Page 49 of Worth the Fall

"Good night, Mia," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

As I close my eyes, her warmth pressed against me, I know one thing for certain: this—her, Felicity, us—is everything I’ve ever wanted.

CHAPTER 11

Mia

Monday morning starts with a disaster. I spill coffee all over my blouse just as I’m about to head to the office, muttering curses as I grab a napkin to blot the stain.

"Perfect," I mutter, sighing as I dab at the fabric in a futile attempt to clean it.

Linda pokes her head into my office just as I’m dashing into the bathroom to assess the damage. "Rough morning?"

"Nothing I can’t handle," I reply, motioning to the stain.

"Well, I don’t mean to add fuel to the fire but,” her expression is uncharacteristically hesitant, “you’ve got a nine a.m. meeting with one of the partners. Just got added to your calendar this morning."

I groan, checking the time. "Of course I do. Thanks for the heads-up." Something in her tone makes my smile fade. "Everything okay?"

"Just... brace yourself."

“Shit,” I mutter, “okay, I have to address this first,” I say motioning toward the brown stain on my shirt.

I scrub the material, even though it’s doing little to help as I mentally catalog any possible issues.Did I miss something inthe Morrison brief? Was there a problem with the Simmons account?

“Ugh,” I groan, dabbing at the now huge wet stain with a dry paper towel. It’s no use. I toss the paper into the garbage can and try to make the best of my appearance before heading down the hall.

By the time I make it to the conference room, I’m a few minutes late. Mr. Whitman, one of the senior partners, is standing near the head of the table, chatting with a woman who looks like she belongs on the cover ofForbes.

"Ah, Mia!" Whitman beams as I enter. "Perfect timing.” He glances down at my blouse, his smile faltering briefly. “I wanted you to sit in on this new client meeting. Very exciting opportunity for the firm."

The woman rising from the leather chair stops my heart mid-beat. Even before she turns, I know that this isn’t just any old client meeting. Something in the elegant line of her shoulders, the graceful way she moves, just like the woman I saw him speaking with after our date…

"Sorry I’m late," I say, setting my things on the table. "Mia Mason."

Her tailored suit is impeccable, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. When she turns to me, her gaze is sharp, assessing, and vaguely familiar.

Her eyes flick to the stain on my blouse, and her lips curve into a small, knowing smile.

"The pleasure’s mine," she says smoothly, her voice dripping with honey.

I grab my things and start to sit when Whitman claps his hands together. "Alright, let’s get started. Mia, let’s show Miss Ramirez what we can offer her at our firm."

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. "I’m sorry—what?"

The woman extends her hand across the table, her smile widening. "Celine Ramirez. I’m in the market for a new firm and have heard wonderful things about you."

My stomach drops.

"She's considering bringing her business to us. Celine, this is Mia Mason, one of our most promising associates."

Celine extends one perfectly manicured hand, her smile polite but her eyes sharp with assessment. "Miss Mason. What a pleasure to finally meet you." Her eyes drift down to the stain, a smirk tugging at the corner of her perfectly glossed lips.

I force my own hand not to shake as I accept hers. Her grip is perfectly calibrated – professional, confident, just this side of too firm. "Likewise, Mrs. Ramirez."

"Oh, please," her laugh is musical, practiced. "Call me Celine. After all, Felicity's told me so much about you."

Whitman's head snaps up from the papers on his desk, interest piqued. "Oh? You two know each other?"

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