Page 50 of Worth the Fall

I choke on air, my carefully maintained composure cracking. Before I can stammer out a response, Celine smoothly interjects.

"We're acquainted through a mutual friend," she says, her tone perfectly casual. "Mia knows my daughter through social circles, but somehow,” she flashes me an icy glare, “we've never had the pleasure of meeting properly until now."

My face burns as I try to look anywhere but at Whitman. Why is she lying? If he knew the truth, that I'm dating her ex-husband, that I'm becoming a mother figure to her daughter, he'd pull me off this case so fast my head would spin. My professional reputation would be questioned, my judgment called into doubt. Hell, my entire career could be on the line. I swallow down the grapefruit sized lump in my throat, my chest tight with panic.

Think Mia, think! You know there’s only one way this can go if you try and hide this from your boss.

"Well, isn't that wonderful?" Whitman says, clearly pleased at the personal connection. "That should make working together even smoother."

I manage a weak smile, my mind racing.

Is this some kind of elaborate torture? Get me assigned to her case, then watch me squirm as I try to maintain professional boundaries?

"I'm sure it will," Celine agrees, her smile never wavering. "Felicity speaks so highly of Mia's... organizational skills. I appreciate attention to detail in my legal affairs."

My stomach churns at the subtle emphasis. Every word feels loaded, wrapped in layers of meaning I'm not sure I'm ready to decode.

"Well," I manage, grateful for years of courtroom experience keeping my voice steady, "shall we head to my office? We can discuss your needs in detail."

"Perfect." Celine gathers her designer bag, every movement elegant and assured. "Lead the way."

As we walk down the hallway, her heels clicking in perfect rhythm against the marble, my mind spins with possibilities.

Is she testing me? Trying to trap me in some kind of ethical violation? Or is this some elaborate way to assess the woman who's becoming part of her daughter's life? I can’t be mad at that can I? But going about it like this feels…like a trap.

The weight of those questions settles heavy on my shoulders as I open my office door. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Celine glances around my space, taking in the careful organization, the color-coded files, the single framed photo of Miguel and Felicity from our last picnic. Her eyes linger on the image just a fraction too long.

I gesture Celine to one of the chairs facing my desk, hyper-aware of how my hands are trembling. Years of courtroom experience, countless high-stakes negotiations, and yet nothinghas prepared me for this moment. The best I can do, put those lessons into practice and keep my cool.

"Lovely office," Celine remarks, her eyes still lingering on that damn photo of Miguel and Felicity. I resist the urge to turn it face-down. "Very... organized."

"Thank you." I sit behind my desk, grateful for the physical barrier between us. My laptop screen becomes suddenly fascinating as I pull up her file, pretending I don't notice how she's studying me.

"So," she says, settling into the chair across from my desk with practiced grace, "shall we begin?"

The question burns in my throat,why are you really here?But I swallow it down. "I've reviewed your preliminary documents. Shall we start with your investment portfolio?"

"Always so professional," Celine muses, and something in her tone makes me look up. She's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Amused? Calculating?

“I try to be,” I smile, not giving her the satisfaction of knowing I’m internally having a five alarm meltdown. “As I was saying?—”

"Don't you want to know why I chose Harrison & Brooks?"

The bait dangles there, tempting. My heart pounds against my ribs as I force my most practiced client smile. "Well, I assume it's because we're one of the most comprehensive and well known law firms in Chicago. Our track record speaks for itself, as I’m sure you already know with your dedicated research to finding a new firm."

Something flickers across her face, frustration or maybe disappointment, before her perfect mask slides back into place. She clearly expected me to take the bait, to let this become personal rather than professional.

Not today, Celine.

"Shall we continue?" I ask, voice steady despite the anxiety churning in my stomach. I pull out the first contract, clicking my pen with perhaps more force than necessary. "I have some questions about your current holdings..."

For a moment, she just studies me, like she's reassessing her strategy. Then she reaches for her designer bag, extracting her own copies of the documents with elegant efficiency. "Of course. By all means, let's be thorough."

The word thorough carries a weight I'm choosing to ignore. Instead, I launch into a detailed analysis of her portfolio, letting legal jargon become my armor. I can do this. I can be professional, be competent, be everything this firm expects of me.

Even if it kills me.

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