Page 14 of Take What Hurts

Matilda paused, the only sound that of her quiet breathing, before: “There are text messages.” Elliott’s brain grasped onto that like a fucking lifeline, and the adrenaline ignited at the base of her spine. Finally, something she could use.

Elliott covered the mouthpiece on the phone, heart leaping in her chest. “Hannah.” Hannah arrived in seconds, looking at Elliott expectantly. “Do we still have the software that allows for bulk download of text messages from an iPhone?”

Hannah nodded her head vigorously. “Yep, and I have access.”

Elliott could have squealed. “Good. Wait one.” She uncovered the mouthpiece. “Okay, Matilda, here’s what we’re going to do: You’re going to come into the office now, and we’ll borrow your phone. We have some software here that lets us download text message threads in bulk to use as evidence. I want to have a look at what’s there, and then we can make a plan for the way forward, okay?”

“Does that mean no court?” Elliott could hear the way a tremor escaped Matilda’s throat, as though she had to push the words from deep in her chest to get them past her lips.

And Elliott didn’t blame her. “I’m going to do everything I can to avoid it. But you have to understand Anna isn’t going to give you what you want easily, and we might have to push her hard to even get close. Would you like me to apply for a protection order? Just in case?”

Matilda breathed heavily down the phone, and the silence stretched. Elliott placed a palm flat on the glass in front of her, index finger tapping idly over the top of the spire on the Space Needle, which launched itself in the distance like a beacon into the sky. Then Matilda finally spoke. “I—will she know I’ve applied for one?” The words were barely audible, and Elliott’s chest constricted.

“She’d have to be served. So, yes, she’d know.”

“No.” Matilda forced the word out quickly. “No, that—that would be… that would be bad. And I don’t like police.” Before she could speak, Elliott heard Matilda take a fortifying breath, gathering herself. “In response to your other question, if we have to push, we have to push. I’ll be okay.” Unease grew into dread, and Elliott made a mental note to immediately make a detailed file note of this conversation.

“Will you let me know if Anna⁠—”

“Of course. I rarely leave Bainbridge Island, and Anna isn’t aware of the security codes for my property. I’ll be safe, but I will keep you abreast of any developments. Just try and keep us out of court.”

Elliott swallowed hard. She’d try, but she couldn’t discount it as an option. She needed access to every tool at her disposal. Including a courtroom, as anxiety inducing as it was. But Elliott couldn’t help the sympathy that surged through her as Matilda cleared her throat.

“I just want this to be over. Should I just take the offer?”

Elliott sighed heavily. Though she was expecting the question, it wasn’t exactly an easy black-and-white answer. If she was the one having to decide, she’d want to take the easiest way out of it, too—get it over with—but it wasn’t her job to decide. It would suit Elliott just fine to resolve it that way, but she wouldn’t feel right about encouraging Matilda to do that at this point.

Staring at the traffic at a standstill in the misting rain on Fifth Avenue, she spoke. “It’s up to you. If you’re happy to give Anna essentially everything, then that’s your prerogative. I don’t recommend it, especially since you are the one who bought and accumulated most of the assets, but it’s your decision.” Silence on the other end of the phone. Elliott hesitated, waiting to be interrupted. When Matilda remained silent, Elliott pushed on. “I think you should let me try this one last thing before you throw in the towel, though.”

She could almost see Matilda pausing, thinking, before nodding. “Okay, I can be at your office at three p.m.”

Hours later, Matilda sat in Elliott’s office, her eyes rimmed with red and her hands wrapped around a mug of Earl Grey. Elliott had reviewed the messages, then left Matilda in Hannah’s empathetic hands while she’d taken a walk out in the rainy mist on the street. The cold air cleansed the hot rage that had sat heavy in her lungs as she’d run her eyes over each mention of how “stupid” Anna thought Matilda was, and how much Anna had “hated” being with Matilda. As she sucked in another breath of wet, cold air, she made a conscious effort to unclench the fist that had formed when she’d read Anna’s threat, ending in an I’ll fucking bury you when Matilda had mentioned she wouldn’t discount the possibility of proceedings in court if things dragged out. The only thing that had truly allowed Elliott to let the incandescent indignation go was the fact that it was all in writing for anyone to see once it was in evidence.

When she returned to her office, she sat opposite Matilda, and for the first time she felt like she was in control. Like she knew exactly what needed to happen next. Like maybe she was cut out for this. Riding the wave of newfound confidence, she spoke. “Matilda, are you okay with me calling opposing counsel to discuss this? I think it will be more impactful raising it over the phone first, and I want to get an idea of her reaction.”

Matilda gave a small nod. “Do you mind if I leave while you do that? I need to get on the next ferry back to the island.”

Elliott gave her a small smile. “Of course. I can give you a call later if you like?”

Matilda stood slowly from where she was seated on Elliott’s leather sofa and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for everything, and especially for today.”

Elliott smiled and gave her a squeeze, happy to feel like she was helping this poor woman rather than fumbling around in the dark, for a change. “No problem.” She pulled herself out of Matilda’s arms and smiled in a way she hoped was warm and comforting. Matilda appeared, on the surface, to be reassured. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Matilda had left an hour ago, and Elliott still hadn’t dialed the number on her newest contact. For numerous reasons. But mostly because the skittering nervousness that gripped her at the mere thought of talking to Mackenzie was making her hands shake.

Elliott hadn’t responded to Mackenzie’s text message on Friday night. She hadn’t even brought it up when they’d run into each other—almost literally—in the grocery store. She hadn’t known what to say, and the thought of embarrassing herself any more than she already had in front of Mackenzie made her nauseated. Accordingly, she’d fought to keep anything work related out of the conversation over the vanilla-cream cake.

Mostly, she didn’t want to get into a discussion about it because she’d looked at the offer and it was bad, and raising it in the middle of a Whole Foods would have been straight up fucking awkward. And then there was the fact Elliott had been driven to absolute distraction in that moment. Because Mackenzie—well—Elliott hadn’t been able to control the way her entire body lit up at the smallest, lightest touch of Mackenzie’s fingers brushing against Elliott’s hand. The way the spot low in her abdomen had clenched with that touch and how it had made her worry she was going to burn up where she stood. Even now, days later, Elliott was struggling to reconcile the person she’d encountered at the airport and the Whole Foods—a person who was sweet, and funny, and attractive—with the lawyer who would allow such a dreadfully inequitable offer to go out.

Elliott grimaced. Either Anna must have been a real fucking pill of a client or Mackenzie really was a shark. Maybe a little from column A, a little from column B.

Because, following the conference, she’d done some research on Mackenzie as she’d sat in the airport in San Francisco waiting for her flight back to Seattle. And quite promptly, her stomach had dropped out of her body.

Because Mackenzie was senior. Like a-minute-away-from-making-partner senior. And frighteningly competent.

And then there was Elliott. Three years into her practice and only newly supervising more junior staff, she wasn’t a bottom-feeder and she certainly wasn’t incompetent. But if Mackenzie was a heavy hitter in the major leagues, Elliott was the third string warming the bench and waiting on their minute of playing time.

And that was an immediate problem for the tenuous level of confidence Elliott had clung to all day. That is, it had evaporated faster than the sweat on a camel’s rump in the Sahara.