Page 11 of The Rules
She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been wound until she peeled off her clothes, dropped her keys on the counter, and stood in the dark for a full minute—just breathing.
Sleep came hard and fast. Too deep, too dreamless.
And too short.
The next morning arrived with no warning, no grace. Just the sharp bite of her alarm and the weight of everything unfinished pressing against her ribs. She moved through the motions—shower, coffee, commute—still half-asleep when she stepped into the office.
She’d only meant to drop off a file. In and out. Nothing more.
But when she stepped into the conference room, Benjamin looked up—once, brief—and gave a small nod.
She froze. Blinked.
And the next thing she knew, she was seated at the table.
Surrounded by senior associates in tailored suits, seasoned voices trading legal strategy like currency—and her, somehow in the middle of it.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
But no one questioned it.
Because he didn’t.
The opposing team doesn’t even look at her. Their questions land on Sinclair, their dismissiveness deliberate, their oversight a fatal mistake. “Mr. Sinclair, we need to discuss the terms of this agreement." His voice is smooth, practiced, but there’s an edge of arrogance that grates on Kath’s nerves.
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at them. Instead,
he leans back in his chair, gaze unreadable, and waits.
His fingers tap lightly against the armrest, a rhythmic sound that seems to echo in the silence. The room feels charged, every second stretching like an eternity.
Thelawyer shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat as he tries again. “Mr. Sinclair?" There’s a hint of uncertainty now, a crack in his polished demeanor.
Still no response from him. He simply watches them with an almost detached interest, as if they are specimens under a microscope rather than formidable opponents across the table.
The silence stretches. Uncomfortable. Heavy. Until, finally, they realize their mistake.
Her gaze locks onto the lawyer across the table, her posture unyielding. The question is directed at her, and she acknowledges it with a forced, reluctant nod. She doesn’t hesitate. Her voice is steady, her arguments razor-sharp. She cuts through their position with precision, stripping their case down to its weakest threads. Every counterpoint lands, every dismissal met with airtight logic.
The opposing lawyer shifts uncomfortably, his smug demeanor crumbling under her relentless assault. He attempts to regain his footing, but Katherine is already three steps ahead, anticipating his every move and dismantling it before he can even articulate it. The room grows quieter with each passing minute, the tension thickening as she systematically demolishes their case.
By the end of the meeting, the tension is thick. Kath won.
She exhales, pulse steady, fingers resting lightly against the table. Beside her, he shifts, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. For a split second, she almost expects—something. A nod. A flicker of approval. Anything.
“That was a disaster."
Kath blinks. What?
“Excuse me?" Her voice is sharp, incredulous.
He nods, completely deadpan. “A total catastrophe.
Almost painful to watch."
Her mind stutters, trying to process the words. Disaster? Her nails dig into the table’s polished surface. Almost painful to watch? "Excuse me?"
He shrugs, taking an infuriatingly slow sip of his water. “Well, I didn’t actually die. So there’s that."
