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PHOENIX

The end-of-day quiet that settles over Cascadia Legal Partners is one of my favorite times. The aggressive energy of billable hours drops slightly, keyboards slow, and for about forty-five minutes before I start my evening review, the office relaxes.

With my shoes kicked under my desk and a highlighter in hand, I'm in the middle of a brief when I hear a new voice in the office.

“Jackson Allen Mercer, this is where you work? It’s beautiful.”

Peering through my interior office window, I see a woman who could only be Jackson’s mother moving through the hallway as if she owns it. She is effortlessly chic, in the way women who have never had to try too hard are. Her eyes dance with delight as she scans the office. Jackson trails behind, carrying her coat with the expression of a man who loves his mother and is also mildly mortified by her appearance at his work.

I almost smile at their banter, almost.

“Mom, keep your voice down; it’s still a working office.”

“Everyone is packing up, sweetheart. Relax, I won’t embarrass you in front of your work friends.” She squeezes his arm without looking at him, already moving toward the window overlooking the street and mountain view. “Oh, you can almost see the entire town from here.”

“Yes, I know, I work here. And Cascadia is bigger than one street.”

I drop my eyes back to my brief, giving them the moment. I’ve almost convinced myself I am invisible when Jackson peers into my office and spots me.

Something crosses his face. Not panic, something more careful than that.

“Hey.” He moves toward my office doorway, his mother drifting behind him as if she has never met a room she didn’t fit in. “Sorry, we were just heading out, I didn’t think anyone would still be⁠—”

“It’s fine.” I keep my voice easy and professional. “Long day.”

He looks at me for a beat too long. “Yeah, I can tell.”

His mother appears at his shoulder. Up close, she has Jackson’s dark eyes and a smile that takes up her whole face. “Hi there, I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Linda Mercer, this one’s mother.” She gestures to Jackson with the comfortable authority of a woman who has been embarrassing this man for thirty-three years and has no intention of stopping.

“Phoenix Lane.” I stand, walking towards the doorway. “Family law.”

“Phoenix,” she repeats it as if she’s putting it somewhere. “What a beautiful name.”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying it’s unique, Jackson. You can’t be offended by a compliment.” She looks back at me sweetly. “Are you one of the good ones? In family law?”

I blink. “I try to be.”

“She’s exceptional at it,” Jackson says it simply, not performing the compliment, just stating it. “One of the sharpest people at this firm.”

Heat creeps up my neck. He’s called me sharp before, in my kitchen, when it was only us. It lands different in front of his mother.

Linda looks between us for approximately one second too long. I keep my expression neutral through what feels like significant personal effort. But I see it. Her smile widens, as if she has solved a complex puzzle before she schools her emotions.

“Well.” Linda nods. “It is lovely to meet⁠—”

“Jacky.”

Cassandra Pierce’s voice fills the hallway before she does with a cloud of expensive perfume and strategic timing, one hand already reaching for Jackson’s arm. “I thought I heard you out here. Is this your mother?”

“Yes,” Jackson says in a neutral tone.

Cassandra doesn’t miss a beat. “Linda, it is so wonderful to meet you finally. I feel like I know you already.” She takes Linda’s hand in both of hers, shaking it in a too-familiar way.

Linda’s face shifts into a delighted expression. “Cassandra, I have heard so much about you.”