The Monday morning light shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Morrison & Associates' twenty-second-floor conference room was bright and sunny, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table. Emma Parker sat towards the end of the table, her laptop on her lap and open in front of her, only half-listening to the managing partners drone on about quarterly performance metrics.

She'd heard this speech before. Three years at one of San Francisco's most prestigious law firms had taught her that Monday morning all-hands meetings were ninety percent corporate bullshit and ten percent actual information. The real work happened outside the conference room, the depositions, the courtrooms where she'd proven herself time and again.

At twenty-six, Emma had worked twice as hard as anyone else to get here. Junior associates didn't typically get invited to these senior meetings, but she'd made herself indispensable. Three major case wins in the past year alone. A reputation for being brilliant, thorough, and unshakeable under pressure.

"Emma, you're doing that thing again."

She glanced up to find David scott, her closest friend at the firm, giving her a knowing look from across the table. He was right, she was chewing her bottom lip, a nervous habit she'd never quite broken. She straightened in her chair and smoothed down the front of her navy suit jacket.

"I'm listening," she whispered back.

"No, you're strategizing the Henderson deposition." David grinned. "Your 'planning face' is very distinctive."

Emma allowed herself a small smile. He knew her too well. The Henderson deposition was scheduled for Wednesday, and she'd been mentally rehearsing her cross-examination questions all weekend.

"Ms. Parker."

Her head snapped up. James Morrison, the silver-haired managing partner who'd founded the firm thirty years ago, was looking directly at her with those sharp gray eyes that missed nothing.

"Yes, sir?"

"I trust you're prepared for the Henderson case?"

"Absolutely. Discovery documents have been reviewed, witness list finalized, and I've prepared three different strategic approaches depending on how their counsel proceeds."

Morrison's lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he ever gave. "Good. Because after this meeting, I'm assigning you to a new case. High-stakes corporate litigation. Our client is Bennett Pharmaceuticals, and they're facing a fifty-million-dollar lawsuit over alleged patent infringement."

Emma's pulse quickened. Fifty million. That was the kind of case that make or break careers.

"The trial date is set for eight weeks from now," Morrison continued. "It's going to require long hours and absolute dedication. But I think you're ready for this level of responsibility."

"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

"I know you won't. You'll be working under our new senior partner who's joining us from Hartman & Associates in New York." Morrison checked his watch and gestured toward the door. "In fact, she should be arriving any moment. We brought her on specifically for her expertise in intellectual property litigation. She's successfully litigated over thirty IP cases with an eighty-five percent win rate."

Emma felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Working directly under a senior partner on a case this size was huge. This could be her shot at senior associate.

"Her resume is exceptional," Morrison went on, warming to his subject in that way he did when discussing a brilliant  legal mind. "Harvard Law, ten years of experience at top-tier firms, recently made partner at Hartman. She's exactly the kind of talent we need to expand our IP practice."

The door opened.

Emma glanced up absently, expecting to see an assistant or a paralegal. Instead, a woman walked in; tall, poised, dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than Emma's monthly rent.

Blonde hair styled in a sleek, professional cut.

Sharp cheekbones.

Blue-grey eyes that Emma would recognize anywhere, even after eight years.

The laptop nearly slipped from her hands.

She sat with her mouth open for a while, before remembering to close it.

No.

No, this couldn't be happening. A minute panic seized her before she controlled herself.

"Everyone," Morrison announced, standing as the rest of the partners followed suit, "please welcome Alexandra Richardson, our newest senior partner and head of our intellectual property litigation department."

The woman; Alex, Alexandra, the person Emma had spent eight years trying to forget, smiled professionally at the room, shaking hands with the partners closest to her. Her voice, when she spoke, was exactly as Emma remembered it: smooth, confident, devastatingly articulate.

"Thank you, James. I'm thrilled to be joining Morrison & Associates. I've long admired the firm's reputation for excellence, and I'm looking forward to contributing to that legacy."

Emma couldn't breathe.

This is not possible! Alexandra Richardson worked in New York. She'd built a career there, made partner at Hartman & Associates, had a whole life three thousand miles away from San Francisco. From Emma.

So, What was she doing here?

Alex was still talking, something about her approach to litigation strategy, her vision for expanding the IP department. Emma heard none of it. The words washed over her like statics as her mind reeled.

Eight years.

It had been eight years since that last conversation in Alex's dorm room. Eight years since Alex had looked at her with those same blue-grey eyes, colder then, distant, and said, "This was just college, Emma. We both need to move on."

Eight years since Emma's heart had shattered into pieces so small she'd wondered if she'd ever be whole again.

She'd rebuilt herself. Brick by careful brick, she'd constructed walls around her heart high enough and thick enough that no one could ever hurt her like that again. She'd focused on law school, on her career, on becoming a successful property lawyer who doesn’t  need anybody.

And now Alex was here, standing fifteen feet away, about to become her supervising partner.

Alex's gaze swept across the room, making eye contact with various attorneys as she spoke about her plans for the department. Emma held her breath, praying Alex wouldn't see her, wouldn't recognize her among the dozen junior associates scattered around the conference table.

Please don't look at me. Please don't—

Their eyes met.

For a fraction of a second, less than a heartbeat, Alex's professional composure cracked. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, her lips parting in what might have been shock or recognition or something else Emma couldn't name.

Then the mask slammed back into place.