Page 3 of Hidden & Held

Mr. Rhodes reaches out to the man on his left who is blocked from my view by Phyllis in accounting.

“Please welcome Jackson Mercer to our firm.” The man stands to shake Mr. Rhodes’s hand, and I get a good look at the gorgeous man from the diner.

My sharp inhale has me looking around, sure others will have noticed my reaction. But every woman in the room is leaning the same direction.

“Thank you, everyone. I am happy to be here in this beautiful town. I look forward to meeting all of you in due time.” He stops as he makes eye contact with me across the room, recognition flashing across his face.

“I think I am going to like it here,” Jackson declares, never breaking eye contact. “I already found something interesting.”

I look away first, uncomfortable with the attention. When Mr. Rhodes ends the meeting, my colleagues—especially the women—immediately move to the front to greet Jackson. I slip out instead, back to my office to grind out some more briefs.

Double-checking I have responded to all my emails, I verify my calendar is up to date. A notification pops up for a new message—the judge has approved my motion for continuance on the Kincaid case.

Closing the email, I update the client and am already mentally moving on. It should feel good, like a win. Instead, it feels like I am moving around pieces on a board I have already memorized. I loosen my jaw and roll my neck, trying to keep the tension headache at bay.

There’s a light knock on the door and I look up to see Jackson holding a large stack of documents. “Hey, found these in the printer. You’re Phoenix Lane, right?”

Seeing my notes in his hands, realization dawns that I never grabbed my Lena prep notes. “Thanks. I never forget to grab my papers from the printer.”

He walks over and sets them on my desk. “It’s okay, happens to the best of us. A little late for that, isn’t it?” He nods at my latest coffee of the day.

I glance at the clock, realizing hours have passed from when I planned to head home. My mother used to work this late and I always swore I wouldn’t.

“The law never sleeps,” I reply dryly and take a sip of my lukewarm coffee.

“Sure, but we humans do.”

I peer up at his tall frame, pointedly ignoring how attractive he is. “You’re here too,” I drawl.

“Fair, but I am the new guy. We haven’t officially met, Jackson Mercer, M&A.” He leans across my desk, reaching out his hand, and I grab it tentatively. He squeezes it gently, letting our fingers graze as he removes his hand from mine.

Trying to shake off the warmth in my hand from his, I reply, “I know, I was at the meeting, you are the talk of the office.”

He smiles unabashedly. “New guy in town, the newness will wear off.”

Somehow, I doubt that. I sigh, rubbing my temples. “You’re right, I’d better get going.” I begin gathering my items to head out.

“Headache?” Jackson observes.

“Always. But I watch my aspirin intake, don’t want to be damaging my kidneys,” I repeat my mother’s medical advice.

“Of course. Nice meeting you. I will see you tomorrow.” Jackson pauses at the door, looking as if he wants to say something but thinks better of it. A second later and he’s gone, the door shutting with a quiet snick.

When I walk in the next day, mentally running through my never-ending to-do list, I see a small rollerball bottle on my desk on top of one of my sticky notes.

Peppermint oil, roll on the temples when a headache is coming on. My mom swears by this stuff. —Jackson

One busy week later, Jackson has quickly become the center of attention, joining a March Madness bracket here, offering a brief view there, and being pulled into many impromptu meetings with Cassandra in her office. I hate that I notice.

Where he’s vibrant and public with his musings to the rest of my colleagues, I catch him watching me more than once when he thinks I’m not looking. Not in a way that feels casual. In a way that feels … deliberate.

I work through lunch and when I get back to my office late in the afternoon, there is a chicken Caesar salad on my desk with a note.

I noticed you didn’t eat lunch. Don’t work too hard. —Jackson

I savor every bite and I tell myself it’s because I was hungry, not because of his thoughtfulness.

On Thursday, I wait for the staff meeting to start in the conference room, highlighting lines of a prenuptial agreement. My mind is frazzled as I sift through the complicated clauses when I feel Jackson sit down, leaning slightly into my space.