I save the document, grab my notepad, and head for the conference room.
Feldstein is already seated when I walk in. Expensive suit, silver hair, the kind of quiet authority that makes everyone else in the room feel like they’re twelve years old.
“Dean. Sit.”
I sit.
“The Morrison case. Where are we at?”
I straighten my shoulders. “The motion’s drafted. Deposition’s scheduled for Friday. Opposing counsel’s getting desperate, so they’re stalling on discovery.”
“And you’re confident we’ll close this?”
“Yes.”
He leans back, studying me. “Good. Because if we don’t, there’s going to be a conversation about your future here. And not the kind that ends with your name on the wall.”
I nod. “Understood.”
“I hope so. Because I’ve been watching you, Dean. You’re good. Damn good. But good isn’t enough anymore. I need brilliant. I need someone who can handle the pressure, close the deal, and never let personal shit interfere with business.”
Personal shit.
Like goats. And vanilla candles. And the way she looked at me while she sipped that glass of champagne.
“There’s no personal shit,” I say.
“Glad to hear it. Because this client? He’s worth eight figures. And if we land him, you’re looking at partnership. Real partnership. Not just a promotion.”
It’s everything I’ve been working toward for over a decade.
He stands, smooths his tie, and heads for the door.
“Don’t screw this up, Dean.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
I sit there for a minute, staring at the conference table. Eight figures. Partnership. Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve wanted.
I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s just past ten.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. If she’s fixed whatever George broke. If she’s still barefoot on the lawn, making everything look effortless.
I wonder if she’s thought about me at all.
Then I remember where I am. Who I am. What’s at stake.
I put the phone away and get back to work.
By four o’clock, I’ve written sixteen pages of legalese, fielded twelve phone calls, and consumed enough coffee to power a small city.
I’ve also thought about Poppy exactly… let’s call it zero times. Sure.
If you don’t count the moment I caught myself wondering if she’d eaten lunch.
Or the time I imagined her reaction to Gideon’s massage comment.
Okay, fine. I’ve thought about her more than zero times.
