Chapter Twenty-Six

Hi. It’s me. I’m home, and you’re not. You’re not here, Izzy, and I didn’t see that coming. Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t completely upfront about my reasons for selling, and I’m sorry we’re at odds over it, but please don’t do this. Don’t back out. Don’t back out of the deal and don’t back out of us. I spoke to Lilah, like you asked and thank you for that. I’m still—whoa—processing everything but thank you for encouraging her to talk to me. She’s not alone in this and now she knows it. Bridget’s gone for a few days, so I haven’t spoken to her yet, but I will. Right now, though, the only person I really want to talk to is you. I know you’re hurt that I kept information from you, and angry, and you don’t agree with my decision, so maybe you don’t feel like speaking to me at the moment. If that’s where you’re at then just listen. I need you. I miss you. I at least have to know you made it home okay. Give me that much.

Izzy took her cell from her ear and leaned against the headrest of the Uber driving her home from LAX. The city lights streamed past the window as she sat still in the darkened back seat. The traffic all around seemed too loud. Too close. She would text, she decided. A simple “Home safe,” would do.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to speak to him. She ached to. But what was the point? No, he hadn’t been honest with her, but she could forgive that. Unfortunately, he wasn’t being honest with himself, either. She’d said her piece on that point. Continuing the debate wouldn’t push him into seeing the truth. That was something he’d have to recognize for himself—hopefully before he let go of something that mattered, for reasons that didn’t. But continuing to clash over it would simply push them further apart.

Mustering energy, she straightened and raised her phone, but before she could hit the text icon an incoming call flashed on her screen. Ugh. Gordon Davis. She considered letting it go to voicemail, but… What the hell, Izzy. If you’re going to blow this up, might as well light the fuse.

“Hi, Gordon. Working late?”

“It’s barely nine p.m. That’s midday for the likes of us.”

As jokes went, it wasn’t especially funny. In fact, it was all too true. “I’m actually on my way home, so—”

“I take that to mean I should expect the final outstanding due diligence items any moment?”

“No. Sorry Gordon, that’s not at all what it means. It means we’re done.”

“Done? We’re not done. We’re in the middle of deal, here.”

“Okay, I’m done.” She took a long breath and committed career hara-kiri. “I’m not continuing to work on the deal.”

“What the fuck are you saying? You can’t just drop your pencil.”

“I can. I have.”

“What’s the status of the deal?”

“I really have no idea. You’ll have to take that up with Chuck. I highly recommend you don’t call him at this hour.”

“I don’t believe this.” For a moment the man sounded legitimately at a loss for words, but finally exploded with, “This is the most unprofessional bullshit I’ve ever encountered. I demand an explanation on behalf of my client. He’s gone to a great deal of time and expense—”

“Which was always his risk. He wants to expand his Alaska market, fine, good luck. But it could be that Captivity Air is the wrong target. That’s all can tell you. All I have to say.”

“Well, listen up, lady, because I sure as hell have more to say—”

“Goodbye, Gordy.” She hung up the phone, then, for good measure, blocked his number. The timer was officially ticking on the implosion of her career.

She reached for her HH&R water bottle, prepared to hydrate and try the figure eight breathing to center herself, then paused. Her pulse wasn’t spiking. Her stomach wasn’t jittering. Her thoughts weren’t careening around in her head like bats trying to flee a cave. She felt eerily calm. Maybe it was merely the calm before the storm, but she’d take it with gratitude. One beat, two. Since the calm held, she decided to do what she’d been about to do before Gordon’s call.

Picking up her phone once more, she texted Trace. I’m home.

Sadly, it didn’t feel like home at all.

…

At quarter to nine in the morning, Izzy walked past Chuck’s admin’s empty desk and looked through the glass panel framing his office door. A lean man with a full head of gunmetal gray hair, high forehead, and sharp brown eyes sat behind a modern, streamlined desk, typing on a computer.

Over the course of her years at HH&R her boss, mentor, and the head of her practice group had taken on huge stature in her mind. It jarred her a bit, this morning, to realize he was just an average-sized man. Like visiting a childhood playground and seeing the slide that had been as imposing as a high dive as a kid was really just a regular, old slide. She rapped her knuckles on the doorframe.

He swiveled from his oversized computer screen and smiled at her with a what-the-heck expression on his face. “Hi. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

That sort of answered her first question, but she asked it anyway. “Have you spoken to Trace?”

“No.” Wrinkles pleated his forehead. “Should I have?”

“I thought he might contact you. Things have, uh, derailed, I’m afraid.”

He rose from his desk and walked to a round table and chairs occupying a corner of the large office. “Sounds like you better come in and take a seat.”

She closed the door behind her and did as he suggested, lowering herself to one of the upholstered meeting chairs. Glancing around, she took in the light tan carpet and blond-wood furnishings arranged in the generous space. This corner office that had once seemed like such a coveted seat of power was simply a room. Four walls, nice windows, good views. “I assume you haven’t heard from Skyline’s attorney either?”

“Gordon Davis? No.”

“You will.”

“I’d just as soon not, personally.” Chuck grimaced. “Gordo’s a top-flight lawyer, but he’s what I call a difficult personality. That’s one of the reasons I put you on the deal. I knew you’d manage him, where a less experienced associate might let him push them around. That’s why you get the big bucks.”

“Not anymore.” She expected an assault of nerves, a knot in her stomach, something, but her inner calm held. “I’m sorry to spring this on you this way, but I’m resigning. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to transition my open matters to other members of the practice group, but—”

“Wait. Wait.” Chuck put both hands up, palms forward. “Let’s take a breath and back up a minute. Is this because of Gordo? Whatever he’s tried to pull, Izzy, that guy is not worth tanking your career over. Whatever derailed, let’s figure out a way to get it back on track.”

“I can’t. I can’t be part of this deal. It’s not because of Gordon—though washing my hands of him is certainly a silver lining to this storm cloud. It’s me, Chuck. I no longer believe in the deal. In fact, I’m against it. My reasons are entirely personal. It has nothing to do with the terms of the sale, which I concede are more than fair. But I can’t, in good conscience, put my efforts into something I know is wrong for Trace.”

Chuck leaned back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. “How does Trace feel about it?”

“We don’t see eye-to-eye on the matter,” she admitted, talking quickly around a lump in her throat.

“He’s the client, Izzy. It’s his call. If it eases your conscience, I’ve known Trace all his life. He’s the type of person who knows his own mind.”

“Not this time, he doesn’t. I know it’s his call, but I can’t facilitate the sale, feeling as certain as I do, he’s ultimately going to regret it.”

“Izzy, objectively speaking—”

“I lost my objectivity, Chuck. I lost it weeks ago.” She hadn’t anticipated divulging the how and the why of it—maybe out of some residual self-protective instinct—but now that the moment of truth had arrived, self-protection ceased to be a priority. She leaned forward in her chair. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything I haven’t asked,” he said quickly, holding up a hand to silence her. “You have personal reasons for wanting off this assignment. We’ll leave it at that.”

“All right.” She relaxed a little and added a quiet, “Thank you.”

He waved her appreciation away. “Izzy, I know you’re smart, and I’m pointing out the obvious here, but there’s a whole lot of middle ground between stepping away from an assignment and resigning from the firm. You’re valued here. Appreciated. Even without this deal, you’re still on a partnership track. I can’t promise the track ultimately takes you there, or when. I’m not going to lie, your momentum has hit a significant speed bump because of this. But it can still happen if you want it badly enough.”

Did she? All the soul-searching of the last twenty-four hours came down to this. Did she want the eighty-hour workweeks, the out-of-kilter work-life balance, the stress she’d never learned to properly manage? If these were the first things that sprang to mind when considering the question, the answer was obvious. “I don’t.” It was a confession, of sorts, but not a reluctant one. The words came out strong and certain. “I don’t want it badly enough. HH&R is a great firm. You do important work, and you do it well. I’ve learned a lot during my time here and if I still wanted to do business transactions, there’s no other firm I’d hope to practice for.”

He sighed and nodded. “But you don’t. All right. I, personally, worry you’re making a mistake that you’re ultimately going to regret, but I accept your decision because I trust you to know your own mind,” he said, pointedly.

His point wasn’t lost on her, but it didn’t resonate. Turns out she’d done what she’d aimed to do with her career two years ago when she’d helped her parents. Everything afterward had been that momentum Chuck had mentioned. Momentum she hadn’t stopped to question, even as it pushed more and more tranquility out of her life. Trace, on the other hand, had plenty left to do, plenty left to build and enjoy, plenty to protect, as only he could. If he could see past sorrow and regret, and a misplaced sense of responsibility that skewed his view of the past and impeded his view of the future. Of his future.

“Thanks, Chuck. For everything.”

A call rang through to his office phone. Her boss glanced at the readout on the Polycom centered on the table before them. “Ha. Three guesses.”

She only needed one. “Sorry to leave you a mess to clean up with Gordon.” Sorry was probably the wrong word, but it had to be said.

Her mentor laughed. “It’s okay. I’ll handle Gordo. That’s why I get paid the really big bucks.”

Still, he made no move to answer the phone. “You’re going to dodge his calls,” she guessed.

“You bet your ass. For as long as possible. I don’t have anything to say to him until I speak with my client, and I don’t know when that will be, as I haven’t heard a word from him. I don’t suppose you know when that’s likely to change?”

Her heart clutched as she shook her head. “I-I asked him to talk to a couple people who I felt had information material to his decision, and he said he would speak to both of them, but I don’t know his timeline, or even if he’ll wait to reach out to you until after he’s done as I asked.”

She could only hope.