It's About Time (Blossom Peak #4)(22)
And Laney is right. He didn’t want my help, but I still couldn’t resist giving him some sort of compassion in the wake of his fiancée leaving with her boss before their wedding.
Despite our differences, in that moment, I realized we shared some of the same scars.
“I swear, if I ever see that bitch again, Laney…”
Laney rubs my shoulder. “Just remember, you hate orange, Dilynne. A prison jumpsuit would not be a good look for you.”
Clo sing my eyes, I inhale deeply and blow out a breath. “You’re right. But talk about someone that the karma freight train needs to find sooner rather than later.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. But Elliot seems to be doing a little better lately, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but he’s still an asshole. Did I tell you what he did to me at your wedding?”
Laney’s brows draw together in confusion. “No, but between the honeymoon and everything that happened with Vienna, it’s no wonder you probably forgot.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Which reminds me, I think we should check on Vienna this week. I’ll text Elodie and maybe grab a cheesecake from Carolina’s bakery and we can all eat our feelings while we catch up.”
Laney rubs her stomach where soon there’ll be a tiny bump. “That sounds amazing. I should probably be worried that all this baby wants is chocolate right now, right?”
“Not at all. The baby already has good taste, that’s all.”
Laney laughs and then gives me a hug. “Okay, I need to get back to the salon. I have two more clients, then I’m going to go home and pass out. I swear, going back to work after vacation is the worst. And the first trimester exhaustion is real.”
“Yeah, but I bet going home to your husband isn’t awful, is it?”
Her smile is instant. “Not at all, my friend. Not at all.”
Chapter 9
Elliot
Ghosts of Weddings Past
“Colby? Can you bring me the files for the Smith case, please?”
My paralegal pops her head through the doorway. “Sure thing, but you’ve got less than five minutes before the staff meeting starts and you know how your father is.”
A low growl crawls up my throat as I search for a paper on my desk that I could have sworn I placed here yesterday. “Oh, trust me. I’m aware.”
She winks in my direction. “Just wanted to offer the friendly reminder. And rumor around the office has it that he’s introducing the new front receptionist during the meeting.”
That bit of information makes my head pop up. “Really? He found someone already?”
“You know your dad. He wouldn’t let us go more than a few days with a vacant spot. Time is money, remember?”
“ Trust me, that phrase haunts me in my sleep.”
Colby laughs and then juts her head toward her office. “Let me get that file for you and then we need to run over there.”
“Thank you.”
It’s a typical Monday morning at Thorne Family Law Group, everyone bustling about, trying to get their ducks in a row after the weekend, but today, I feel even more off-kilter. A few weeks ago, a woman got shot because of my actions in my job, and I can’t shake the feeling that there was something I could have done to prevent it.
This wasn’t just any woman, though. This was Rhonan’s neighbor turned girlfriend, who turns out, is also carrying his baby.
Vienna Lewis came to me last month, asking me to file divorce papers so she could finally leave her scumbag of an ex. She warned me of what he was capable of, but soon after he received the papers, he showed up in Blossom Peak and threatened her and Ellis’s life.
Ellis, Rhonan’s poor five-year-old daughter, is going to have to live with the memory of being kidnapped and held at gunpoint because I didn’t tell Rhonan that Vienna was in danger.
I couldn’t.
That damn attorney-client privilege kept my hands tied and my mouth shut, and now I’m just grateful that things didn’t turn out worse than they did.
Becoming a lawyer was the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do, but in the past few years, I feel like I’ve lost a spark for it. Of course, I think that’s largely in part from working for my father. When he first took over the practice, he kept things very similar to how my grandfather did. Then after a few years of me working for him, the gavel started to come down.
Less pro bono work. More billable hours.
And worst of all, he’s limited my ability to donate my time to the community law council that my grandfather started to only one night a month because he wants to keep me as busy as possible. If I’m working for free, I can’t work after hours for the firm.
I used to go to Charlotte to volunteer once a week before Tori came into my life and then I was trying to recover. But time is money, as he famously says.
Seems money has gotten to his head even more than it did when I was a kid.
I glance at the clock on the computer and notice I have one minute to make it to the conference room or my father is going to serve my head on a platter for breakfast.
I grab my phone, slide it into the pocket of my slacks, and rush down the hall past other attorneys’ offices, sliding through the door seconds before my father does, his jet black hair slicked back, grays shining proudly at his temples.