Page 40 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"Nervous." She tucked her phone away. "This is it, you know? If the judge sides with Hutchins, if she throws out our fraud claims, I lose the bakery. The sale deadline is in less than two weeks, and without the motion to dismiss, I have no defense."

I wanted to reach for her hand, to offer reassurance through touch. But we were in public, walking toward a courthouse, and I wasn't sure anymore where the performance ended and reality began.

"We have evidence," I said instead. "Solid, documented evidence of fraud. The judge will see that."

"I hope you're right."

We reached the courthouse—a historic building near the harbor, all stone and dignity. Richard Sterling stood on the steps, wearing a suit that had probably been expensive thirty years ago and was now just well-maintained. He looked tired, older than I remembered, but his eyes were sharp when they found mine.

"Maya, Ethan." He nodded to us both. "Maya, could you give us a few minutes? I need to speak with Ethan privately.”

"I'll be inside."

After she left, Richard gestured to a bench away from the courthouse entrance. "Walk with me."

We walked in silence for a moment, the harbor visible between buildings, boats bobbing peacefully in the afternoon sun. It belonged in a tourism brochure—the San Juan Islands at their finest.

"You're in love with her," Richard said finally. Not a question. A statement.

I didn't see the point in denying it. "Yes."

"Does she know?"

"Not in so many words." I watched a sailboat navigate the harbor. "We had an arrangement—fake dating for communityacceptance. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being fake."

"These things usually do." Richard sat on a bench overlooking the water, and I sat beside him.

“When you came to me the other day, I asked if you remembered the bakery. I was…well, I wasn’t being fully transparent. Manuel Romano called me the morning after you broke in. Said he'd caught a kid destroying his bakery, but he wanted to help instead of prosecute. Asked if I knew any programs, any options." Richard smiled slightly. "I told him the kid was probably beyond help. That some people are just destructive. Do you know what he said?"

I shook my head.

"He said, 'Everyone deserves a second chance. Even people who don't deserve it. Maybe especially them.'" Richard looked at me. “I thought he was crazy. When I first met you in Seattle, I knew who you were. I didn’t say anything, didn’t want you to get defensive or embarrassed. I gave you structure, mentorship, guidance. Picked up where Manuel left off." Richard's voice was gentle. "And you did the work, Ethan. You chose to become someone better."

I thought about the last five years at my firm—the acquisitions I'd facilitated, the vulnerabilities I'd exploited, the families I'd helped push out of businesses they'd spent generations building.

"Did I?" I asked quietly. "Because looking back, I'm not sure I built anything. I just got better at destroying things legally."

"That's why you're here." Richard turned to face me. "That's why you came back, reported the fraud, sacrificed your career. Because somewhere under the corporate lawyer, you remembered who you actually are."

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"Don't you?" Richard's gaze was steady. "You're the man who defends a woman's credentials with more passion than mostlawyers defend their clients. Who looks at Maya Romano like she's the most amazing person you've ever met."

The words hit hard because they were true. "I'm also the man who came here to help steal her bakery. Who worked for the people manufacturing her legal problems. Who spent five years not asking the right questions."

"Yes. You're that man too." Richard stood, his movements careful. "But here's what I learned in forty-five years of practicing law, people aren't defined by their worst moments. They're defined by what they do after. You made mistakes. Now you're fixing them. That's character, Ethan."

"Is it? Or am I just trying to assuage guilt?"

"Does it matter?" Richard started walking back toward the courthouse. "The result is the same. Maya keeps her bakery, the fraud is exposed, the right thing happens. Your motivation doesn't change the outcome."

"But it changes what comes after," I said quietly. "After the hearing, after the legal issues are resolved. I've been telling myself I'm leaving—going back to Seattle, rebuilding my career, moving on. But there's nothing to go back to. My firm fired me, I'm facing ethics investigations, and I'm probably about to be disbarred."

"So stay."

The words were simple, but they carried weight. Stay. Build a life here. Stop running.

"It's not that easy—"