Page 76 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“Look, I know it seems silly to you. Hell, it actually seems downright ludicrous to me. But for some fucked up reason Teddy still wants to give her what she wants. He’s wired that way. He thinks he’s an unlovable castaway who has to try to win his way into people’s hearts by giving, and giving, and giving some more. He forgets that some of us care about him anyway, even if all he ever gives us is a tension headache.”

“You love him,” I say. It’s more an observation than a question, one that Zelda meets with a snort.

“Of course I love him,” she says. “Just not in the romantic sense. Definitely not in the sappy-eyed way that pretty boy lawyer looks at you when you drag him in here every week.”

“We’re not involved,” I say, eager to set this record straight.

“I didn’t say you were,” she says, casually dropping her gaze to her book. “The boat is at the marina on Santa Lucia Island. If you find him, maybe remind him that he loves this place more than her? He always says it gave him everything. I think he forgets that it never asked him for anything in return.”

***

There are no direct or convenient flights to Santa Lucia Island. It’s a little sliver of land that forms a barrier between the panhandle and the Gulf, positioned far enough from some of the more popular beaches to seem remote, but not so far that a drive is out of the question, which means that I quickly begin packing for a road trip.

This is really the only viable option. If I request that we postpone, Gigi’s attorney will most certainly use this to their advantage. I can’t risk it. The trip down the interstate and along the highways that hug the coast should only take about nine hours, and if I’m lucky I’ll get there shortly after dinner, which will give me plenty of time to drag Teddy home in time for the trial.

While I’m simultaneously working with Bernadette to clear my schedule, I’m haphazardly shoving items into my suitcase. I change into a jersey knit dress that saves me from having to locate pants and fire off a quick email to Henry, assuring him I’ve got everything under control and alleging that this will help us eliminate distractions and get Teddy ready for trial, in a way that almost makes it seem that this whole thing was planned.

At least, I’m hoping that’s how it seems.

Less than an hour later I’m loading my single bag into the backseat of my SUV in the parking garage, fully committed to the rescue mission. Whether it’s a determination to rescue Teddy from himself or my career from embarrassment is anyone’s guess.

“Got room for one more?” Quentin says from behind me. He hauls his duffel in with mine and closes the hatch. My heart thuds in my throat.

So yeah, okay, I didn’t tell him about Teddy’s absconding to Florida, but to be fair, it was his fault.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. Since I think we agreed, the partners will work all aspects of the case together.”

“I think that ended when you went rogue and accused our client of being a lying sack of shit. To his face,” I argue. “This will be easier if I just do it myself.”

“This seems to be a theme with you. Which is ironic for a girl pursuing something called ‘partnership’.”

God I hate his analyses.

“I don’t have time for this,” I say, climbing into the driver’s seat. Before I can buckle myself in, Quentin is tugging unsuccessfully at the handle of the passenger door. The safety locks have already activated, and I realize I could leave without him if I wanted. Toss his bag out into the parking lot and drive away. He levels a look at me through the window.

“Seriously, Heidi?” he says through the glass.

I crack the window enough that he can easily hear me.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say. “Who told you anyway?”

“Erving. I guess Henry told him, so he stopped by to tell me what a great idea it was for us to organize this little getaway.”

“Us, or you?”

“Given that neither of us actually deserves any credit for this, I don’t know how that matters. I played along and told him we were getting on the road soon. I went by your office and you weren’t there. I did the math. I told you, I’m not backing out on the case.”

“How do I know you even want to win? You’re not taking any commission, and I feel like you’re trying to sabotage this. Tell me what’s in it for you.”

The long-pressed line of his mouth holds steady. I can tell he’s weighing how to respond – or perhaps, whether he’s willing to respond at all. For a second, I actually think he’s going to back away from the car without a word and let me leave. I put the car in gear, and he breaks with a sigh.

“Erving agreed to pay off all my student loans,” he says. “If I came back, worked these cases, made an effort at taking his place. He knew I didn’t want to come back, but he wanted a Maxwell to continue at the firm. He said we’d call it even.”

I blink at him. I know vaguely how much money we’re talking about, can almost feel the weight of it. I can also see the way that pink has crept across his cheeks, and I realize… he’s embarrassed about this.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

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