Page 11 of Worth the Fall

"A girlfriend," she says with a smile as she bends down to poke her nose.

"Daddy has a girlfriend?" Felicity gasps, looking up at me with her mouth hanging open.

"No, no! There’s no girlfriend. What Daddy needs right now is for Maria to not bring that up again." I flash Mrs. Rodriguez a glare which just makes her laugh.

"Go." She shoos us toward the door. "I’ll clean this mess up and lock up before I leave."

"Thank you." I grab Felicity’s bag, making sure she has everything she needs for the day.

"Adios, mija," Maria says planting a kiss on Felicity’s forehead, "mi bella princess."

"Gracias, Tia," Felicity says, waving as I pick her up and walk toward the elevator. "Adios!"

We finally make it to the car, only to discover that Felicity's shoes don't match.

"How did I miss this?" I ask, looking down at one sparkly pink princess shoe and one purple light-up sneaker.

"Daddy, what’s wrong?"

I’m about to run back inside when I catch sight of the time on my dashboard. Clearly, she doesn’t seem to mind two differentshoes or doesn’t notice so it’s just going to have to be one of those days.

"Not a thing, princess. You’re just starting a new fashion trend today." I buckle her into her car seat, pretending this was all part of the plan.

The McDonald's drive-thru worker does an admirable job of answering Felicity’s fifteen questions about what it’s like to work at McDonald's. A job that, according to her, is like the best dream job ever, because in her mind, it’s just getting paid to eat chicken nuggets and french fries all day.

By the time we make it to preschool drop-off, she has the addition of a large syrup stain on the front of her dress, which is now also all over my tie.

The morning sun streams through the towering windows of Blake Financial as I step off the elevator, still picking glitter off my suit jacket. First impressions matter, and I'm currently making one that involves princess stickers and what appears to be unicorn-themed sparkles in my hair.

But before I can attempt any last-minute dad-evidence removal, I spot her—Tarryn Wells stands at attention behind her meticulously organized desk, not a single paper out of place. The contrast between her perfectly put-together appearance and my glitter-enhanced suit is almost comical.

"Mr. Ramirez," she greets me, rising smoothly. Her voice carries quiet confidence, professional yet warm. "I'm Tarryn Wells."

I notice how she subtly reaches out to remove a stray princess sticker from my sleeve without drawing attention to it, hermovement so efficient it could be mistaken for a simple gesture of welcome.

"Please, call me Miguel," I say, trying to subtly check if there are more stickers. "Though maybe pretend you don't see the…" I gesture vaguely to my glitter-decorated state.

"You’re never off duty as a parent." She smiles. "So, no judgment here."

"Thanks for understanding. I’m sure as time goes by, it’s only going to get more interesting."

"Well, as I’m sure Taylor has already told you, I’m here to assist you in any way I can. I’m a certified paralegal and while I was in the pool, I will be fully dedicated to you going forward and be your assistant as well. I previously worked next to Taylor for the last two years so if you ever have any questions or need clarification, just let me know; I know that woman like the back of my hand."

"Thank you, and I’m excited to be here. Taylor and I talked a lot about how she and Austin built this firm and frankly, it’s impressive but terrifying." I laugh. "She seems like the kind of woman who can’t be stopped."

"Right on the money." She winks. "So, should we start out by me giving you a rundown of the current caseload? After that we can go into how you prefer to be supported and the expectations you have for me?"

"Sounds like a plan."

She briefs me on our current cases as we walk down the hall toward my office, her knowledge of each file impressive and thorough. When we pass the conference room, I notice her glancing at her constitutional law textbook left on the table.

"Excuse me one second." She steps inside, grabbing the book and slipping it under her arm before joining me again.

"Law school?" I ask, appreciating the dedication it must take to balance both. Back when I was in school, I had the luxuryof being a full-time law student, picking up random shifts bartending without the pressure of an additional full-time job.

"Evening program," she confirms, a flash of pride crossing her face before her professional mask returns. "Third year. Though, sometimes the reading has to happen between meetings."

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Celine about Felicity's dance class schedule. The familiar guilt starts to creep in—that constant balance of work and single parenthood that led me to leave my old firm in the first place.

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