She’s not pretending to belong here. She already does.
The partners relax faster than I expect. Their posture shifts, their smiles last longer, and every comment from her lands exactly where it should.
They’re listening to her now. Watching her. I can see it—the moment she wins them.
Brooks leans forward, interest replacing skepticism. “You were in the clinic program, weren’t you?”
Tessa nods, her tone easy. “I was. Until they benched me for what they called excessive enthusiasm.”
I shut my eyes for half a second. Of all the ways to phrase it.
Hale laughs. “That’s one way to describe it.”
Tessa shrugs lightly. “I believe in clients over comfort. Sometimes that means stepping outside the lines. And sometimes it means stepping on a few toes.”
Harris chokes back a laugh. Brooks hums, considering her. Hale looks entirely entertained.
She should be losing them. She isn’t.
Brooks studies her more closely. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Me neither,” Tessa says. “Turns out, I’m a lot more talkative after French toast.”
That pulls another round of quiet laughter. Hale lifts her espresso cup. “We value honesty here, Ms. Whitmore, as long as it’s efficient.”
“Then I’m a good fit,” she says. “I lie poorly, but I edit well.”
She’s off-script, and every word should make me tense, but it doesn’t. It works. The table is focused on her, the partners leaning in, their eyes sharp but their expressions open.
Harris clears his throat, trying to keep things professional. “And how are you finding the retreat so far?”
Tessa glances around the patio. “Very beige,” she says. “But the food’s good, and no one’s accused me of plagiarism yet, so I’ll take that as a success.”
Laughter spreads through the table, not forced, not cautious—just real.
I watch her steady herself with a sip of water, completely unaware of how easily she’s taken control of the room.
I don’t know if this is my plan working or if she’s rewriting it right in front of me, but it doesn’t matter.
They’re looking at her the way I used to.
I press my fingers against the stem of my glass, holding still while I regain my control.
They like her for all the reasons I shouldn’t. And I hate that it’s working. Because this is my territory—my reputation, my future—and for the first time, I’m not the one steering it. She is. And she doesn’t even know it.
Brooks folds his napkin but keeps his eyes on Tessa. “You’d make a damn good litigator.”
Tessa blinks, surprised. “Thank you. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me that didn’t come from my mother or my dog.”
I let out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Her dog’s an excellent judge of character.”
“That’s because I feed him chicken nuggets,” she says under her breath.
The table laughs again, relaxed and easy. Even Brooks allows it.
Hale checks her watch and stands. “We’ll see you both at the panel this afternoon. Bring the dog.”
Tessa looks up, caught between shock and amusement. “You’re serious?”
