Page 23 of Love in Fine Print

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Olivia, please. I know that we didn’t start off on the right foot. Literally.”

That garnered me a tiny grin, which made me want to do an end-zone victory dance.

“Speaking of which…” I motioned down to her feet. “How is your foot?”

“It’s better.”

“No more crutches?”

“No.”

When I looked back up at her, I opened my mouth and lied, “I am actually good at my job. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance.”

She walked past me and opened her door once again. “This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry I wasted your time. Just bill me and I’ll pay?—”

“No, that’s fine. Believe me, if anyone owes anyone money, it’s me to you.”

As I walked back out to the courtyard, I turned and looked over my shoulder. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” With that, she shut the door.

My heart sank in disappointment. Not because I was losing a client, but because this woman clearly wanted nothing to do with me. Somehow that felt like a bigger loss than the Super Bowl that we’d lost by a field goal with thirty seconds left in the fourth quarter.

9

OLIVIA

I limpedoff the elevator and headed straight to Trevor’s office. Usually, I’d go to my office and call him in, but since his office was closer, I chose it. By the time I’d hobbled halfway down the hall, I was seriously regretting my choice to stop using my crutch today. Charli had said that I shouldn’t put any weight on it for 48 to 72 hours; unless I wasn’t experiencing pain, then I should use it at my discretion. This morning, the pain hadn’t been bad. After spending half the day on it, the pain was back in full force.

“Whoa, Maneater. You’re not looking too great,” Carter Jones, another associate at the firm, commented as he walked past me in the hall.

“Thanks,” I replied flatly.

“If you need any help with the Simpson case, just let me know. I’m here if you need me,” he offered as he patted his chest, in what I could only assume was supposed to be a gesture of sincerity but read as cheesy and disingenuous.

“I don’t,” I assured him.

Vultures. That was what I worked with. They weren’t people. People had souls. These men did not.

Ken Loomis, Carter Jones, Ray Machado, and Toby Lincoln were all in the running for partner. Even though only one of them was even remotely deserving of the title. The other three were jokes.

Ray Machado had the second-highest billable hours behind me. His success rate was competitive with mine. He didn’t play into the politics of the firm. He didn’t talk out of his ass and try to inflate his worth, and he never threw people under the bus for his benefit. He had ethics, he worked hard, and let his track record speak for him.

If, and that was a bigif, I lost the partnership to Machado, I’d hate it, but it would be less of a slap in the face than Loomis, Jones, or Lincoln getting it. Those frat-boy sharks were looking for any chink in my armor. If they saw an opportunity to poach a client, they wouldn’t hesitate.

A sprained ankle and broken wrist might not be injuries that most people would bat an eye at, but showing any sort of weakness in this job could set me back years. In this job, perception was everything.

Using every last bit of strength I had, I continued down the hallway with my head held high and with as slight of a limp as I could possibly muster. I finally made it to Trevor’s doorway. The walk from the elevator to the office drained me, it had taken all of the steam out of my self-righteous indignation.

“Is this some sort of joke?” I asked as I leaned against the doorframe to catch my breath.

Trevor’s eyes lifted to mine. “Mr. Fallon, can I call you right back, a situation has come up that needs my attention.” Trevor disconnected the call by tapping on his AirPods. “Where is your crutch?”

“Don’t change the subject,” I responded as I carefully took two steps into his office, shut the door, and lowered down into the beige suede lounge chair opposite his desk. His office usedto be mine. It was about a quarter the size of the one I’d moved to and had only one window, but I actually preferred it. I’d taken the corner office solely as a status symbol. If it were up to me, I’d have stayed in this office, it was cozier and less…grand. I took a deep breath, trying to muster up some of my aforementioned indignation. “Do you know who showed up on my doorstep?”

I waited, but Trevor did not reply, I knew he was the puppet master pulling the strings in this second not-so-cute-meet-cute. Trevor had to know that Ben owned the matchmaking service that he’d signed me up for, even though I had told him to hold off. If he honestly didn’t know who had shown up at my house, he would have already asked me a million questions about it.

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