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  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Katrina laughed, “But it seems like you have some sort of weird robot memory. Which won’t prove anything in this case. Sorry love.”

  Charlotte leaned back, her brain buzzing and a grin spreading over her face. She’d followed Sean Lawson’s career closely since the beginning. She recalled that, in one interview not long after his graduation from Yale, Sean had stated he was living with his old college roommate in a flat in Seattle. Several years later, all mention of Evan had disappeared from Sean’s interviews.

  Meaning, of course, that the friendship had gone rotten. Why, exactly, Charlotte couldn’t say. Perhaps it was jealousy. Perhaps it involved a woman. What she did know, beyond anything, was that Evan had never displayed the passion and zeal that Sean had. The fact that Sean was willing to fight Evan on this—that he was biting back at his former best friend—meant this was serious.

  Because Sean wasn’t obsessed with celebrity. He wasn’t obsessed with legacy. He was simply concerned with pursuing his dream.

  Charlotte’s heart slowed down and she blinked several times, trying to bring herself back to reality. Katrina hadn’t asked a single question, and Lyle was diving into the facts and next steps, all of which had already been compiled in Charlotte’s mind. She imagined calling her father when she returned to her office, announcing that she’d finally taken on a high-profile case, that they hadn’t overlooked her this time. She’d be on top in just a few months. By the age of 29, she’d be a sought-after tech lawyer in one of the most respected firms in the United States.

  Inwardly, behind her thoughts of grandeur and success and fulfillment, Charlotte knew she had one more reason she wanted to represent Sean Lawson. Her admiration for him had only solidified and grown since she’d first seen him speak, ten years previously. And that cufflink had traveled with her all the way across the continent, awaiting their first formal meeting.

  Once she gave him the cufflink, she didn’t know exactly how he would react, but if she had as good of a sense of him as she thought she did, she knew he’d take it as the ultimate compliment. He’d see the beauty in it, just as he understood why staying in on a Friday night in college was perfectly all right. Because it meant something. It furthered you to something better.

  Charlotte lifted her hand, then, interrupting the facts about Lawson Technologies that were pouring from Lyle’s mouth.

  “I have something to say,” she began, her voice almost hesitant. Beside her, Katrina scoffed once more, then turned her eyes toward her phone, scrolling through her Facebook feed. Because she was Charles Ellis’ daughter and she could get away with anything, her brain went dead by nine in the morning.

  “I’ve been following Sean’s career since I was eighteen years old,” Charlotte continued. “I saw him speak at Yale, like I said, and he seemed so…confident. So special. I just knew he was going to do great things. He became an inspiration for me. I would put my heart and soul into this case, should it be given to me. I would make it my top priority. This case would change the future of Ellis and Associates; it is the kind of case we’ve been waiting for.” Charlotte looked toward Lyle, allowing her words to resonate, maintaining eye contact. Surely, she sounded confident. Surely, her tone matched that of the young Sean Lawson, sure of propelling himself into brightness.

  But Lyle looked at her bleakly, already beginning to shake his head. He opened his mouth then closed it again, drumming his fingers on the table.

  Beside Charlotte, Katrina made a quiet snorting noise. “He can’t speak because he doesn’t want to tell you no,” she said, setting her phone back on the table. She turned to face Charlotte, assessing her with dark brown eyes. “You know I was recently given the position above you, correct?”

  Charlotte didn’t move. She sensed that she’d just been thrown off the cliff, even after climbing for years. She could feel the metaphorical wind rushing past her ears.

  “Isn’t that right, Lyle?” Katrina asked, her tone smug.

  Lyle tugged at his shirt collar, looking down at the table once more. The moments ticked on, leaving Charlotte in their wake.

  “It’s true, what she’s saying,” Lyle finally said, his voice weak, quivering as it slunk from him.

  “But Katrina has only just been promoted,” Charlotte argued, feeling passion rile up within her. “She’s been my senior for just two weeks, and she’s arguably less prepared than I am. In nearly every aspect.” Charlotte blinked back tears, her face turning red. Suddenly, she felt like a child in a playground who’d been knocked to the pavement, bleeding from a knee.

  Lyle turned his gaze back toward Katrina. His posture was rigid, strained. It was clear his mind was whirring. He didn’t want to upset Charles—his boss, and Katrina’s father. Not in a million years. It was the reason he’d supported her promotion; it was the reason he gave her the better cases. Charlotte had often seen him staying after-hours, typing on Katrina’s computer to help her with her work, as she sat slumped over in the side chair.

  It appalled Charlotte. It made her stomach flip over. As a young, bright-eyed eighteen-year-old, she hadn’t thought the world could be so unfair. But she was ten years older, now.

  Lyle glimpsed the sadness in Charlotte’s eyes. He looked away from her, clearly trying to come up with a solution. “Tell you what, ladies. Let’s try a compromise, shall we?” He scratched at his neck, uneasy. “It’s clear that Charlotte has some base-level knowledge regarding the client which may be advantageous as we develop the case. I don’t think we can refute that, can we, Katrina?”

  “Hmm?” Katrina murmured, peering down at her nails.

  “That’s right,” Lyle continued, as if nothing had happened. “In light of this, I am assigning Katrina the position of lead attorney on the Lawson case, while you, Charlotte, will work closely with Katrina, offering your support. In addition, you’ll take on a few of Katrina’s smaller cases, in order to assist with her workload. How does that sound?”

  Lyle seemed pleased with himself. He sat back in his chair and smiled awkwardly, waiting for their assured excitement. But the words were still running through Charlotte’s head, and Katrina was already halfway down her Instagram feed, quietly awaiting the end of the meeting.

  It was Charlotte’s turn to speak. Frustration brimmed within her, but she felt her mouth give in to deference. “Yes. Absolutely. That’s fine.”

  “Great,” Lyle said, leaping on the affirmation far too quickly. He clicked the mouse on his laptop, assessing his calendar. “How does a first meeting sound for…tomorrow? Nine thirty?”

  “No can do, boss,” Katrina said. “I have a hair appointment tomorrow morning.”

  “Right,” Lyle deadpanned. “Perhaps Wednesday, then?”

  But Katrina just shook her head. “See if he can do Thursday at ten. That work for you, Charlotte?” she asked, her voice playful, false. “I’ll throw some of my more basic cases your way in the meantime, and I’ll get started on prep work for your dear old friend Sean. Sound good?”

  Charlotte gritted her teeth and bowed her head, agreeing without words. She listened half-heartedly as Lyle closed the meeting, sending them both off to their separate offices. When she reached hers, she tasted her now-cold coffee and nearly spit it out again. She marched to the kitchen sink and emptied the mug out before returning to the coffee maker. She stabbed the start button, tapping an angry foot against the tile floor. Around her, printers whirred and interns marched.

  One particular intern, belonging to Katrina, was leaning against the refrigerator in the kitchen, cackling with her peer; the two looked like a scene out of Mean Girls. They looked young—no older than 22, Charlotte thought—and full of unwarranted arrogance. Charlotte had encountered and dealt with plenty of big egos in the law world, but she wasn’t in the mood to feed any this morning.

  Katrina snapped her fingers toward her intern. “I need some coffee. Not this hell water. Go to the nearest Starbucks. And grab me…a scone, as well. The orange fla
vor. You know the one.”

  Making no effort to conceal the rolling of her eyes, the girl swept lazy legs out of the kitchen and toward the elevator, her friend looking at her with longing. Anyone who was allowed to leave the building outside of lunchbreak had a coveted position. And generally speaking, Katrina’s intern was always off on runs to nab her new lotions or purses, her groceries, her gluten free snacks, and anything else that sprang to mind.

  “Well,” Katrina said, tossing her brown curls. “That was pretty rough in there. You begging for my job.” She squinted her eyes toward Charlotte, her gaze almost threatening. “Really, it’s pathetic. And I’m not going to call it anything else.”

  “Then don’t,” Charlotte said, her eyes narrowing, too.

  “What was that?” Katrina whispered.

  Charlotte shook her head, dropping the topic. She was firm in her belief that if she followed her anger down the rabbit hole, she would eventually come up without a job at Ellis and Associates. She had to keep herself in line.

  “I’m going to get a head start on those other projects you sent me,” Charlotte said, starting toward her office, her mug shaking in her angrily trembling hands. “Let me know if you need anything for the Lawson case. Like I said, I have that one cracked.”

  Katrina let out a brief, ominous cackle before Charlotte closed the door, shutting herself in her haven of silence, of her work—which she usually loved, except for times like these. Outside, the July sun had grown higher in the sky, signaling the beginning of a perfect summer’s day. She longed to be out in it, stretching in the bright light.

  Charlotte collapsed in her chair, putting the terrible meeting out of her mind, and focusing instead on the fact that she’d be meeting Sean Lawson himself in just a few days’ time. His image still grinned at her from her computer screen, where daydreams of this upcoming reality had flitted through her mind just that morning.

  Beside her, her cellphone lit up, buzzing slightly on the wood of the desk. She lifted it, noting the message from her best friend, which she read in her head in Chelsea’s bubbly voice:

  So, what has Katrina done today?

  Charlotte stifled a giggle, brimming with relief that somebody out there was thinking about her. Chelsea had been her roommate for her first few years in Seattle, and the girl knew everything about her: about her relationship with her parents (sometimes complicated), her obsession with Sean Lawson (generally fantastical), and her love of her job (with the exception of Katrina Ellis).

  Despite having recently moved to separate apartments in Capitol Hill, Charlotte and Chelsea still spent long nights at each other’s homes, wistful for the times when they’d been broke, drowning in student debt, and blissfully happy.

  Charlotte hummed, her fingers tapping excitedly on the screen.

  You’ll never guess who I’m meeting on Thursday…

  Britney Spears. Beyoncé. The Queen??? Chelsea replied, using a plethora of emoticons.

  Charlotte chortled, covering her mouth. Somehow, she sensed that Katrina could tell when she was goofing off in her office, as if she had spies lurking.

  Close. *pause for dramatic effect* SEAN. LAWSON, she replied.

  Chelsea’s immediate responses were dominated by exclamation and question marks, sizzling with expectation. Girl. You have to look gooooood, were the closing words before they agreed to meet for lunch in several hours to dig into the details—and the great new burrito bowls from the place on the corner. Chelsea worked downtown as an architect, and the pair often found themselves at lunch in tall heels and power-women business suits, flipping their styled hair, all the while knowing they’d seen the other through heartbreak in old pajamas, holding a tub of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.

  Charlotte sat back in her chair, skimming through an email from Katrina that delivered each individual detail about her “lesser” accounts. She could barely focus on these other cases. It seemed the cufflink that she’d carried across the country would finally make it home, and she could hardly wait.

  THREE

  Charlotte woke early on Thursday morning, stretching her toes to the edge of the bed and popping them out from under the covers into the cool morning air. She swung her legs over the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew, somewhere in the city, Sean Lawson was waking, brushing his teeth, sipping his coffee. Little did he know, he was about to meet his biggest fan.

  Having dressed quickly, Charlotte shoved her feet into her tennis shoes and rushed out the door for her usual three-mile run. Her muscles sizzled with strength and her arms swung quickly, propelling her forward. She’d grown into a fine runner during college, when she’d discovered that studying gave her a kind of anxiety she couldn’t shake without a bit of sweat. With endorphins revving in her blood stream, she’d been able to ace her exams, pass the bar in Washington state, and maintain her slim figure into year 28.

  She gasped over her knees upon her return, searching for regular breath—no more from the run than the nerves. She took a cool shower, scrubbing at her scalp and reciting the milestones of Sean Lawson’s career in her mind. She chose her favorite business suit, a matching black pinstripe blazer and skirt that was perfectly tailored to her curves, paired with a crisp, sky-blue blouse to bring out her eyes. She donned a bit of extra makeup, smoothing that pesky eyebrow hair that never grew in the right direction, and grinned at her reflection. She felt great. She was ready to meet her hero.

  Of course, true to herself and her morals, Charlotte booked it to the office on her bike, finding herself hitting every green light, and her hair staying mostly tame. She clicked the lock into place and darted up to the top floor. Life, during these moments, seemed blissful, like a dream.

  But the moment she entered the office, panic smacked her in the face.

  “Charlotte. Can I speak with you my office?” Lyle said, his voice stern. He gestured toward his door, and Charlotte followed him, frowning, still carrying her bicycle helmet.