Page 51 of Worth the Fall

Three weeks. It's been three weeks since Celine Ramirez walked into Harrison & Brooks and turned my carefully organized world sideways.

Three weeks of perfectly polite smiles and carefully measured words, of trying to prove myself professionally while feeling like I'm being judged on an entirely different scale.

Three weeks of not only hiding that fact from Miguel but also the entire convoluted lie about how Celine and I knowing each other, from my boss.

Every morning, I check my calendar and count the hours until our next meeting, dreading the subtle ways she reminds me that she knew Miguel first, knew him better. That she's still an irreplaceable part of his world—of their world.

"Just be careful,"Linda warned me yesterday, after another tense meeting where Celine casually dropped comments about Felicity into our contract discussions. "She's playing chess while everyone else is playing checkers."

She's right. Every interaction feels calculated, like Celine's testing how long I can maintain this careful balance between personal and professional. Like yesterday, during our contract review…

"Here are the revised contract drafts," I say, sliding the documents across my desk to Celine. Three weeks of carefully navigated meetings have settled into an uneasy rhythm. Our exchanges remain perfectly professional, razor-sharp edges wrapped in polite smiles.

"Mmm," Celine murmurs, flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. "Very thorough. You remind me of Miguel, actually. He used to get so caught up in the details when we were married." Her voice carries a hint of fondness that makes my stomach clench. "He'd spread contracts all over our kitchen table, completely lose track of time."

I force my expression to remain neutral, though my grip tightens on my pen. Every conversation somehow circles back to this, subtle reminders of their shared history, little glimpses of their life together that feel like paper cuts to my confidence.

"Speaking of details," she continues, perfectly pleasant, "there's something about clause 4.2 that feels...familiar. Miguel used similar language in one of his contracts last year. Have you been consulting with him?"

The implication hangs in the air, that I would allow my personal life to make me break attorney client privilege. It takes everything I have not to lash out here but Felicity’s sweet face flashes through my head.

"Actually," I keep my voice steady, "that's standard language for this type of agreement. I’m sure if you compare it to any other phrasing in your previous contracts?—"

A knock at my door saves me from finishing. Linda pokes her head in, her expression concerned. "Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Whitman needs those revisions for the Morrison brief."

"Of course," I say, perhaps too quickly. "Mrs. Ramirez, shall we continue this At our next meeting?"

"Oh, certainly." Celine gathers her things with elegant efficiency. "I know how demanding it can be working at such a high profile firm. Miguel always said the key was finding the right balance." She pauses at the door, that perfect smile still in place. "But I'm sure you two have figured that out by now."

The door clicks shut behind her, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"You okay?" Linda asks softly.

"Fine," I say automatically, then reconsider. "No. Maybe. I don't know." I run a hand through my hair, disturbing its careful styling. "Every conversation feels like a minefield. Like she's testing me."

Linda's expression softens. "She's trying to figure out if you're good enough for them – for Miguel, for Felicity. For the life she left behind."

"This is supposed to be professional," I protest weakly. “She’s putting my career on the line and she knows,” I point my finger then lower my voice, “she knows she has me between a rock and a hard place because what—” my chin begins to quiver but refuse to let myself fall apart at work.

"Honey," Linda says, her voice gentle but firm, "nothing about this situation is just professional. The sooner you accept that, the easier it'll be to handle."

I stare at the contracts on my desk, at the neat annotations in Celine's elegant handwriting. She's right—there's nothingsimple about this. Every interaction is layered with history I wasn't part of, with expectations I'm not sure how to meet.

"What do I do?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

"You do your job," Linda says simply. "You be professional, be thorough, and most importantly, be yourself. Because trying to compete with a ghost will only drive you crazy."

I nod, straightening my shoulders. She's right. I can do this. I have to do this.

But as I turn back to my work, I can't help but wonder if there will ever be enough room in this family for both of us, the woman who was there first, and the woman who came after. I stare out my window for several minutes, trying to figure out how to tell Miguel without making it feel like I’m asking him to fight my battles for me…but it feels hopeless.

The first sign that today is going to test my sanity arrives in the form of an email from Cameron.

Greetings, fellow spiritual traveler. In alignment with the universe's divine plan, I request one last meeting to discuss the contract's energetic implications. Namaste.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!" I groan, staring at my screen, wondering if Mercury being in retrograde is a valid reason to call in sick.

I should have known after the most perfect weekend, complete with princess pancakes on Saturday morning with Felicity and Miguel, and not an ounce of the extremeawkwardness I expected to come with the first morning after I stayed over when Felicity was there.

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