“It’s no trouble.” When Maya had called that morning, I’d been finalizing plans to meet Preston for dinner tonight—to discuss our deal. The week had been so hectic that we hadn’t had the chance to finish our discussion from Sunday. As a result, I’d started to feel anxious about pretending to be with someone for professional gain. Preston must’ve sensed I needed to talk about this, because he’d offered to meet me here after dinner for a dessert.
Somehow that made it worse. He seemed to know what I needed without me asking. This wasn’t a recent development either. Even on my birthday, he’d understood what I wanted and had given it to me. No expectations, no promises.One night. One fuck. I would’ve never asked him to lie for me, despite how great of an idea my sisters and Maya thought it was. He probably knew that too. I suspected that was why he’d initiated it, why he’d made the offer. And I could do nothing but accept his help. His lips, his body, his voice, his eyes… He’d already visited me in my dreams too many times to count. Close proximity would definitely be a challenge.
“You seem distracted,” Maya said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dallas?”
I shrugged. “Just tired.” That part was the truth. I was exhausted from having to suck it up and keep it moving. I was drained from the constant speculation about me. And I was worn out from always having to be “on.” The more time passed, the more I wanted to quit. I hadn’t been myself in weeks, and no matter what I’d done to push through, I couldn’t stop obsessing about all the drama.
Maya leaned closer, whispering under her breath, “Let me know if this is too much. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
I offered her another smile—this time a real one. It felt good to know she had my back regardless. “I’ll reevaluate after the weekend.”
Maya nodded, turning her attention to her lobster tail. I speared a piece of sausage with my fork, intent on finally putting food in my stomach.
A board member cleared her throat. “Ms. Young, I wanted to have dinner with you tonight to discuss a few concerns that several of our members have.”
Here we go.
“A new, bright light has shined on your personal life. In light of this development, do you feel you can be an effective member of our organization?”
Maya interjected, “Susan, as I’ve explained many times, I was there when Ms. Young saw Kimball Payne. He approached her, and she walked away. Nothing improper happened. Last I checked, it wasn’t a crime to talk to someone on the street.”
“But you understand that we value discretion, Maya. In times like these, we cannot afford to let our guard down or become embroiled in scandal. You of all people should know the toll bad publicity takes.”
Maya set her glass down. “I also know it’s never a good idea to concern ourselves with what happens behind closed doors between consenting adults.” Maya’s divorce had been bitter and very public. Her ex-husband had waged a campaign against her because she’d left him for another woman. In the end, everything had worked out, but it had been a precarious time of motion after motion, court dates, mediation, and multiple settlement conferences.
“Whether the rumors are true or not, public perception says they are,” Susan said.
“May I speak?” I asked.
Susan gestured for me to continue. “By all means.”
“I understand your concerns. However, current rumors aside, when is it ever acceptable to punish first and ask questions later? We’re all attorneys. We should know the concept of due process, of believing that every person is innocent until proven guilty.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Susan conceded. “Still, we’re trying to build something. I would like to think people vote the issues, the policies, as opposed to the person. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case.”
“It’s not just the drama with Kimball,” another woman added. “The narrative is already spun. Not only are you being portrayed as a home wrecker, but the latest is that you’re…loose.”
I squeezed my fork hard. My heart pounded in my ear as heat flushed through my body. It had already been a tense night. I didn’t want to get into this here, but the idea that I was a ho because I dated different men pissed me the fuck off. Still, I held my head high when I said, “I believe every woman has the right to decide what she does with her own body. Even if I was, as you say, loose, it would be no one’s business but mine.”
Maya coughed. “Listen, this is counterproductive. We say we fight for the rights of women in this field, of all women. Why would we turn our backs on a qualified, talented attorney for baseless lies? Susan, when your husband cheated on you with his student, who had your back? We did. Anna, when you drank too much and crashed your car into someone’s house, who showed up? Me. I believe we owe it to Dallas to consider her based on her work in the community. Not this bullshit.”
In that moment, I didn’t know where to look. Maya’s clapback had effectively shut everyone at the table up. And the fact that she’d added in that well-placedbullshitmade me want to stand up and clap.
Time stretched on with no other comments from the board members. Eventually, Susan sighed. “I think we should all take a step back. Let’s table this discussion for another day.”
Everyone except Maya agreed. Then, she mouthed,I’m sorry.
Just as I was about to excuse myself to go to the restroom, another woman approached the table. “Dallas Young?”
“Yes?” The woman was around my mother’s age, or maybe a little older. Several of the women at the table greeted her warmly, as if they’d known her for ages. But I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before. Her downturned mouth and her hard glare told me she didn’t like me, though. My immediate thought was she was somehow connected to this Kimball mess, but she could’ve just as easily encountered me another way. During my years practicing divorce law and now concentrating on settlement agreements between future spouses, I’d made some enemies. “How can I help you?”
“You’ve done enough actually,” the woman sneered, flashing a cold smile.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re referring to. Obviously, you know me from somewhere. Care to refresh my memory?” I took a second to assess the ladies at the table, who were watching the scene intently, no doubt wondering how I’d respond.
“You represented Langton Sykes in a prenuptial agreement?”
I froze, realization dawning on me. The woman standing here, glaring at me, was the mother of Langston’s future bride. Mrs. Irene Turner. “Yes, I did,” I confirmed.
