Page 9 of Until Tomorrow (Love Doesn’t Cure All: The Ashwood Duet #1)

Logan

I couldn’t focus on work. My fingers drummed on my desk as I stared at my phone. The urge to text Elliot was high. I wanted to know how Eva was, which I knew I had no right to ask.

This whole divorce thing was going to age me ten years at this rate. The way I worried about her was distressing.

ELI : Stop staring at your phone and go back to work.

How’d you know?

ELI : It’s you.

Fair enough.

How is she?

ELI : I’m not playing middleman.

I’m not asking you to play middleman. I’m asking how she is.

ELI : According to your divorce papers, you’re paying for all her bills. This means she has a phone. Do you know what you can do with phones?

You’re a dick.

ELI : I am, but I’m adorable as fuck.

ELI : Seriously, though, Logan, I won’t be the middleman between you two. I’m here for both of you, but I’m not telling you anything about her and vice versa. If you want to know how she’s doing, text her. Call her. Email her.

ELI : If carrier pigeons still exist, that might be a nice way to go. Give her a bird and a message all at once.

Why are you like this?

ELI : Probably because you pushed me off a balcony when we were kids.

It wasn’t on purpose!

ELI : The damage is permanent

ELI : I’ll never be the same.

ELI : Lord help my sweet, adorable soul.

You landed in the pool, you fucker. You’re fine.

ELI : Yeah, I am ??

I quit you.

ELI : You can’t break up with me.

Watch me.

ELI : Empty threats. I know too much.

Good Lord. Goodbye, Elliot.

ELI : See you tomorrow.

Why?

ELI : OH MY FUCKING GOD DID YOU FORGET DINNER WITH ME TOMORROW????

Nope. Just pushing buttons.

ELI : Rude.

“Knock, knock.” Alexander Burke rapped his fist on the door as he said the words.

I immediately dropped my phone and got to my feet.

Mr. Burke was the leading partner at Burke, Fletcher, and Howell and the hardest man to impress.

He and his husband rarely took part in any of the firm’s social events, unlike William Fletcher and Michael Howell.

Meeting with him was rare, and getting a visit from him even more so, especially an unsoli cited one.

Mr. Burke waved me off as he wandered into my office, “Don’t get up on my account. ”

And he shut the door. That did nothing to quell my anxiety.

I followed his movements as he scanned through my bookshelves.

For a lawyer, Mr. Burke was the most relaxed man I’d ever met—and that was saying something because I knew Elliot.

His graying hair was a bit overgrown and swept back from his thin face while glasses perched on the end of his nose.

From his gait as he walked to his posture as he stood, the man was in no hurry.

Even the causal nature of his clothes—a dress shirt with no tie and the sleeves rolled up, partnered with nice jeans—screamed anything but a lawyer.

It made me curious how a man like him could be the leading partner in the firm.

Fletcher and Howell were something of legends.

Cutthroat and pristine in everything they did.

They and their wives were active in molding the firm and its staff.

Fuck, how many holidays had Eva and I sacrificed to those two?

“What can I do for you, Sir?” I asked. I didn’t sit down, but I did slide my hands in my pockets before I started fidgeting with everything on my desk.

“Do you read for fun, Mr. Ashwood?” he replied instead as he traded one leather-bound book for another, making his way down my shelf.

“ Oh .” I blew out a breath of air to stall. “I read the news in the morning.”

“The news is rarely fun,” he commented.

“I would have to agree with that, Sir.”

“Alexander,” he corrected. “Just call me Alexander.”

Was I internally screaming a little bit? Yes, I was.

“Of course.”

“Did you know,” Alexander began as he made his way to my desk. He sat in the chair across from mine, crossing one leg over the other. I followed suit. “That, even though I’m hands off these days, I do know everything that goes on in my firm.”

“I would imagine that’s a smart business practice,” I said.

“I’ve had my eye on you, Logan. From the day I hired you. You work hard, you’re innovative, you question things. So, now, let me ask this. Why did you hire one of your fellow employees to handle your divorce?”

My heart skipped a beat. Shit .

“It’s a no-contest divorce, Mr. Burke,” I explained carefully. I didn’t want to get fired over this.

“ Alexander,” he corrected again. “And you’re misunderstanding me.

Why would you give the office gossips fodder for their midday romps by using Miller to draw up your paperwork?

The kid’s good—I’ll give him that—but he leaves everything on his desk for everyone to see. It’s why we don’t give him cases.”

“Son of a bitch,” I grumbled and dropped into my chair. Great. I was about to be the next office commodity. “I didn’t know that.”

“This is why you come to me with these kinds of things,” Mr. Burke replied.

“With all due respect, Mr. Burke, I see you once a year for a few minutes at the holiday charity gala,” I told him, hoping to hell I didn’t piss him off. “If I’m being honest, I’m surprised you even know who I am.”

“I like you, Logan,” he replied with a shrug. “I keep track of the employees I handpick.”

“Handpick?”

“Fletcher and Howell didn’t hire you. I did. And I’m picky about who I hire. In fact, you’re the last one I picked. I haven’t seen potential like yours since you walked through my door.”

“Oh… thank you.” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I’d been entirely led to believe that Mr. Burke didn’t care about the direction the firm went.

“It’s funny what happens in these circles when you prioritize your personal life over work, but I like my husband far more than I like the people here,” he continued, and I chuckled.

“I would hope so,” I commented.

“And you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you enjoy the time you have with your wife? You put in a lot of unnecessary hours at the office. Are those part of your irreconcilable differences?”

“I would think that why I am looking to divorce my wife wouldn’t matter to my job,” I said.

“Do you know why I hired you?” Mr. Burke asked.

“My potential.”

“Your potential to be human,” he corrected.

“So many of the young people who walk through this door are looking to work until the day they die. Work hard, climb the ladder, make that money. And money is nice. I understand that. But the money will always be there. No matter how much you work, it’ll be there.

But to be human? That seems to get lost. To have a hear t.

Compassion. To care about people. Do you remember what you talked about in your interview? ”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, Mr. Burke.” I shook my head. That was so long ago.

“You talked about the house you’d just bought with your wife. Your first house.”

“The fixer-upper.” I grinned. I hadn’t thought about that house in years.

“And you had all these plans to rebuild that house. And you had plans for all the things you wanted to do with her in that house—holidays, birthdays. Do you even own that house anymore, Logan?” He cocked a brow as he waited, but my silence spoke volumes.

We’d moved out of the house years ago when the money was good, when being closer to work meant I could invest more in what I was doing, and when I wanted to become more involved in the social aspect of the office.

“And the trade-off, Logan? How many nights do you spend with your wife? Saturdays? Sundays?”

I didn’t have an answer—not the one he wanted, at least. Most nights, I came home late and ate a quiet dinner with Eva before going into my home office to wrap up more work for the day.

Saturdays were spent organizing my week and figuring out what I needed to do and when.

I spent most of it locked away in my office.

Sundays… well, Sundays I was so damn tired that I didn’t do much anyway.

We spent Sunday nights together, relaxing in a bubble bath before bed, but I almost always fell asleep until she coaxed me into bed.

We had our occasional dinner nights out and scheduled intimacy at this point.

The trade-off for my success had been my wife.

“You have to stop and ask yourself if the money is worth losing her.”

“It’s not about the money.” I sighed and leaned my elbows on the desk, fidgeting with the closest pen I could find. “Can I ask you a question in confidence?”

“Of course,” Mr. Burke replied. “I can even charge you if you want to be sure.”

“No, that’s all right.” I chuckled, the sound brief.

I toyed with my pen as I worked out the best way to ask him.

There was a good chance I was about to shoot myself in the foot, but I was going to anyway.

If anyone in my life—who wasn’t Elliot—would have some answers, it’d be him. “How did you know you liked men?”

“ Ah… ” He nodded his head knowingly. “That will certainly complicate things, won’t it?”

“Yes, yes, i t will,” I agreed.

“I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for, Logan,” Mr. Burke said. “That journey is different for everyone. Some just know, some figure it out. There’s no carbon copy outline for sexuality. There’s no formula, no easy answer. That’s something you have to figure out on your own.”

I nodded but said nothing. I hated that answer. I worked in logistics, checklists, and patterns. This do-and-find-out mindset was terrifying if I was being honest. I didn’t like the prospect of going in blind.

“You know, your generation is quite lucky,” he continued lightly. “You have an app for everything. Or maybe it takes the fun out of guessing and getting hit in the face. I wasn’t born with this crooked nose, you know.”

“I did not,” I admitted. Though I hadn’t given his crooked nose any thought ever.

“Courtesy of Joshua Manfield and one wrong assumption. I think it makes me look more dashing.” He tapped the tip of his nose while I just smiled.

I didn’t have a clue how to respond to that.

There was no good way to agree with that politely and not come across as creepy—though the crooked nose did suit him.

“You know, another nice thing about your generation is how… simple things like love and relationships can be.”

“How do you mean?” I frowned.

“Nothing is so black and white anymore. Maybe to some people, but we don’t care about them.

No, love is love and all of that. It’s nice.

Relationships aren’t just men and women publicly.

Hell, some relationships aren’t even just two people.

Some are three. Some are more. In a way, I envy you young people.

What a beautiful world to live in, don’t you think? ”

“Yeah,” I whispered, not quite sure what he was getting at. Shades of gray didn’t help me.

“One last piece of advice, Logan,” Mr. Burke said.

“When you get to the end of your life, it’s not the meaningless networking social events that will flash before your eyes.

It’s the moments that matter. The people you love.

The people who care about you. Your family, your friends…

that’s what you’ll see. Not a networking event with people who couldn’t understand a real connection if it hit them in the face. Just remember that.”