Page 99 of Client Privilege

He understood my real question. His eyes softened as he glanced around the busy hallway. “Now,” he said quietly, “we can finally have that conversation we’ve been postponing.”

I STOOD INDamian’s kitchen, the familiar motions of chopping and stirring calming my nerves. Steam rose from the pot of bigos—a hearty Polish hunter’s stew my mother had taught me to make when I was barely tall enough to reach the stove. The rich aroma of sauerkraut, mushrooms, and slow-cooked meat filled the kitchen, transforming the sleek, modern space into something that felt like home.

“That smells incredible,” Damian said, leaning against the door-frame. He’d changed from his court clothes into dark jeans and a soft grey sweater that made him look younger, more approachable.

“My mom’s recipe,” I explained, stirring the thick stew. “She always said good food speaks when words fail.”

“Wise woman,” he replied, crossing to the wine rack. “Red or white with this masterpiece?”

“Red, definitely. Something robust.”

He selected a bottle, uncorked it with practiced ease, and poured two glasses. I accepted mine with a nod of thanks, our fingers carefully not touching during the exchange.

We moved around each other in the kitchen with a strange new awareness—like dancers learning unfamiliar choreography. The weight of everything unsaid hung between us, making ordinary movements feel charged with significance.

When the meal was ready, we sat at the kitchen island rather than the formal dining room. Damian took his first bite and closed his eyes in appreciation.

“This is extraordinary, Alex. Seriously.”

I smiled, pleased by his genuine reaction. “It’s even better the second day. The flavours deepen.”

“I look forward to finding out,” he said, then paused, seeming to realize the implication that I’d still be here tomorrow.

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before Damian set down his fork. “So,” he said carefully. “Four million dollars. That’s life-changing money.”

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” I admitted. “When I left Marcus, I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing.”

“And now you have options.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “Have you thought about what you’ll do? Stay in Toronto? Start fresh somewhere else?”

The question I’d been dreading. I took a long sip of wine, gathering my thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” I said finally. “Part of me wants to run—maybe back to Montreal or to Vancouver for a fresh start, somewhere with a good art scene. I could buy a little place, set up a studio…” I trailed off, poking at my stew.

“But?” Damian prompted gently.

“But running feels like letting Marcus win somehow.” I met Damian’s eyes. “Toronto is where my life fell apart, but it’s also where I found my strength again. Where I found people who believed me.”

“Where you found justice,” Damian added quietly.

“Yes.” I took another sip of wine. “So I don’t know exactly what my future holds. I’ll restart my career, definitely. Maybe look for a small studio with good light for painting. But that’s long-term.”

“And short-term?” His voice was carefully neutral.

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was the moment—the conversation we’d been dancing around for weeks.

“Short-term,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “I know what I want. But I’m not sure if it’s possible.”

“What do you want, Alex?” The intensity in his eyes made my breath catch.

I set down my glass, suddenly afraid my trembling hands would spill the wine. “I want to know what you intend to do now that we’re no longer in a professional relationship. Now that I’m not your client anymore.”

The moment stretched between us, taut with possibility. Damian’s expression softened, vulnerability replacing his usual careful control.

“That depends entirely on what you want,” he said finally. “I’ve been very… careful… about my feelings while representing you. It wouldn’t have been ethical to act on them.”

“Your feelings,” I repeated, my heart racing faster.

“Yes.” He reached across the counter, his hand stopping just short of mine. “Alex, I care about you. More than I should. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a very long time.”

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