Page 29 of Summer Showdown
"Enthusiastically in favor," I replied, watching him pull on a pair of worn sweatpants that hung low on his hips. "I should check my messages first though."
"Take your time. I'll start the coffee."
As Wade padded barefoot into the hallway, I reached for my phone, expecting the usual barrage of client emails and meeting reminders. Instead, a single message stood out, turning my blood to ice water.
To: Lark HayesFrom: James KellerSubject: Emergency Board Meeting - TOMORROW
Lark,
While your administrative leave was scheduled for two weeks, circumstances have accelerated our timeline. The board has called an emergency meeting for tomorrow, 11 AM CST, to make final determinations regarding both the Apex-Meridian breach and this year's partnership selections.
Your attendance is mandatory. Though the video conference option is available, I strongly advise returningto Chicago immediately. Andrew has presented additional evidence that requires your in-person response. The partnership committee is watching how you handle this crisis very closely.
I've supported your candidacy for years, Lark. Don't give them reason to doubt my judgment.
James KellerManaging PartnerKeller & Benson LLP
I bolted upright, a cold sweat breaking across my skin. My fingers clenched the phone so tightly my knuckles bleached white against the screen. Of all days—the regatta and Theodore and Edna's wedding were today.
And all of this just as Wade had begun to matter in ways I hadn't anticipated.
I slipped into yesterday's clothes, mind cycling through scenarios. If I left immediately, I could be back in Chicago by evening, prepared for tomorrow's meeting. But that would mean abandoning Wade, missing the regatta we'd been practicing for, and disappearing from the wedding we'd been invited to attend.
Alternatively, I could stay for the regatta, then catch a late flight or participate virtually tomorrow. Neither option felt right. After years of unwavering focus on my career, the fact that I was even considering the second option was startling.
I remembered reaching out to Bailey Wilder yesterday after leaving the Artisan Market, before heading to Wade's for kayak decorating. Rory's suggestion that Bailey might offer valuable perspective as someone who'd left corporate law had seemed worth exploring, and thankfully she'd agreed to meet me this morning ahead of the events. I could use her advice now more than ever.
By the time I made my way to the kitchen, I'd arranged my features into something resembling composure. Wade stoodat the stove, flipping pancakes and whistling a tune contentedly. Morning sun streamed through the windows, catching the auburn highlights in his hair. The quiet domesticity of it all—coffee percolating, pancakes sizzling, Wade's soft humming—struck me like a physical blow. This glimpse of an ordinary morning felt impossibly precious.
"Everything okay?" he asked, glancing up. "Your expression just went somewhere dark."
"Just work," I replied, manufacturing a smile. "Nothing that can't wait."
He studied me, his gaze more perceptive than I'd given him credit for but didn't press. "Blueberry or plain?"
"Blueberry, please." I moved to the coffeepot and poured the dark brew into two waiting mugs. "I need to run an errand before the regatta, by the way. I'll meet you at the dock?"
"Sure," he said, sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate. "Anything I can help with?"
His voice softened, the careful gentleness in his tone making my throat constrict. For a split second, I nearly confessed everything—the email waiting on my phone, the career ultimatum, the chaos of emotions I couldn't sort through.
"Just something I need to handle on my own," I said instead, accepting the plate he offered. "I won't be long."
We ate with minimal conversation. Occasionally our eyes would meet across the table, and what was there was both fragile and fraught.
When it was time to leave, Wade walked me to my car, pulling me into a tender embrace that felt almost possessive.
"See you soon," he murmured against my lips after a kiss that left me dizzy.
"Count on it," I replied, hoping I sounded more certain than I felt.
As I drove away, the image of him standing in his driveway, hands in pockets, watching until I turned the corner, stayed with me.
***
Wilder & Wilder Law occupied a charming, converted Victorian on a quiet side street. Unlike the imposing glass towers of Chicago firms, this place looked inviting, with window boxes spilling summer blooms and a porch swing beside the entrance. A discreet brass plaque confirmed I was in the right place.
Inside, the reception area continued the welcoming atmosphere—polished hardwood floors instead of cold marble, local artwork instead of intimidating abstract pieces, and a bowl of fresh fruit on a side table rather than corporate magazines. The young receptionist showed me into Bailey's office immediately.
