Page 9

Emily Harris walks through the doors of Atrinium restaurant, a huge establishment where her family often gathers. Located very close to the famous Cooper River, it's a typical Southern restaurant with a rustic yet cozy style. The terrace is the most charming part, and at this hour the views offer a golden sunset reflecting on the water, with fishing boats gliding in the distance. The exposed beam ceiling and wrought iron lamps give it a touch of distinction, and what she loves most about this place are the exposed brick walls that the owner has decorated with black and white photographs of Charleston in its earliest years, along with fishing nets and metal lanterns.

The Harris family celebrates signing a million-dollar contract to handle the legal department of a multinational company they've been working with for several months. After proving they were the best option, they reached an agreement, and the firm is now officially the representative of Betters Industry. Emily had nothing to do with it, although she contributed some ideas to secure the deal. It was her mother who led the negotiations; Bilma is fierce and, besides being a good lawyer, she excels at closing agreements.

Emma signals for her to sit beside her; she saved a chair for her when she arrived at the restaurant. The cousins do almost everything together; in fact, many people think they're sisters. Emily always advises her, and Emma is her eternal defender.

"I thought you'd arrive earlier," Emma whispers when her cousin sits down.

"Today's session took longer than expected," she answers, referring to the trial she's handling.

Emily is the defense attorney for a company accused of failing to comply with current legislation, plus they face a complaint from a former employee who alleges she was unfairly dismissed. Unfortunately, the day didn't go as expected; the attorney—who did her homework thoroughly—knew the opposing side barely had evidence against the company. Moreover, Emily has knowledge that the ex-employee attempted to extract confidential documentation, which is why they terminated her contract, but a last-minute change of lawyer on the opposing side completely threw Emily off balance.

"You don't look like you lost today's session," Kevin Harris, Emma's father, teases his niece Emily. "You come in smiling so much I thought the outcome was different."

Emily narrows her eyes. Her uncle, a large man with a wide smile, is the family jokester. He loves to annoy everyone and never misses an opportunity to make any humorous comment, especially to his niece, who has a reputation for getting angry like a child when bothered in this way.

"I'm not worried," Emily answers and waves her hand. "We're just starting; besides, the prosecution has obsessed over something that makes no sense. We've presented all the documentation confirming my client complies with current manufacturing requirements, and still they won't give up."

"Then the reason for your happiness is something else," Kevin pries, raising and lowering his eyebrows while smiling.

Emma huffs. Her father is such a clown.

"I've learned to play tennis," Emily blurts out with gleaming eyes.

Everyone at the table—her parents and her aunt and uncle—except Emma, look at each other without saying anything. It's no secret to anyone how bad Emily is at sports, and the statement she just made might be far from reality. Emma is bothered by their expressions.

"She's made a lot of progress and she's better than you think," she says and looks at each person at the table. "At the Walker Club, they're teaching her very well."

Everyone nods. This time Kevin Harris sets his jokes aside; while it's true that his clumsy niece has generated many laughs in the family, he knows she's fascinated by sports and has rarely had the luck to find an instructor with the patience she requires.

"It has a very good reputation," Kevin says, nodding as he wipes his hands with a napkin. "They say Leah has a gift for teaching."

When Emily hears that name, a rush runs through her and she quickly remembers how the day before her sex contracted suddenly when she saw her without a shirt in the locker room. She shakes her head, not wanting to have those thoughts during a family meal.

"She's my instructor," the lawyer says and pops a potato in her mouth.

"I thought she only trained semi-professionals," Sandra, Kevin's wife, now says. "I'm glad it's Leah Walker who's training you."

Emily continues eating french fries from a bowl in front of her. Her mother ordered a double portion because her daughter feels an unhealthy weakness for this dish. Suddenly, as if it were a revelation, Emily analyzes what her aunt just told her. Walker. Walker like the name of the club.

"Is it her family?" Emily asks, and her aunt frowns.

"Leah Walker is the owner."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"The owner? Damn," Emily blurts out, covers her face with her hands, then starts laughing.

"Emily, honey, what have you done?" Bilma asks, also laughing.

"I thought she was an employee and told her she must have a good salary considering the exorbitant price of the monthly fees."

Everyone at the table bursts into laughter so loud that those inside the restaurant turn to look at them. Some join in, others shake their heads, judging the commotion.

"I can't believe it," Sandra says, wiping away tears that have sprung up after laughing.

"Well," Kevin says, settling into his chair. "Now you know that Leah Walker is the owner of the club where you train and, as additional information, you should know she was a very recognized tennis player. She won many tournaments; she retired at the top of her game."

Two waiters appear with trays full of food. Atrinium serves exquisite roasted meat that is the weakness of the entire Harris family. Conversations dissipate, giving way to the sound of cutlery and murmurs of pleasure from some as they taste the dishes. Emily reprimands herself; it wasn't necessary to know who ran the Walker Elite Sport Club, but that unfortunate comment shouldn't have left her mouth.

"How are you?" Emma pulls her from her tribulations. Emily knows what she's referring to; she doesn't much feel like talking about it at that moment.

"Fine," she answers and thinks for a few seconds. "I didn't know the attorney assigned to the case had an accident and Vanessa was designated in his place. I thought I'd find Emilio Johnson in the courtroom, not her."

Vanessa Cooper, Emily thinks and bites her lips. The lawyer she met in a trial about five years ago, a complicated one where her client wasn't entirely guilty, although he had committed some offenses. For Emily, it was an important moment in her career; that's where she became known, and the press started to give her a voice. She was young, daring, and with a vocation that showed for miles. Everything was going well until one night, after a very long session, she ran into Vanessa at a bar near the courthouse. They had a drink, chatted, and got along too well so much so that they ended up tangled in Vanessa's expensive silk sheets. They let it go; the next day, while having coffee, they concluded that what they had was just sex and nothing more. How wrong they were. The nights repeated themselves just as they had begun after that drink. The trial ended, the defense won, and the two of them continued their idyll. Emily fell hopelessly in love; she was the first woman for whom she felt something so strong, and they soon began making plans for the future. A future that went down the drain when a new trial brought them together in court, one that Vanessa didn't want to lose because, with the victory, her career would take off. One morning, after making love, Emily commented something about her client. And why wouldn't she? Vanessa was her partner, they were planning to move in together, and everything between them was fantastic, but Vanessa saw an opportunity to win and took it. The betrayal devastated Emily, and although Vanessa said not to mix their relationship with work, she herself was the one who, in a moment of passion, used her girlfriend for her benefit. Vanessa Cooper rose, and Emily sank. She didn't cry; she swallowed her pain, the piercing kind that burst inside her every time she thought of Vanessa. She didn't even vent to Emma; she simply moved forward, working day and night. After that, Emily was never the same; she hasn't been able to love again, much less trust.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Emma insists.

Emily again disguises her unease. As always.

"Sure," she answers and stretches her lips into an unconvincing smile.