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Blaire laughed like I’d just told the most comedic joke she’d ever heard. “I don’t want that shit. I barely get enough sleep as it is. Besides, once Carter comes home from deployment, more than likely we’ll be moving again. But Perry?”

She raised her brows like it was her way of asking if I was being serious.

“No, honey, Perry won’t land that promotion over you. He may be a good lawyer and is a tad bit better at handling heavier workloads than the rest of us, but you’ve been at the company longer, have far more experience, and there’s still the exam you have to consider. Plus, it wasn’t Perry Harley trusted to work the rape case. It was you, and I think she did it for a reason.”

“You mean like a test?” My heart jumped to my throat at the prospect.

“It’s possible, yeah,” she nodded. “Think about it. There’s a reason Harley keeps putting off hiring someone to fill that spot. It’s been open for months now, so she’s either in no rush whatsoever to bring in fresh meat, or she already has her sights set on someone. I mean, don’t take this to heart because we both know I could be wrong, but it’s very possible that person is you, Charlotte. You may not have any control over what happens during cases but what matters the most is how you do your job and how you present yourself amongst the court. You’re amazing, Charlotte. You’re damn good at your job and Harley knows it. She’d be a fucking idiot not to offer you that position.”

“Thanks, Blaire. That really means a lot.” I scooted in and hugged her, holding on for barely a minute when my doorbell rang, and three heavy knocks pounded against my front door.

Shit.

“That’s Peter,” I told Blaire as I got up and made way for the door, punching in the code on the alarm. “I texted him earlier and told him to come over so we could talk about Karl.”

“Do you need me to go?” she asked.

“You need to drink about twenty more glasses of water before I consider letting you go anywhere.”

“Okay, Mom,” she hooted. “Whatever you say.”

I hid my smile and then opened the door.

That same smile fell as I took in the disappointment thronged along Peter’s face when he saw Blaire on the couch.

I guess he must not have read the other text I sent him telling him she was here.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he answered, his gaze softening when his pupils met mine. “Just tired. It’s been a long day. Do you want to do this another time?”

I shook my head and opened the door wider. “Not at all. Come on in.”

“Do me a favor, will you?” he asked, hissing slightly as he walked inside and handed over his leather briefcase. “Open that up and grab my—”

“Oh my God, Peter,” I squealed, my eyes widening in horror as I took in the damage just under his glove and on his wrist.

I met his gaze again, my lips parted.

“My lotion,” he softly demanded. “I need it. It’s bad.”

“Another flare?”

I took the briefcase and rushed inside the kitchen, pushing some of the Chinese food boxes on the island aside and depositing the case on top. I opened it up and immediately found the medicated lotion, grabbing it as Peter hissed more as he struggled taking off his black gloves.

“Here, let me help.”

I put the lotion down, then gasped when I pulled the first glove off and found every crevasse of his hand red, swollen, cracked, and on the verge of bleeding. His other hand was worse, so as fast as fucking possible, I squirted the lotion on both his palms and got to work massaging the medicine in on all the uglier spots first.

“More like constant flares,” he said, sighing in relief the more I massaged the lotion into his hands. “You seriously have no idea how painful this shit can be at times.”

“I’m sorry. Is this helping any?”

“The lotion takes time to work, but yeah, you’re helping me in more ways than I have enough thanks to express.”

Sometimes I had no idea how he got through the days. Peter had the worst case of eczema I’d ever seen. Not only did his skin severely itch, but sometimes it was completely incapable of retaining moisture and would dry out, crack, bleed, you name it. Occasionally his flares would affect his face and nose, but it was always his hands that got the shit end of the stick.

“The point of the lotion is to use it consistently,” I kind of snapped at him. “Which I assume you haven’t been doing given how bad your hands are.”