Page 67 of Free to Judge

I haven’t heard from him since. Nor has Jon reached out since I asked my father to have him removed from my detail with the logic that Declan needs him more and, “There’s no need to punish Jon, Dad.”

“Jon feels horrible about what happened in your office, Kalie.”

“It wasn’t his fault your employee is a jackass.”

My father’s lips twitch, but he holds his tongue. “Besides, I’m training for this summer’s races.”

“Oh? What’s in the lineup?”

“Maine, Boston, and New York Marathons. I’m at the point of training where I need someone who can keep up. We both know that isn’t Jon.”

My father chuckled over my logic before agreeing to send over an agent willing to run fifteen miles with me each morning before I leave for the office. “Theo has run full marathons, sweetheart. He’ll keep up.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I’m surprised to find Jon lounging in my desk chair when I arrive this morning. He’s immaculately dressed in a Tom Ford suit, vastly different from the last time I saw him sporting his old Harvard regalia. Not even bothering to be polite, I say, “Get out from behind my desk.”

“Are you always so cheerful in the morning?”

“Only when I have nowhere to put my crap. Move, Jon.”

He divests me of my bags and my coffee. Standing behind my desk, I snatch my coffee back and demand, “What new sunshine and joy brings you to my doorstep?”

“This isn’t like you, Kalie. You don’t hold grudges.”

“Why, Jon? Whatever do you mean?”

“De—”

I lift my cup back up and threaten, “Say that name in my office and you’ll be wearing my drink.”

His lips quirk. “Your former client.”

“Right. Speaking of that.” I flick open my briefcase—a gift from my parents when I passed the bar. Pulling out the file thatcontains Declan’s handwritten contract, I write V-O-I-D on it and dig around in my purse for the dollar bill I’ve been carrying around like a talisman. “When you have a moment, can you give this back to him?”

Jon gives me a penetrating look. “He was wrong. He knows it.”

“He called my capability as a lawyer into question.”

Jon holds out his hands in supplication. “I know.”

“Do you?” I shout. “Do you understand what that’s like?”

“Do you appreciate waking up knowing that day could be your last, and you do it every single day for weeks? Then those weeks turn into months? Then years?” His words stop me in my tracks. My head cocks to the side as he muses, “I imagine Dec would get along with our mothers—hell, even Uncle Phil. They have that in common. The knowledge that life is so fucking precious and it can be taken away at any moment.”

“You think I didn’t understand that part of him?” I snap.

“I think if you did, you wouldn’t be holding a grudge against a man who could eat a bullet tomorrow,” he says quietly.

I flinch at that, the image of Declan dead due to a bullet now prevalent in the forefront of my brain. “Do you really believe I’m in the wrong here?”

“Not wrong.” Jon’s voice is low and soothing. “Just stubborn.”

I sink into my chair before massaging my temples. Jon doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to. The targeted words he’s aimed at me since I walked into my office bounce around my head. I recall Declan’s texts on my phone.

Maybe I am stubborn, but so is he. “Couldn’t he see I was trying to do the right thing for all of us? I wasn’t trying to place him in danger. That’s why I went to Dad.”

Jon stands and adjusts his tie, a clear signal he knows our conversation has reached its conclusion. “I’ll let you get to work.”