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Thirty minutes later, I’m outside Jackson’s door. Clothes changed, dry-shampooed, and as put-together as I can muster in wide-leg jeans, a purple long-sleeve that matches my cast, and lip gloss. I knock on his door, and he answers before the third knock. Freshly showered, in those damn gray sweatpants that should be illegal, he steps back, letting me in. Walking by, I smell a familiar scent on him that surprises me.
“Is that … cherry blossom?” I lean closer, my nose leading me toward his collarbone.
Jackson stills as I realize our bodies are centimeters apart. Reaching behind himself, he scratches the back of his neck, pink coloring his cheeks.
“I, uh, ran out of my body wash.” He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he continues, “Ready for lunch?”
Jackson has whipped together a creamy pasta with garlic bread and a glass of water infused with lemon.
Taking a few bites, I have to hold back a moan. Nobody has fed me as well as Jackson has. I look up to find him smiling. He always said he liked cooking but fell in love with it when he saw me take the first bite of something he had made.
“Alright, Mr. Mercer. In your own words, please tell me what happened.” I fall back on the familiar, treating this like any courtroom sentencing.
His lips twitch before he sets down his fork.
“As you correctly deduced, Cassandra reached out to Morrison Rose looking to be acquired. We have reached out to Cascadia Legal Partners for years, looking to expand to Central Oregon, but the partners never agreed to it.”
Reaching for my lemon water, I realize it’s empty. Jackson’s eyes track the movement, and he grabs the pitcher from the fridge and refills it, continuing with his story.
“Cassandra informed us that her father is sick. She wouldn’t get into specifics, but it’s serious. We were able to confirm that she had his power of attorney for voting rights. Rhodes appears to know of the illness, but not of the POA.”
I shift in my seat to find a more comfortable position for my ankle, which is beginning to throb. Jackson seems to notice and grabs the extra barstool, moving it closer and grabbing a throw pillow to prop my ankle on. He gently grabs my leg and sets it down, fluffing it perfectly, then leaning against the counter next to my foot.
“Thanks,” I mutter. Clearing my throat, I sit as tall as I can in my awkward, leg-propped position. “So with Pierce confirmed ill, you all saw the opportunity for an acquisition. It happens. But why the investigation? Why couldn’t this all be done behind closed doors, not infiltrating the workspace?”
Reaching across the peninsula to grab his glass, he takes a sip of water and nods. “That was the original plan. But things weren’t adding up. From the client lists to the billable hours to the balances, everything was off. I quickly realized that someone was hiding something, but it wasn’t obvious where. I’ve done similar work to this before, joining firms to get a feel for the companies. My grandfather suggested I do the same. However, both he and I strongly suspected that Cassandra was behind it all.”
My mouth drops open as I try to find the words for this revelation.
“You suspected Cassandra?” He nods in agreement. “If that’s the case, why were you reporting on me and the others?”
Leaning back in his chair, he crosses one leg over the other. “We had to make it appear like we were investigating everyone, and at first”—he stops looking into my eyes—“I was. Since we identified discrepancies, Cassandra had to appear serious about finding the root cause. I wasn’t aware of her conversations with Rhodes and, frankly, didn’t care. She brought me in more so for the guise of finding out where the problem was.” He takes another sip of his drink.
“I wrote up a weekly report of my findings. Cassandra read them with a fine-tooth comb,” he chuckles without humor. “And she was very interested in my findings on you.”
My body locks, ice running through my veins. “Why?”
“You were the star, the major up-and-comer. You worked twice as hard as everyone else, won more cases, and did it without creating a list of enemies. That is rare in our line of work, and it didn’t go unnoticed. She barely made it through law school, only getting this job because of her dad.”
I knew the gossip but hearing it from him hit differently. However, the fact still remains that he wrote about me.
“That didn’t give you permission to use me for details. I need more. What did the report say?”
He stands up and walks over to his messenger bag, sifting through some papers before sliding a few across the countertop to me. I reach out to pull them closer, but his fingers settle on top of mine, stopping me.
“These documents are professional and confidential. But they were also a bit of my … confessional.” His cheeks are pink before he continues. “They’re things I would have wanted to tell my mom if I could have talked about you to family.” My hand stills, unsure if I can continue. Jackson gently pushes the papers forward.
Personnel Assessment: P. Lane, Family Law — Week 2
Highest billables in the department, exceptional client retention. Arrives early, leaves late, eats at her desk when she remembers to eat.
Workplace presence: steady, precise, private. Staff at every level respond to her with genuine affection — clearly mutual.
Fixed a broken filing cabinet herself instead of filing a maintenance request.
Buys into every kid/grandkid fundraiser that crosses her desk. Sweet tooth, or doesn’t know how to say no to people she likes — undetermined.
Note to self: cold coffee on her desk by 4 p.m., every day. She makes it, forgets it. Get her a mug warmer
