Page 27 of Take What Hurts

Because it was all such a mess. She had all these complicated feelings that were totally unrequited. Because Mackenzie was so lovely and being around her was so comforting, and she was certain Mackenzie could see now, especially after Elliott’s confession at the market, exactly what an anxious mess she was and had decided to take her under her wing. How utterly unromantic.

And then, even if on some plane of existence Mackenzie did want Elliott in that way, there was the other, entirely inappropriate part, where Mackenzie was the opposing counsel on the one case Elliott needed to win, which had come to a complete and utter stall. What the fuck would it matter if Mackenzie felt the same? Elliott could not—could not—afford to lose this case. Or quit.

Bringing herself back to the present and out of the problems that plagued literally every part of her current existence, she shook herself and spoke: “Of course I did.” She grinned and held the bag out in front of her like an offering. “For ‘the birthday boy.’” Grin morphing into a smirk, she nodded at the oversize button. “Quite the statement you’re making with this ensemble.”

His laugh, concocted from deep inside his stomach, barked out of his mouth. “Damian and Josh gifted me these.” Mattias motioned to the shirt and the button. It tracked that his son, Damian, and his husband, Josh, would have been responsible for those gifts. “I’m indulging them.” He shrugged. “Mostly, anyway.” He stepped back from the door and motioned for her to follow him down the short hall, which led to an open-plan living-and-kitchen area, tastefully renovated: It was all glass and raw timber, with large doors closed to the bitterly cold rain today, but Elliott imagined it would be an incredible entertaining area in the summer.

“Wow,” Elliott breathed, eyes darting around the room, from the sunken living area decorated with an enormous sectional and even larger plush rug to the vaulted ceiling. Then, frowning, she turned to Mattias. “Where are Damian and co?”

Mattias waved a hand back toward the front door. “Went out for booze. They’ll be back.” Returning his attention to the living area, he waved an arm at the ceiling. “It’s something, isn’t it?” He wandered to the kitchen island, rescued a bottle of champagne from the fridge, and pulled at the foil. “All Kate’s design.” He tilted his head at his wife, who rounded the corner into the kitchen, her round face breaking into a smile that was like warm home-baked cookies.

“Elliott, it’s so nice to see you.” She pulled Elliott into a tight hug that was reminiscent of one of her mother’s, before holding her at arm’s length and studying her seriously. “You look good, kid. Now, help me with these potatoes, will you? This one”—she bumped her hip into Mattias’s, and he promptly spilled champagne over the edge of one glass with a huff of laughter—“said he only wanted a small gathering, but there’s small, and then there’s Mattias’s version of small. So essentially there’s fifteen of us. Given the boys managed to make an escape, you’re my helper.”

Elliott swallowed. She’d envisaged that Mattias would host a heaving party for his sixtieth birthday, not what was, despite Kate’s despair from a catering perspective, an intimate gathering by most people’s count. Kate handed her an industrial amount of tinfoil, acutely unaware of the way Elliott’s brow had started to sweat at the prospect of sitting down for lunch with probably a lot of people she didn’t know, but a small enough group that she’d have to talk to them. And what would she say? What if they had nothing in common and went through iteration after iteration of the same small talk about the weather and the “what do you do for a living” conversations, until it petered out into an awkward silence that would make Elliott want to crawl under the table and hide?

Accepting that there was nothing for it now, she got on with the task, Kate instructing her to use the foil to cover pans of preboiled potatoes smothered in butter, garlic, and salt and pepper. Elliott swallowed and glanced at the long table set for lunch and wondered whether it would be better to sit toward the middle or on the end. Mid-covering of the second pan of potatoes, as Kate seared scallops and giant shrimp behind her at the stove, Mattias placed a glass of champagne in front of Elliott and peered at her with his gray eyes. Beard twitching minutely, he turned to Kate. “I’m stealing Elliott for a minute. Work stuff.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “You promised me none of that.”

“It’s not lunchtime yet. Plus”—he shot her a grin and winked—“it’s my birthday; I do what I want today.”

Kate’s indulgent smile indicated that Mattias doing whatever he wanted on any day would never be true, but she absently waved her hand at the two of them, attention already back on the pan sizzling away in front of her. Elliott, frowning at the talk of work and racking her brain for what file this could possibly be about, switched the roll of tinfoil for the champagne and followed Mattias into the den, then settled into the couch opposite where he’d sat.

Not more than a second after she’d seated herself, Mattias spoke. “What’s wrong?”

Elliott should have expected it. The man was more direct than a fucking heat-seeking missile, and as a lawyer who billed $1,000 an hour in six-minute increments, he clearly had forgotten how to approach a topic with much finesse. Elliott squirmed in her seat and shrugged. She’d learned a long time ago that nothing got by him and there was absolutely no point in being anything but honest. “I wasn’t expecting to be invited to such an intimate birthday event, that’s all.” She crossed a leg over her knee and gripped her champagne glass a little tighter. “Thank you for the invitation. I’m really”—she swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat—“really happy to be here.”

It was inadequate. Elliott knew that. It didn’t come close to describing how much such an invitation meant to her. That this high-powered lawyer had looked at the talented pool of new grads three years ago and had so willingly scooped her up and tucked her under his wing. Plain and simple, he’d looked after her when he had no obligation to, and she didn’t think she’d ever know why, when he could have chosen from so many other grads with better grades, better connections, and better organizational and time management skills than she had. And now he’d invited her to an intimate gathering of his friends and family. Frankly, she didn’t want to get into it, because she’d be a blubbering mess in a minute.

Mattias took a sip of his champagne and seemed to study her for a moment, eyes crinkling at the edges as they narrowed. “I’m not sure why you wouldn’t expect to be invited here. To this, I mean.” Elliott stayed silent, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’d hope you’d think of us as friends.” He paused for a moment, another small twitch of his beard. “I do, anyway.”

Elliott straightened where she sat, heat rushing into her cheeks and brain falling over itself to push the right words to her mouth. “I—yes, I mean—of course I do—it goes without saying—” She paused and pressed her palm to her forehead, sucking in a breath. She glanced at Mattias and sagged with relief when she saw the smile pulling at his lips. Her hand dropped into her lap, and she picked at a seam in her chinos. “I was just surprised and a little, well, touched. That’s all. I’ve had a bit of a weird week, and, well—” She shrugged, and the knot in her stomach that always seemed to live there—loosening only to tighten again at the first sign of anything difficult or stressful—tightened anew. She ignored the fluttering that started at the memory of how much fun she’d had with Mackenzie. How easy it had been. About how dangerous that was.

Mattias frowned, peering at her from under bushy eyebrows. “Yeah, you have been a bit”—his gaze shot to the ceiling in thought—“off.” He leveled her with a look, eyebrow hitched high on his forehead. “I think you should tell me about it.”

Elliott’s stomach roiled, and she held Mattias’s stern gaze. It wasn’t exactly the “I’m your boss, and you’d better spill it” look that he’d give her when she was at work, but it wasn’t far off. More like an “I’m your friend, and you’d better spill it” type of situation. She knew she could tell Mattias that she didn’t want to talk about it. But the problem was that she kind of did want to talk about it. She needed advice. Objective advice. Not Hannah’s type of advice, which was essentially “yes, do it, and do it now—consequences be damned.”

But the problem was that she didn’t know whether it was okay to even feel this way about a lawyer on the other side, even if it was unrequited. Didn’t know whether she needed to get herself off the matter right now or whether it was just something she felt and that was okay as long as it didn’t interfere with her ability to do her job. And the not knowing of it all, and the fact that Mattias, despite being her friend, was also her boss. With responsibilities to the firm. And to the bar. Well… that was what made her stomach clench tight and her mouth clamp shut.

Elliott figured the indecision and worry showed plainly on her face, because Mattias’s expression went from one of barely tempered amusement to concern. Eyebrows drawn down, he sat forward in his spot on the sofa, elbows on his knees. “Elliott, you don’t have to tell me anything, but if you need to tell me something, it doesn’t matter what it is, I’m wearing my friend hat.”

She nodded and took a breath. “You know the Jenkins matter?” Mattias nodded, eyes narrowing minutely. “The lawyer on the other side—” She swallowed. “She’s—well, she’s, uh—” God, Elliott wished in moments like these that words came more easily to her. It’s like her brain pushed them at her, but they got lost on the way to her mouth. She’d try and grab at them—wrap her tongue around them and spit them out—but they’d hide in the haze that made them disappear until they were goddamn good and ready to be spoken.

Mattias nodded again, fingers loosely intertwined between his knees. “Take your time.”

Elliott nodded and took a breath, and then, when the tightness in her chest had dissipated, the words showed themselves. “She’s attractive. I’m attracted to her.” She told him about their chance meeting at the airport, and how they hadn’t known each other at the time, but how that had been the catalyst for the latent spark that had glowed brightly ever since, on Elliott’s side at least. “I don’t think she feels the same way. I don’t even think she’s gay. I think it’s more of a…” Elliott turned the words over in her mouth; they tasted bad, but she spoke them anyway: “Mentor-type thing? For her?”

Mattias sat back in his seat and folded a long leg over his knee. “Has anything happened?”

Elliott’s head was shaking no before Mattias had even finished asking the question, and her stomach lurched at the implication. “No. God, no. Like I said, I don’t get the impression she feels the same way. She’s more senior, probably straight, and very put together, and I’m…” She trailed off. But Mattias wasn’t one to finish sentences for other people. If existing in silence was a sport, Mattias would be a triple gold medalist. Elliott cleared her throat and picked harder at the seam in her chinos. “Well, I don’t really know what she’d want with me. Like that, you know?”

“Good that nothing’s happened. Bad that your opinion of yourself is so diminishing. Don’t sell yourself short, kiddo.” He shot her a small smile, and she forced herself not to squirm with the compliment. Reading the room well, Mattias moved on. “Go on. I assume there’s more.”

Elliott nodded and swallowed hard, reaching for some more words that came more easily in the calm that radiated off Mattias. He lifted his flute of champagne for a sip, eyes never leaving Elliott. “I guess I’m just worried,” she said.

“About?”

“Whether I’m breaching any of the professional-conduct rules.”