Page 62 of Unlocked

"But he lives in Manhattan, doesn't he?" Tatum asked.

"I think so," Sam agreed. "I asked, and the waitress said that the guy Josh was with in the picture, Rafe, was from the neighborhood. Apparently, Rafe is big into parkour and all things outdoors."

"Huh. Doesn't really sound like Josh, but I guess people do weird things for love." She had a brief flash of Archer in her mind's eye, the way he'd looked at her last night. She immediately dismissed the memory. Now was really not the time.

"I guess so. I was going to ask Josh about it, but the waitress said they broke up in spectacular fashion. I decided discretion is the better part of valor on that one."

Tatum grinned. "Don't blame you one bit."

Sam got to her feet. "Anyway, I'll get this sent out. I'm also doing prep work for the Anderson trial."

Tatum's hand stilled on her coffee cup. "The Anderson trial?"

"Oh." Sam's expression shifted. "That's probably what your parents want to talk to you about. They told me you were doing the Anderson trial. Should I stop?"

"No." Tatum shook her head. "Keep going. It's better to just do what they want for now. I'll let you know."

"Okay." Sam headed out.

Tatum took another sip of coffee and wiped her hands on a napkin.

The Anderson trial was not on her list of things to do. Not today, not any day. The moment Sam had said those words, Tatum had felt instant revulsion that went deeper than just disliking the man. It was something more visceral than that.

She didn't want to do this anymore. Any of it. Corporate law. Fighting for fat cats who could afford to lose. Defending men like Anderson, who used their money and power to hurt people, and expected lawyers like her to clean up the mess afterward. She'd spent years telling herself it was intellectually challenging even if it wasn't morally satisfying. But sitting here now, "Anderson trial" still ringing in her ears, she felt something shift in her chest. Like a weight lifting. She was done. She hadn't fully realized how much she wanted out until this exact moment. She sat with that realization for a moment.

Then she pushed back her chair and stood. She'd kept her parents waiting long enough. She made her way across the floor, nodding to colleagues, and came around the last corner, nearly colliding with Gil.

"Nice to see you, Tatum, " he said with a smile. Gil Bennett stood just under six feet, with dark blond hair, kind brown eyes, good-looking in an easy, unremarkable way until he smiled. Gil had a genuinely nice smile.

"Good to see you too, Gil. How's the case going?"

"Slowly," he said.

"Slowly is good. Means more money," she said in a low voice that mimicked her father. It was his favorite phrase.

Gil laughed. He was a good man, about her age. Her parents had tried to fix them up at one point. She hadn't been having it, but Gil had been gracious about it, and she'd liked him ever since.

He dropped his voice. "Your father's pissed. And Bunny didn't look too happy either."

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"Anytime." He offered her a sympathetic smile and continued down the hall.

Tatum took a breath and headed for her father's office.

"Morning, Bunny. Stuart." Neither of them wanted to be called Mom and Dad at work.

Her father's voice was perfectly mild when he said, "Nice of you to join us." The mildness was the rebuke. It always was with Stuart.

"What is it we need to discuss?" Tatum asked.

"I'm well, thank you for asking. And you?" Her mother's tone had all the warmth of a January sidewalk.

"I'm glad you're fine, Bunny. What did you want to talk about?"

"Why aren’t you sleeping at your apartment?" Bunny launched straight into it.

Tatum blinked. That had come from left field, and she wasn't prepared for it. She certainly wasn't telling them the truth.