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She steps back, and our chests gently graze in the small doorway. Her breath hitches at the contact. Seeing the plastic wrap on the floor, I bend down, ready to adjust it over her cast.
“Take a seat on the edge of the tub. I’ll help slide it on. It’s supposed to be a bit of a tight seal. That way you can submerge it in water if you want.”
My hands move to her waist as I gently settle her on the edge of the tub, her breath catches softly. For a second, neither of us moves as the steam curls in the air between us.
“You’re staring,” she whispers in the quiet room.
“Hard not to with you, dear Proprietress.”
Phoenix huffs, trying to tug the waterproof cover farther up her leg with one hand while balancing on the edge of the tub.
“This feels vaguely Victorian,” she mutters. “Like I should be preparing for tuberculosis and a tragic seaside engagement.”
“Pretty sure pulling these on counts as stocking assistance.” I laugh despite myself.
My hands gently cover hers, taking over, pulling it higher, ensuring the cast is fully covered. I try to touch her smooth skin only when necessary, but every time I do, my pulse pounds harder beneath my skin, demanding to be closer.
I check to make sure it is airtight, then drop my hands. “There, all set, you should be good now,” I manage to say, fighting the urge to be closer.
She looks down at her cast with such melancholy it makes my heart ache. “I hate this,” she sighs, shoulders slumping.
“What, your ankle?”
A humorless laugh leaves her before she responds, “No, the needing people part.” She leans back slightly, putting an inch of distance between us. “I, uh, had two interviews this week. And I got this weird consultation request. Prenup review. Someone asked for me specifically.” She shrugs.
I still, nervous about where this could take her, knowing it is already farther away from me.
“Skaden, Lowe & Jones,” she supplies.
I whistle softly.
“Hell of a firm; I’m not surprised they would squeeze you in for an interview right away,” I reply honestly. She is a damn good talent that any firm in the Northwest would be lucky to have. It still hurts that someone else will get to work with her, see her every day, learn how she likes her 4:00 p.m. coffee. “If they made you an offer, you’d be running your department before the year was over.”
Looking away, she hides a small smile. I always loved how confident she was in her abilities, never putting on an air of false modesty and never coming across as egotistical.
“And the other one?” I think I know from the conversation at the hospital, but I want her to trust me with it.
“It’s with Durham …” she hesitates before continuing. “With the Foundation.”
Something twists in my chest at her anxiety.
“Really? That’s different.”
Phoenix’s shoulders tighten, her chin rising in defensiveness. “It’s not like I am serious about it. Nessa proposed it. I love her idea, but it’s not really me. A philanthropist? Doesn’t really scream ‘successful’, you know?” she bites out too quickly.
“Why is that not successful? Choosing a life to help others? The Foundation does amazing work. You do too as a family attorney, but money or prestige doesn’t determine if someone is worthy, or making it.”
Phoenix looks at me as if I said something she has never heard before. I push on.
“If you put the thought of what others would perceive, what your friends or maybe family would think, which one would you want?” I ask earnestly, wanting her to think solely for herself.
“I … I don’t know anymore. I’ve always been chasing the next big case, the next goal, the next milestone. There wouldn’t be one at the Foundation. I don’t know what I would be reaching for.”
I lean back, sitting on my heels.
“I get that, but maybe we aren’t all supposed to be chasing the next shiny award or big win. Maybe we are supposed to be doing what sets our heart on fire, even if it is quieter,” I admit, hating how I could be speaking into a mirror in this conversation.
“So why even do it?” she implores.
