

  He laughs, and I’m wholly unprepared for his boyish dimples. “She was really taken by you.”

  “I told you she would be! You know she friended me on Facebook after that lunch. Wrote me a message and everything. I had to print it out to read, it was so long.”

  He groans in agony. “The woman cannot be stopped.”

  “I like her.”

  He nods, processing everything. His gaze is down on the painting again. “I’ll break the news to her soon,” he promises.

  Right.

  I nod. “I guess there’s no rush. I don’t want to burst her bubble. Whenever you think it’s time.”

  There’s a natural lull in our conversation, and both of us look away. Then, like we’ve rehearsed it, we look back and our eyes connect again at the exact same moment, and we laugh. We’re shy like we’re eighteen, on the cusp of adulthood, unarmored and soft. The innocence is so foreign to me. I haven’t considered before now all the ways I’ve lost this ability to feel so purely.

  “I think we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a pickle.”

  Hudson laughs again. “For the record, I didn’t call you into my office to have sex with you.”

  “No?” I feign disappointment. “Damn.”

  He studies me so intently I worry I’m telegraphing every thought. Does he see it? The truth? I’d like to know it for myself.

  “What are you looking for, Scarlett?” he asks.

  I wasn’t expecting the candid question.

  “Me?”

  What do I want? What have I always wanted?

  “I’m looking to add my name to that little plaque out in the hall. Scarlett Elwood, partner.”

  His eyes spark with interest. “And in your personal life?”

  “I have no personal life.”

  “Good.” His reply is curt, quick. “Neither do I. You know I’m the least eligible man in this building. Ask anyone. I have no heart, no head for anything outside of law. I’m a real villain, actually. Before you came, Lucy was my only friend, and I’m not sure how that friendship started anyway. I don’t want any distractions. I want my promotion and then I want to keep working. No sailing off into the sunset for me.”

  “You’re a villain?”

  “Don’t you see it?” He points to the painting. “Look what I did to my mom, lying to her about being in a relationship.”

  “You’re a real bastard,” I laugh.

  I can’t reconcile how he sees himself with how I see him. I mean, sure, no one would say he’s the most personable man alive, but he’s so warm, down deep.

  “Exactly. Ask your brothers. They’ll confirm it.”

  I nod, glad I already steeled myself for this conversation. “So is this some big warning to stay away from you? Because I’m no fool. I’m not head over heels in love with you, Hudson. I’m married to my work too. I don’t want any distractions.”

  “So we understand each other.”

  Do we?

  The door to his office opens while we’re still looking at each other and Lucy walks in without knocking. She’s holding a stack of papers for Hudson to sign and she’s talking a mile a minute.

  She doesn’t even take note of how we’re standing, too close for coworkers, though at least we aren’t touching. I’m holding the painting, and a quick assessment of Hudson’s desk proves there’s no damning evidence, but it’s not in its usual orderly state either. His computer monitor is about to tip off the edge. Another inch and it’ll be lying on the floor, a crack splintering the screen right down the middle.

  There’s no conversation to be had now that we have an audience. I have to get to work and Hudson is already late for a conference call, and that’s the way it goes in big law.

  I’m an attorney first and a person second and I don’t feel sorry for myself. I relish it. I love my work and I’m good at it and I’m going to make a name for myself in this company despite everything.

  I don’t want Hudson. He was a means to an end for me, someone to help me get my mojo back after Jasper the Lame Ghost. And now I have it.

  So there.

  We can move on.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Scarlett

  I’ve put the Kendra issue almost completely to bed. She sucks and she always will suck. I know it in my heart of hearts, and yet I can’t seem to stop holding out hope that she’ll wake up one day having undergone a full-on personality transplant overnight. It’s why I still put in the effort to be cordial even though I know it’s futile.

  Every morning, I walk into our office with the understanding that I can project all the sunshine and rainbows I want but that doesn’t mean it’ll change anything. I’ve come to terms with this purgatory I’ve found myself in with her, which is why I’m beyond shocked when I enter our shared office after my meeting with Hudson to find her standing behind her desk, loading up a cardboard box with her personal belongings.

  She’s not dressed in work attire. She’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants. When she sees me, she just nods in greeting. But then she tacks on a mild, “Well you win.”

  I drop my work bag on my desk. “I win what?”

  Has this been a game the whole time? If so, it’s been the most awful one I’ve ever played.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I hate working here. I thought it would get better. I’ve tried, but it’s just not worth it. Not for all the money in the world.”

  I didn’t realize she was struggling. I mean now that she mentions it, I can think back on a few instances where it seemed like Bethany or Sophie was frustrated with her about something, but I never thought it had anything to do with Kendra herself, more so just the intense workload in general.

  “Where are you going?”

  I figure she’ll name another big law firm, maybe Pierce Hughes in New York City or LMD in Boston.

  Instead, she says, “Bali.”

  Her answer is so out of left field, and I try to place the word within the confines of law. Is Bali a firm in LA or…

  “Bali?!” I erupt, finally understanding.

  She’s unfazed by my wide-eyed reaction. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to live there, and it’s kind of now or never. I’m going to pursue my jewelry line.”

  Jewelry line?

  “Wow…that’s—”

  She can tell I don’t know what to say. She shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. My parents are outraged, but I don’t care. And hey, at least you’ll get the whole office to yourself now.”

  She seems lighter now that she knows the end is near, like her hate for me was intrinsically tied to her struggle with this job. That might well have been the case. Every time she was particularly grumpy or excessively rude, she might have just been struggling to stay on top of her work. The stress might have been eating away at her.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  And the sentiment is genuine, oddly enough. I didn’t like Kendra, but I also didn’t put much effort into hating her. I thought we might have a reckoning of sorts one day, a final battle royale that would end in us either murdering or befriending each other.

  Her just up and leaving, for Bali no less, was never on my bingo card.

  “Eh, whatever.” She picks up a stapler, studies it for a second, then shoves it in the cardboard box. “What’s a crap ton of student debt compared to happiness, right?”

  I chuckle.

  She starts to empty her top drawer, picking up the pace with pens and paper clips—shoving it all in with little care or attention. “Anyway, since it doesn’t matter anymore anyway, here’s my two cents. Makayla and Ramona probably won’t last here much longer. Ramona’s trying to get knocked up by her boyfriend who’s some big finance guy. She’d much rather be a stay-at-home mom than schlep to work here every day. And Makayla can barely stay on top of her workload. The girl is dumb as a box of rocks. She told me she got called in for a performance review a few weeks ago and they essentially told her she was on the chopping block.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I doubt she lasts the month.”

  I can barely keep up. First Kendra, now Makayla and Ramona too? I sort of thought everyone was settling in the way I was, loving the work as much as me. With everything I had going on, I forgot the warning Bethany gave us on our first day on the job. By this time next year, a quarter of you will be gone. In two years, only half of you will be left standing.

  Turns out, she was right.

  “Can’t say I’m particularly sad about that news…”

  She’s unbothered by my honesty regarding her pseudo-friends. Then she picks up her mouse pad. “Want this?”

  I look down at mine. “I’m good.”

  She drops it unceremoniously into her box and tosses in her mouse for good measure.

  “Did you guys actually hate me?”

  “Oh yeah, for sure.”

  There was no pause, no hesitation.

  Her candidness makes me laugh. “Because of my dad?”

  She shrugs. “Eh, maybe at the beginning, but then it just became the status quo. Kind of a brutal necessity. Makayla’s actually pretty annoying when you get to know her and Ramona and I would never be friends in any other setting, so we needed a common enemy to unite us. And honestly, it was pretty annoying that you had everything made.”

  “Can’t you see how hard I work though?”

  She looks at me for a second as if weighing my question, then she waves it away. “Sure. Whatever.”

  She yanks the paper calendar off the wall and drops it in with the rest of her stuff, thumbtacks and all.

  All right then, so we’re not really going to have a nice, happy reconciliation. I get it.

  She checks her drawers, slams them closed, spins her chair one last time, and grabs her laptop on the way out.

  “Good luck in Bali.”

  She pauses and looks over at me. Her face has never seemed so open and friendly. “Yeah. Good luck here.” She tips her head, offers a small smile. “Surprisingly, after everything, I’m kind of rooting for you.”

  Then she walks out, and to be fair, I give it a full half-hour before I move my stuff to her desk. Oh my god—her chair is so much better than mine. I swivel around in it three, four times before I get ahold of myself. Her desk drawers are way deeper too, and they slide in and out like a dream. So smooth I’ll be wanting to reach in for files every chance I can get.

  I call down to maintenance and request they move my old desk and chair out of the office, and then before the man leaves, I ask if he happens to have a hammer and a nail. I want to hang the painting from Hudson’s mom on the wall near my desk.

  My dad comes to visit and to eat lunch with me in my office.

  He whistles when he walks in. “Look at this place.”

  His reaction is unwarranted. It’s as bare and boring as it was on my first day in October. Neither Kendra nor I cared to spruce it up with personal items. Me, because I didn’t want to give her any more ammunition. Her, because…well, maybe she wasn’t planning on staying all that long.

  My dad does one of his customary photo shoots where I have to sit behind my desk and smile awkwardly while he exhausts the camera on his phone.

  “Pretend you’re talking to a client,” he tells me, giddy with his brilliant idea.

  I do it because Kendra’s not here to make fun of me anymore, and truly, it’s not that much effort to make my dad happy. I draw the line at pretending to type an email though. You give this guy an inch, he’ll take a mile.

  “Sending these to Mom,” he tells me before taking a seat and proceeding to do it right then and there.

  Five whole minutes pass where he studies each picture and picks the very best one. He sends them and then my phone buzzes on my desk. Oh the joys of being a member of the Elwood family group text. Never a dull moment.

  “I’m sure she’ll have an interior decorator in here by tomorrow morning, jazzing the place up,” I say wryly.

  He sighs like, At least you know the score.

  While we eat, we talk about my mom’s upcoming buying trip. She booked it for two weeks after Conrad and Hannah’s wedding. She’s on the hunt for antiques in Venice this time, and my dad is planning to join her.

  “You could come too. I’d approve the time off.”

  I shake my head.

  Venice sounds great. Who wouldn’t want to go to Venice? But I’m in my first year at the firm and it’s important that I stick with my current schedule. I know that might seem crazy to some people—to pass up opportunities like extra time off—but this is the path I’ve chosen, the life I want.

  My dad sets down his nearly finished salad on the edge of my desk, wipes his mouth with his napkin, and then leans back in his chair. He looks around the office, studies me, smiles. I can tell he’s getting contemplative even before he starts. “I’m proud of you.”

  I roll my eyes, trying to deflect.

  “I mean it. I’ll be the first to admit I underestimated you, but you’ve really started to make a name for yourself here. On Hudson’s team, no less. That’s no easy feat.”

  I busy myself by picking at the remaining feta cheese left in the corners of my to-go container. “It hasn’t even felt like a hardship. I like this job.”

  He studies me long enough that I’m forced to meet his gaze. “I know. Sorry for not realizing that before.”

  Emotion tightens my chest. “So you approve of me working here now?”

  He frowns. “My concern was always about your happiness. I didn’t want you sticking it out here out of some misplaced need to impress me. Barrett’s a little bit like that. I think had I gone easier on him, given him the chance, he would have taken a different path. He loved filmmaking in college, and I squashed that dream.” He grunts as if there’s nothing he can do now but shake his head and move on. “I regret it, and maybe I was trying to right that wrong through you…keep you from going down a difficult path you didn’t choose for yourself.”

  It’s a good point. I’ll never know if I was born with an innate love of contracts and legalese or if my interest in the law profession is intrinsically tied to my relationship with my father. I don’t consciously feel a burning desire to please anybody but myself, but I’m also the youngest child, the only girl, and I know that comes with consequences, good and bad. Either way, there’s no way to separate myself from my profession now. It’s in me, of me, the way anybody loves anything. There’s never one specific reason why you enjoy something.

  I’m considering this when Hudson comes to mind. We were in his office together just this morning. Ripping clothes off, sinking our teeth into each other. Even still, I walked out of there feeling confident in our ending, and now, hours later, it’s already started again. The hunger. The hope.

  “You okay, kiddo?” my dad asks.

  I shake my head, force a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking…”