Miller's Time (Southern Charmers 2)

“Fucking golden girl shows back up.” She shunts past me, making a point to elbow me in the ribs. “You left a goddamn mess.”

“Lena, I didn’t invite you into my office.” I snap into character.

“Cut the shit. I’m done walking in your footsteps; I’m an associate now. Brock and the senior team think this case needs your grace, your name on this because of your reputation. But I’m done living in your shadow.”

“My shadow is the best place you could be. Ride those coattails as long as you can.”

She glowers, flames directed to me. “Fuck you, Ashlyn.”

The air in the room turns glacial. A quick glance toward Miller and Scottie tells me they’re unhappy but letting me take the lead. I cross my arms, locking gazes with Lena. One of my sharpest traits while practicing law was the ability to read people. It was a survival skill in my position. The proficiency clicks back into place easily as I study her closely.

My and Lena’s working relationship was purely professional. With me dead set on gunning the fast track to partnership, there wasn’t the time or interest in any socialization. Her work, research, and dedication were acceptable, and with the right mentor, she could have skyrocketed.

No one in my professional circle had any interest in coaching her to the next level. They passed her over repeatedly for opportunities she openly desired, but she kept working hard to prove herself. The black-hearted bitch in me played my role well.

But now, my chest aches. Looking at her, knowing she’d do anything to be noticed and get ahead, it’s plain to see. The woman she was when I left was tough, but the hatred in her expression and the loathing in her spewed words tell her story.

They played her, annihilating her self-worth in the process.

“Lena, you didn’t have to do it.” My voice is steady but not harsh.

She remains stony, not giving anything away.

“He’s a married man in a position of immense power. Judge or not, he would not escalate your career.”

To some, it may be unnoticeable, but it’s a blinking sign to me. Her dark eyes flicker and pack with regret.

She did what I wouldn’t do. They swayed her to have sex in order to benefit the firm.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies acidly.

“Ashlyn.” This comes from Scottie. His tone alone speaks his warning. This is not the time to show my bleeding heart. There’s too much at stake.

I battle down my sympathy and square my shoulders, walking around her to the back of my desk. “I assume those files are for my review. You can leave them.”

“I’m not leaving them. We will review them together. You don’t get to march back in and take credit for my work.”

“You were always ambitious, but you’re lazy. It takes a lot more than tail wagging and ass-kissing to get where you want to be in life. If they instructed you to bring those files for me to review, that tells me there’s no credit to give. I’ve been brought back for a reason.” The insults scald my throat, and my stomach rolls with self-disgust.

That was cold, even for the Prada Princess. I don’t dare look at Miller for fear of facing his disappointment.

“You are a royal bitch.” Lena drops the files, papers fanning across the desk.

“Hmm, so I’ve heard. Leave them and I’ll send word when I’m ready to go over them with you.”

“I suppose sleeping with Brock didn’t hurt your climb up the ladder.”

“My relationship with Brock was over a long time ago. Not that it’s any of your business. If you think sleeping with him furthered my career, maybe you should have tried it.”

Pain and rejection slash across her features, and I know I’ve hit an already severed nerve. She went after Brock and he dismissed her, prodding her to the judge.

She came in here ready for a fight and ready to unleash her resentment, but in this moment, she’s wounded and struggling. Out of nowhere, it hits me; this may be a far stretch but I take my chance.

“This will all be over soon and I’ll be gone. But in the future, if you want to get my attention, contact me directly and say what you want to say. Don’t send me cryptic messages from an untraceable phone number with indolent threats.”

The tension in the room ricochets up to top-notch. Miller’s growl rumbles from his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The slight tremble in her denial confirms my guess.

“You can go now,” I dismiss her, dropping my attention to the papers strewn on the desk.

As soon as the door shuts with force, I allow my knees to give out and sink into the chair. Both men remain quiet, staring at me, and I breathe in and out until the waves of nausea pass.