Page 49 of Overruled

Twenty-Seven

Dani

“I trusted you, Danica!” Bianca glares at me from her seat next to mine on the other side of Manuel’s desk. “You betrayed me. You promised what I told you would not come up in court.”

“I didn’t betray you!” I shout back. “I don’t know how Ezra got that information, but it did not come from me.”

I have to stave off the compulsion to wince, knowing that this is not entirely true, most likely.

I haven’t spoken to Ezra since our blowup in the stairwell yesterday, and I won’t pretend that the silence hasn’t been hard.

His despondent expression hasn’t left my mind, and the doubt that plagues me over my quick assumptions kept me up for most of the night.

But it’s not something I can afford to dwell on right now.

Manuel watches the interaction between Bianca and me with steepled fingers resting against his chin, his expression unreadable.

I know that Bianca’s anger is enough to warrant her requesting a change of counsel, and not only would that wound me personally, given how I’ve come to care for her, but it would ruin my chances of being promoted. There’s only so much Manny can do.

“Bianca,” I try again, calming myself. I turn in my chair, taking her hand.

Thankfully, she doesn’t snatch it away. “I need you to look at me.” Her eyes find mine, still wary.

“I swear to you, I did not say a word about what you told me. Not one word. I can’t say for sure what led to Lorenzo’s team using that tactic”—not a lie, technically—“but I promise you, I did not betray your trust.”

Not purposely, at least.

Bianca’s red lips are still pressed into a tight line, her calculating gaze studying my expression as if searching for a lie.

I force myself not to blink, not to break eye contact, needing her to see the sincerity there.

Because no matter what Ezra may or may not have done, I did not betray Bianca willingly. I need her to know that.

“Bianca, I know you’re my client, but I need you to know that I respect you deeply,” I urge. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Not willfully.”

Bianca’s jaw works as she considers, several long moments passing before she finally breathes out a sigh. “I believe you,” she tells me dolefully. “You are not the type to make this kind of mistake.”

Except I might be, I think guiltily. Just because I didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean it isn’t my fault.

“Thank you, Bianca.” I exhale in relief all the same. “Really. I will fix this.”

Manuel chooses this moment to speak up. “Is it possible that Lorenzo might have told his team about this?”

“Why would he do that?” My brow furrows. “The chances of it backfiring are too high. He’d have to be crazy to go that route.”

“Unless he was that confident that we couldn’t dispute it,” Manuel points out. “It’s not something we ever expected from them, and clearly, it took us off guard. Maybe that was the plan all along.”

The idea of it gives me pause; it’s more or less a scenario that I’d mockingly thrown at Ezra yesterday, but at the time, it had been too ridiculous to consider. Impossible, even. Now my mind’s first instinct is to reject it, because if it’s true, then I…

I shake my head. “There’s no way Lorenzo would risk that. First he’s inviting his mistress to sit in during sessions, and now he’s openly admitting this isn’t the first time he’s been accused of infidelity? What does he have to gain from that?”

“It could be about power,” Bianca muses. “It seems like something Lorenzo would do.”

“I…” Panic simmers in my chest; that cannot be the answer. It can’t . My brain physically cannot consider the idea that I hurt Ezra for no reason. I’m already so on edge that this new revelation would break me to pieces. “It doesn’t matter where it came from.”

Liar, my brain whispers. It absolutely matters.

“All we need to be concerned with is how to get on top of it. We have one week left before Judge Harding expects closing arguments. I’m going to make sure ours leaves no room for doubt that Lorenzo is a cheating piece of shit.”

“We still haven’t found anything that we can use as irrefutable proof of his infidelity,” Manuel reminds me.

“I know,” I sigh. “I know that. But…I know it’s there. I can feel how close we are. And I’m going to find it. No distractions.” I shoot Bianca a determined look. “I promise.”

It takes her a second to tilt her head in a nod, but she looks less angry than she did before; she looks almost like she might give me another chance. “I hope so, Danica.”

Bitterly, I can’t help but think about the fact that there won’t be anything to distract me this week, that there is nothing waiting for me at home but the freedom to throw myself into work.

I tell myself that I’m fine with that.

···

It takes two days after the disastrous day in court for Vera and Nate to show up to my apartment and drag me outside of it, telling me that forty-eight hours without leaving is serial killer behavior.

I didn’t exactly come willingly to my mother’s house for dinner, where we’ve all been invited; I fought them both through getting dressed and brushing my hair and even when they were shoving me out the door—but I’m here now, sulking in a corner and nursing a glass of wine while my parents and their spouses and my friends all laugh and work themselves into a good buzz.

“Dani!” my dad calls from his place on the couch. “Stop hiding and come talk to us.”

“Vera was just going to tell us about how big of a crush she has on me,” Nate laughs before taking a swig of his beer.

Vera lets out a snort that is much louder than normal; I assume the glass of wine she’s holding isn’t her first. “In your dreams.”

“Only the best dreams,” Nate coos.

“I think the two of you would make the sweetest couple,” my mom sighs, her eyes noticeably bleary even from my place across the room. I know the glass in her hand is at least her third. “Bill, don’t you think they would make the sweetest couple?”

My stepfather glances away from the television screen, where he’s been scrolling to find the soccer game he’s been going on and on about, giving my friends a confused expression. “I thought they were already together?”

“Nate wishes ,” Vera snorts.

Nate gives her a dreamy sort of smile that only comes from him being very tipsy. “With all three from the genie, babe.”

My stepmother, Patty, touches my arm, making me jolt. “You need a refill, honey?”

Normally I would say no; two glasses is my limit on a typical weeknight—but I’ve been throwing myself at Bianca’s case so hard that I won’t think about Ezra and all the uncertainty surrounding our fight. The idea of thinking about absolutely nothing tonight is incredibly appealing.

“Sure,” I tell her, holding out my glass so she can pour more wine into it. “Why not?”

“You look tired, dear,” Patty tuts. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Knowing her,” Nate calls, “she isn’t getting any sleep. She’s probably too busy with—”

“ Nate ,” Vera hisses.

He has the good grace to look sheepish. “Work,” he says. “I was going to say work.”

We both know it’s a lie, and I do my best to keep my expression neutral.

I haven’t told either of them about what happened with Ezra.

Yes, they’ve heard about what went down in court, and yes, they’ve made their own assumptions, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell them about the things I said to him after.

I’m not even sure why. Am I embarrassed?

That seems ridiculous, since all the things I’d said felt justified at the time, but the more time that passes… the more my doubt grows.

“We should play charades,” my mother suggests loudly.

My dad groans. “You’re terrible at charades. Especially when you’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk!” she protests, even though the flush of her cheeks says otherwise. “Dani!” She looks at me expectantly. “Do you want to play?”

I’ve already gulped down a third of my new glass, my head swimming a little. “I actually think I need some air,” I say. “You guys start without me.”

Vera perks up. “Want me to come with?”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “I’ll just be a minute.”

It’s warmer outside on the deck, the summer air stifling and making my already warm cheeks even more heated.

Still, goose bumps break out over my skin, but I suspect that’s more to do with my inner turmoil than the weather.

I sink into one of the deck chairs morosely, blinking out over the backyard and trying not to think about the last time I was out here.

What that Fourth of July party set in motion.

What’s worse than the doubt is the overwhelming feeling of something being missing . I’d gotten so used to seeing Ezra every day, to talking to him throughout, that now that he’s gone, it feels like there is a hole in my life. A big, stupid, blond-haired hole.

I miss him, and that’s the most agonizing part of all this. That the asshole I never should have come to care for could make me miss him this badly.

It’s not a good idea, I’m well aware of that fact as I place my glass on a side table and pull my phone out of my pocket; I’m three drinks in and feeling sorry for myself, and that’s a recipe for disaster.

But it doesn’t stop me from finding our message thread.

From hovering over his last text while something squeezes tightly in my chest.

Ezra: Don’t miss me too badly today.

My eyes well up, and I swipe away the tears forming quickly, telling myself I’m being stupid.

For what, I can’t even say at this point.

Am I stupid for still missing him? Am I stupid for accusing him of something that deep down doesn’t feel like Ezra?

Or am I just stupid for continuing with this radio silence without even trying to talk to him, cutting him off with no attempt to meet him halfway?

I tap out a text before I can overthink it.

Me: Hi.