“So he’s evil,” I said, not a question.
“He’s a businessman.”
“That’s what I said.” I dared to give Kenai a small smile. “Exploitation dressed up as necessity and tradition,” I murmured, my lawyer brain trying to kick in. “I’d never realized Santa was the Jeff Bezos of holidays.”
“Exactly.” His eyes lit up. “Because how do you organize against Christmas itself? Against the magical entity that literally makes the holiday possible?”
He laid his head in my lap, careful of his antlers. My hand immediately started stroking his soft hair. It felt so natural to be close like this, touching like this. Like we’d done it a thousand times before.
“We were desperate, and well…desperate times, desperate measures. If no one in our world would stand against him, I thought maybe someone in the human world would. I started looking into lawyers who might be able to help us fight. Then I found you—well your legal work, your reputation for taking on impossible cases and winning them. I’ve been following your career for months.”
“Following my career?” The heat in my body was building again despite the serious turn in our conversation. “Why?”
“Because we need someone like you. The reindeer clans have been trying to organize for decades, but we can’t overcome ancient rivalries and old grudges. We need someone from the outside. When I heard about the employment lawyer who got a class-action settlement against Uber for misclassifying drivers…” He turned to look at me directly. “I thought you might be our answer.”
I blinked. “You were planning to hire me?”
“Eventually. Once I figured out how to approach you without scaring you off.” His mouth quirked into a rueful smile. “Then you ran into me.”
“I swerved.”
His head popped up, and he grasped my hands in his. “Barely,” he countered with that perfect grin.
He was so unbelievably beautiful, and his thumbs started tracing small circles on the back of my hands.
“So, this was always about getting my help.”
“It started that way…” He trailed off, and the intensity of his gaze had me looking away. Then his hand gently tilted my chin. “Sylvie, look at me.”
I met his gaze, and the heat there made my breath catch.
“I read an interview you gave about three years ago. The interviewer asked why you took on so many pro bono cases. Do you remember what you said?”
I shook my head.
“You said, ‘Because somebody has to give a damn. And if that costs me a corner office and a six-figure salary, at least I’ll be able to sleep at night.’” His silver eyes met mine. “I recognized something in those words. Someone else who understands what it’s like to care so much it’s slowly killing you.”
The heat building in my body seemed to pause, just for a moment, as his words sank in.
“For years,” he continued, “I’ve been trying to negotiate better conditions for the Peary reindeer clan. We get the most dangerous assignments because of our stronger magical abilities. Our mortality rate is three times higher than the other subspecies, but we’re too few in number to have any real leverage. I’ve lost friends—family—watching them get ground down by a system that treats us as expendable.”
His voice roughened. “And I can’t stop fighting it. Even though every negotiation ends the same way, even though I’mexhausted, even though Taimyr begs me to let someone else carry the weight for a while. I can’t. Because if I stop, who will?”
I instinctively leaned forward, my hand moving to touch his face before I could stop myself. “That’s why you have all those scars.”
“Fight scars, mostly. Peary reindeer are the smallest subspecies. We don’t win many physical confrontations.” He turned his face into my palm. “But I keep trying anyway. Just like you keep taking impossible cases.”
“We’re both idiots,” I whispered.
“Probably.” The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “But that’s what I saw in you, Sylvie. Long before I ever met you. Someone who fights even when the odds are impossible. Someone who cares more about what’s right than taking care of herself.”
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney, and I realized I was crying. Again.
“This isn’t fair” I mumbled. “You’re not allowed to see me this clearly. Nobody sees me this clearly.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.
“No, you’re not.” I laughed. “You did this on purpose. Made me feel things.”
