Nathan saw a picture on the wall on his way to the door. Joe was at the family lake house, beaming, holding up a tiny fish Angel had caught, while Zara leaned away with exaggerated disgust.
“Is it really over?” Nathan asked. “With Zara?”
Joe stared at the picture. “Yeah, it is.” He paused. “I always thought I’d be good at this family stuff. Because I wanted it so bad. But I don’t know. First Mia. Now this. Maybe it’s not my thing.”
His brother had nearly fooled him. Nathan had almost walked out of this office thinking that while Joe was stressed, he wasn’t on the verge of another breakdown. But Joe never mentioned Mia Williams. Not since she dumped him by leaving her engagement ring with his assistant, wrapped in a Post-it with a note written on the back: Tell Beto he wins.
Nathan still saw Mia regularly at the laundromat because she couldn’t afford to replace her washer and dryer. She would always bring something with her, like muffins from a new bakery or a book she’d been reading, and use it as an excuse to stay and talk. But he never told Joe about those conversations. Knowing that she’d stayed in Nathan’s life would break his brother’s heart all over again. After she ended things, Joe had barely spoken to anyone but his assistant for months. Beto had finally snapped him out of it by threatening to fire him. Nathan always wondered if things would have turned out differently if Joe had fought for Mia the way he had his job.
“Why don’t you ever fight for anything, Joe?” It slipped out before Nathan could stop it.
Joe was still staring at that photo. “I don’t know,” he said, and then looked at Nathan. “Why don’t you?”
The Law Offices of Julia Beaumont was practically hidden between identical storefronts in a strip mall on the southwest edge of town. The reception area consisted of a pair of cheap chairs and a scarred wooden desk. A sign was propped beside a dated call button that instructed Rachel to ring for service. She knew that ringing for service wasn’t how most reputable lawyers greeted new clients. But Ben Abbott had been adamant about his referral.
Rachel rang the bell and waited. A door opened behind the reception desk, and a stunning Black woman with huge dark eyes appeared in the doorway. Her natural curls were cut into an angled bob that framed razor-sharp cheekbones and a 1950s pinup mouth. She wore a suit with dark suspenders, tailored so perfectly to her body, it could have been a sexy-lawyer Halloween costume.
“Rachel Abbott.” The way she said it made Rachel sound infamous and inevitable, as though Julia Beaumont had always known she would show up at her door eventually. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Ms. Beaumont? A friend of mine referred me here. He said you were one of the best attorneys in town.”
“It’s Julia. And your friend is wrong.” Julia nodded toward her office. “I’m the best lawyer in town. Come on in.”
A few minutes later, Rachel sat on the opposite side of an L-shaped desk, while Julia drummed her fingers. Rachel spotted a framed photo of Julia smiling at the camera, standing next to another woman. It took her a moment to recognize Mia, with loose hair and Mardi Gras beads draped around her neck. “You know my cousin?”
Julia didn’t look at the picture. “We’ve been best friends since high school.”
There really was nowhere to escape in this town. “Oh. Well, maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
Julia’s fingers stilled. “I’m a professional, Rachel. Whatever you tell me won’t go beyond this office. Not unless you want it to.”
Maybe it was Julia’s bullish tone that made Rachel believe her. Or maybe she needed to confide in someone whose only vested interest in her life was a contingency fee. Rachel told her everything. From dick pic to rosebushes to the million-dollar hush money. Julia’s expression didn’t change, except for a slight nostril flare when Rachel mentioned Matt’s election.
Julia wrote something on her legal pad. “Why one million? Why not two. Or ten?”
“Because I was drunk, and math isn’t my strong suit.”
Julia had no reaction. Just more notes. “What’s your current net worth?”
“I have less than a thousand in a joint account.”
“Have you started looking for work?”
The line of questioning was starting to make sense. Julia thought she was spoiled. A woman with a law degree, working long hours in a modest office, would probably consider her situation a joke.
“I haven’t worked in over a decade,” Rachel said. She listed her résumé—unpaid internships, a few cashier positions, and waiting tables. “The utilities for the house are more than three grand a month. I can’t pay for that on tips. I need to keep the lights on while I figure out what to do with my life.”