Page 17

Emily wakes up this morning with more excitement than usual. She makes herself a latte at home, dresses in a formal suit, and leaves after grabbing the sports bag she prepared the night before. Today she'll see Leah again; they haven't spoken since two nights ago when she went to her house and the lawyer tasted her lips. That flavor has lingered with Emily, a kind of balm that, instead of moisturizing, constantly reminds her of the moment when she found the courage to approach her trainer and kiss her.

She arrives at the law firm and heads to her office. This afternoon she has another court case, a new one that the South Carolina Defense Commission has assigned to the firm and, in principle, should close today. She needs to research; she hasn't had much time, and Emily never appears before a judge with doubts or lack of information. Time passes so quickly that she doesn't even realize it's time to leave. She barely had time to eat something in the cafeteria before diving back into the folders containing all the data she needs to defend.

"Em," Emma Harris calls out when Emily leaves her office. "I talked to Mia, we've arranged to meet and she'll bring all the documentation."

Emily nods and firmly holds the folder in her hand that threatens to spill the papers it contains.

"Great, the sooner we're informed, the better."

"You have to go to court?" asks Emma, who knows that the session for the case she's handling doesn't resume for another two days.

"Claude passed me a case that came in last minute, a worker claiming a higher amount than what he received as severance after his dismissal."

"How clever of him," Emma complains; she thinks Claude Mangu is a jerk. "He gives you cases that barely have media coverage."

Emily shrugs.

"I appreciate this one, I don't want to get into another complicated one in the meantime," the lawyer explains. "Though Claude knows that if he tries to screw me over, he'll be out the door."

Emma smiles mischievously. Generally, people think her cousin, the girl with the permanent smile, clumsy at sports and naturally kind, is a bit simple. This changes when they see her in court or when they try to pull one over on her. Emily is relentless and doesn't let anyone walk all over her.

"I'm leaving now, you know I like to arrive with time to spare," Emily says goodbye and leaves the office.

She locates her car and gets in. Normally she would walk to the courthouse, which is just a few blocks away, but when she has training at the Walker Elite Sport Club, it's better to take her vehicle because she'll need to drive about twenty minutes afterward.

When she arrives at the courthouse, her client is waiting for her. She notices a nervousness in him that he struggles to hide. He's a young man, though with a tired appearance. He's dressed in a suit that seems to have seen better days. He looks clean, carefully groomed, and with a beard that Emily believes he trimmed that very day.

"Mr. Cruz," Emily Harris says, approaching the man and extending her hand. "I'm your legal representative. I'm very sorry we couldn't meet earlier; your case was a last-minute assignment from the commission."

Ernesto Cruz, an immigrant who has spent half his life living in Charleston, isn't surprised by Emily's words. He couldn't afford a lawyer, so his file has been at the bottom of some dusty box for a good while. He almost had a heart attack when he got a call from Harris he didn't expect his lawyer to have actually immersed herself in his case.

"Yes, I started working there as undocumented, although a few years later, after getting my work permit, I asked for a contract. The boss tried not to do it and when he finally gave in, he kept the same salary I was earning, well below my colleagues, despite the fact that I had more experience," Ernesto explains while letting out a sigh. "A few of us got together and decided to protest. The boss didn't like that and started insulting us, even through text messages. I think he did it because he thought none of us would take action; there are still colleagues who are in the country illegally."

"But you did take action," says Emily.

"Yes, and that's why he fired me, me and three others who also complained. The rest let it go and changed jobs. I decided to sue because it's not fair; I worked my skin off day and night without complaining, only to be paid back like this in the end."

"You did the right thing, Ernesto," says Emily and accompanies the comment with a light touch on the man's arm. "The work you've done gathering all the evidence will help us win."

For the first time in weeks, Ernesto smiles. He's going through a difficult situation and when he had already lost hope, Emily Harris appears to restore it. With that money—if they manage to win—Ernesto will climb out of the hole he's in.

"Let's go, it's time," says Emily, and they walk toward the room where the judge is waiting.

The trial goes faster than Emily had thought. The defendant's representative didn't expect the attorney to present documents clearly showing the actions of the Baker Construction owner. Threats, emails, and even a video that make it quite clear that Mr. Baker is an exploiter who uses people from marginalized groups to increase his wealth. They reached an agreement for Ernesto Cruz to receive an appropriate compensation, not what he deserved, but enough to close the litigation.

"Thank you so much, Emily," the man says with watery eyes once they've left the courthouse.

Emily says goodbye to her client and now, with renewed energy, heads to her tennis training.

It takes her exactly twenty-four minutes to arrive, she parks the car and enters the courts of the Walker Elite Sport Club, where a bustling atmosphere prevails.

"You've arrived just in time today, what a surprise," Leah smiles at Emily's indignant look.

"I stayed talking with a client after a trial and lost track of time a bit."

Leah tilts her head slightly and gives her a nod. She's fascinated by lawyer Emily too.

"Are you ready to learn something new today?" the trainer asks.

"Always," the smile that Emily gives Leah is somewhat different; this one carries a bit of that kiss they shared two days ago.

"Then let's not waste time."

This time, Leah Walker focuses the training on types of serves. She teaches her student how to position herself, hold the racket, and where to direct the shot. As always, Emily pays close attention, asks a couple of questions, and when she believes she's understood everything, announces she's ready.

"Plant your feet firmly, so you feel secure and balanced," says Leah while touching her leg.

Both women feel a slight prick in the lower part of their body. It's a brief touch, but enough to remind them that between them seems to grow an attraction.

"The continental grip is the most natural and you'll feel comfortable with it," Leah continues, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. "And with this hand hold the ball; you have to lift it at the same time you rotate your torso a bit, as I showed you."

Emily has lost her concentration—and her sanity—when Leah touches her a little above the hip. She hears the soft whisper of a voice, nothing more, and understands that the time she's spent without sleeping with anyone is taking its toll.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," the lawyer answers very unconvincingly.

Amazingly, the practice progresses without major setbacks. Emily does well with the serve, masters the first technique Leah teaches her, and when they finish, they decide to play a short match. The lawyer is ecstatic, returns several balls from one side and the other and even scores some points. She's sure that Leah has let her do it, but Emily is just as delighted.

"You played very well, Emily, if you keep this up, you'll soon notice more changes."

"I thought I would never manage to even return a ball."

When Emily is so happy, her power of distraction seems to grow. While Leah walks carefully, she does so as if the world were prepared for her clumsiness. She steps on a ball and her body falls backward after her leg rises several inches from the ground.

"Emily!" Leah gets scared and kneels by her side.

The lawyer laughs so hard that tears start to come out.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she says and continues laughing.

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" asks the tennis player while helping her to her feet.

"No, I don't think so," she cleans the skirt she's wearing, picks up her bag and starts walking. "Do you have a few minutes to talk about Mia's case?"

Leah wanted to ask her, but she felt embarrassed to do so, she didn't want to seem pushy. She appreciates that it's Emily who brings up the topic.

"Yes, let's go to my office and you can tell me."

The two walk into the club and go through a door that apparently only certain staff have access to. Leah stops in front of an office, enters a password on the panel, and they enter the space. The office is a sanctuary: several rackets are framed, signed shirts, medals, and some trophies. There are photos of her playing, from when she was a child to what seems like the present. On one side there's a miniature model of the club, and Emily is fascinated. Leah notices.

"When I bought the land, the architects I hired made it. I liked it so much that I kept it for myself. Here," Leah explains, pointing to an area in the model, "I want to put two more indoor courts and then an Olympic pool in this part," she points to another area.

"Wow, I hope to try both," says Emily.

"I'm sure you will."

Emily stares at her for a second, she wants to kiss her again, but first things first.

"Emma already has all the case details. She talked to Mia and they've arranged to meet at the office so she can bring all the information. When we have that documentation, we'll start with the strategy. As I told you, Emma will handle everything and I'll assist in whatever is necessary."

Leah nods; she likes the way the woman in front of her works. She hasn't wasted time in managing everything.

"I appreciate it," says Leah, and immediately a mocking smile appears on her face. "Did you bring me here just to tell me that?"

Emily stretches one side of her mouth.

"Technically, you brought me," she corrects, "but no, I didn't bring you just for that."

The lawyer takes two confident steps and presses against Leah. She looks at her eyes, then her lips. She launches at her mouth with less subtlety than the previous time and sighs gratefully when Leah doesn't hesitate. The two begin a frantic dance of tongues. Emily bites her lower lip and Leah moans while grabbing her by the waist and sitting her on her desk. The lawyer opens her legs slightly and the tennis player moves forward to press as close as possible to her. Emily lowers her hands, caresses her buttocks skillfully, squeezes them; they're firm, muscular. Leah feels the moisture between her legs appearing, though what also appears is the memory that she has a girlfriend whom she owes respect.

She separates from Emily suddenly. She runs her hand across her forehead and takes several steps back.

"Are you okay?" asks the attorney, completely bewildered.

Leah shakes her head and breathes several times.

"I'm sorry, Emily," she raises her gaze and connects it with the lawyer's. "I don't want it to be this way, I can't allow myself to lie to you. I'm in a relationship. She lives in another state and, although it's complicated, neither she nor you deserve this," she says, almost breathless.

The ceiling falls on Emily. She doesn't know why, but she had become very excited about Leah. It hasn't been easy to find someone who made her feel different again and, although she wasn't looking for anything and at first her trainer just seemed nice, she thought they could start to get to know each other in another sense. Once more, she decides to keep that annoying pinch that rises in her chest to herself; she closes off and doesn't show what she feels.

"It's okay," Emily tells her. "I didn't expect it, but at least you've been honest."

"I really am sorry," Leah repeats anxiously. "I'm not like this."

Emily makes a gesture with her hand, one that feigns unconcern.

"You could have continued with this and you decided to stop because you're not single. That's good, Leah."

Now it's the lawyer's turn to run away. She picks up her bag—forgotten on the floor—and walks to the door.

"See you," Emily forces a smile and leaves with her heart beating slowly, disappointed.