Enemy's Secret

"It might not be up to me," I say, trying not to let my nerves show.

If I let what's working away at me out, then I might just not be able to put it away again.

The roads are annoyingly empty and every light's a green, as if they're all mockingly egging me on towards my doom.

I drop Pamela off before going to park. Then, I walk inside.

Jackson and Peterson. New York's top law firm. Maybe my former employer. Not if I have anything to say about it.

The building is an old train station, with its original facade, all curving arches and a bit of ambitious taupe brickwork. Walking inside, I'm reminded of why I fell in love with the place. Brimming and bustling with productive, talented people doing productive, talented things, it breathes efficiency.

Not like that student government job I had back in college where every other employee had a tab open to Facebook for the seven hours a day they did little to no work, no. Here, productivity is a way of life.

Even the receptionist is busy, four calls on hold while she talks to the fifth, nodding to me to go in.

This is it. Today's the day.

The day when everything could change.

Last time I came in here nervous and uncertain was for my interview. Everyone looked older, more sure of themselves than I felt. Part of me vibrated with a certainty that they'd laugh me out of here, top law school student or no.

Of course, they didn't. I impressed them, charmed them, and they hired me on the spot.

And I haven't let them down. Until now.

As a lawyer, there are some things you just don't do. Unspoken rules that you don't break.

Sleeping with the opposition is one of them.

Inside the conference room, someone's cranked up the AC. Goose bumps pebble along my arms inside of my stuffy blazer. Another day for my Hugo suit - the best one I own - and I still feel like a murderer being walked to the noose.

The faces in the room I all recognize, just as I recognize the looks on their faces: unfriendly, condemning. Or maybe I'm just scared shitless.

Kara is the other top lawyer. Her silky black hair is scalped back into a severe ponytail, her red-lipped mouth clearly trying not to show satisfaction that she's all set to be on top. Paul and his pasty white hands are folded with an unctuous expression. He tried to hit on me once and I turned him down. And then there's Terence. Silver hair, blank expression, crystalline blue eyes. The boss. Kingpin. The guy I usually get kindly, fatherly vibes from, even though in the courtroom he's nothing short of a maverick.

Now, I'm definitely not getting fatherly vibes from him.

"First things first," he says briskly, frowning at me. "Kyra, you're fired. You know why."

"We won the case," I argue. "What else matters?"

"What else matters?" Terence laughs harshly, bowing his silver head to shoot me a beady look. "What matters is that I can't trust you or your judgment anymore. You stalled on the Storm case, didn't realize you had the main witness right under your nose... No. I don't make the same mistake twice."

"We would've won the case anyway," I point out, "and I've never let my personal life get in the way of my professional duties before."

"Paying lip service to what you should've done isn't going to win me over," Terence continues, eyes narrowed. "We both know you screwed up."

"I screwed up," I agree. "No denying it. But I don't make the same mistake twice either. Give me another chance."

"No," he says. "You went too far this time. Sleeping with the opposition? This isn't some fucking romcom."

"Terence," I begin.

The creak of the door opening. I swing around.

Him.

"This not a good time?" Landon says, pausing uneasily.

"It's a great time," I say smoothly, "I was just getting fired."

"Well," he says, "in that case... I wanted to tell you that I realized something these past few days."

I gape at him. Where the heck is this going? And why is my heart doing the Macarena?

"Can this wait?" Terence asks icily. "We're in a meeting now, Mr. Storm."

"No," Landon says. "No, it really can't."

Everyone's watching. Oh God. What could be so important that he had to come here to say it?

Landon turns to me. "I love you," he says simply, "And I don't want to live without you. I don't care what it takes. I don't care what I have to do. I want to be with you."

Terence scowls. "Is this really the - "

"Shut up," Landon says, not even looking at him. He only has eyes for me.

"Kyra," he says, "you don't have to answer me now. But I needed to tell you that. Needed you to know that."

I gawk at him. I probably look like a complete mouth-agape, eyes-bugged kook, but I can't help it.