And, I always win.

At the end of a case, my clients don’t become my friends. I don’t get Christmas cards. Instead, I get a big, fat bonus, and the promise of becoming an equity partner in the next few years. That works for me just fine.

Kids are where I draw the line, though. I don’t do custody issues. However, my boss came into my office all those months ago and basically told me to take one for the team. David offered the firm an astronomical retainer in exchange for having me handle his divorce. Another lawyer on my team is mediating the custody arrangements, but he had a family emergency take him away, and now it’s in my hands until he returns. The timing couldn’t be worse. May is approaching, and even after ten years, on that day, I haven’t been able to completely seal the wall around the empty chasm where my heart should be. Somehow, there are a few beats, each one more agonizing than the rest. Every other day of the year, I am able to master the ability to live without my heart, to avoid attachment, feelings of any kind.

I reach the tall, glass building, each window reflecting the change in the weather. The sky is becoming clouded, and I can smell the scent of rain in the air. Just fabulous. It matches my fucking mood. Once inside, I stop at the ladies room in the lobby to make sure my appearance is perfect. My long, blonde hair is swept into an elegant chignon, and I smooth every hair into place, unwilling to accept any rebellious strays. My wide, rounded blue eyes are lined with black kohl, a subtle mixture of browns on the lid, and black mascara that fringes the top and bottom, making the color of my irises look especially icy. Lips glossed, cheeks lightly rouged, and my complexion completely smooth, without a single blemish. I pay a fortune to keep my appearance perfect, but it’s worth it when I can use it to intimidate the opposing council.

I run my palms down my ivory, silk blouse and navy pencil skirt, eradicating any wrinkles. Pearls in my ears and nude, five-inch fuck-me heels, elevating my five-foot-seven frame to give me a height advantage. I check the time on my dainty gold Rolex and see that I have thirty minutes to spare until my meeting.

Perfect.

I’m ready.

Exiting the bathroom, my heels click against the marble tiles, each tap a reminder that I’m a force to be reckoned with. A machine. I approach the elevator just as the doors swoosh open. I stand aside as it empties where I’m greeted by a few co-workers; giving them nothing more than a perfunctory nod, or clipped hello. Once I step inside, the doors begin to slide closed, until a large, masculine hand shoves in between them forcing them open again.

I stiffen when I see that it’s Kyle, a fifth-year associate who has been on my team for David’s divorce. Kyle is well within his rights to be bitter about my position above him. He has been with the firm a year longer than me. However, for some reason, he has taken it all in stride and is the hardest worker in the group. He’s the only co-worker who makes an effort to scale my walls. He has even indicated his desire to take me out several times, though I have made it abundantly clear that it will never happen. Regardless, he makes the offer subtly from time to time, while never doing so in a pushy manner. Always kind. If I were even remotely interested in having someone fill the hole in my chest, I might have accepted his offer at some point. But, I’m not. I want nothing to do with relationships and emotions.

Kyle smiles warmly at me and says hello before turning to face forward, seemingly unaware of my standoffish attitude. When we reach his offices, he wishes me good luck with my appointment and leaves me with another smile. The tension remains when I’m alone, steadily growing as I rise up each level. The ping alerting me that I’ve arrived on the forty-fifth floor startles me and I jump just a fraction of an inch. I tell myself to calm the hell down and find the steel inside.

When I step off the elevator, I’m once again the Ice Queen, ready to put the fear of God into David’s slutty, soon-to-be ex-wife. Stacey, my assistant, stands as I approach her desk, handing me a small stack of papers.

“Here are your messages. Your eight thirty meeting will be in conference room B, and I’ll have coffee and refreshments placed in there ten minutes prior. Also, your mother called. She wanted to remind you about your cousin’s rehearsal dinner coming up,” Stacey says hesitantly.

She’s toeing the line by giving me my mother’s message verbally and she knows it. The only messages I want given immediate attention to are from Larry or a current client with an emergency.

I give her a stern look, then thank her and walk into my office, thumbing through the messages. When I come across a handwritten reminder of my mother’s message, I toss a dark look at Stacey through the glass wall that separates my office from her workspace. She doesn’t see it, because her head is down, looking as though she is engrossed in her task. I sigh and make a mental note of having a word about it with her later.

I read the note again. Rehearsal dinner. Right. Danielle is getting married. I’ve told my mother I would make an effort to attend, but we both know I won’t. That doesn’t stop her from trying, though, nor from her pestering me about losing out on family memories during our obligatory, once a month conversations. I always bite back a scoff at that; reminders of family are the last thing I need.

The rest of the notices aren’t urgent, so I spend the next twenty minutes prepping, going over the details one final time, despite knowing them inside and out. At eight twenty-five, Stacey buzzes on the intercom to inform me that my client has arrived.

“Send him in, Stacey.”

My door opens and David walks in, looking tired and defeated. The season has just started and I can only imagine how much this stress will affect his playing this year. The Cubs are struggling as the organization is being rebuilt.

Okay, so I’m a fan.

I didn’t lose every single part of the girl I was. Being a Cubs fan is in my blood. In any case, I hope he can get it together and be an asset to the team. Just another reason for me to get this divorce done and over with quickly.

“David,” I greet him, walking around my desk to shake his hand. “Are you ready for today?”

He runs his hands through his dark hair, the already messy mop cluing me in to the fact that he’s been doing this repeatedly all morning. I put my hand on his shoulder attempting to garner his undivided attention, an act which emphasizes my message much more, seeing as how I rarely make physical contact, other than a handshake.

“I need you on your A-game. There is no room for weakness when you face Janessa. You need to store up your armor and put on a stone cold façade. Got it?”

“Yeah.” His shoulders strengthen and I hold in a sigh of relief, my job is a lot harder when the client doesn’t back up my power play. “Let’s do this. I want it done and over with.”

I grab my files and we walk to the conference room where Janessa is seated with her attorney. She has her patented bitch face on, but I suspect some of that is permanent from too much Botox. Her clothes are ridiculous—leather and leopard—her blonde hair curled and puffed up like she just walked off the set of Pretty in Pink. Her attorney, however, looks like a frightened little boy and I give myself an internal fist bump for succeeding in making him cower before me.

I take my seat at the table and glance over at David as he does the same. His face has softened the tiniest amount, so I slap a folder down on the table, drawing his attention. My eyes narrow and his face hardens once again, returning to face the greedy, airhead across from him. Janessa is an idiot in most regards, but when it comes to David, she knows the weapons she wields to get to him and I don’t want him displaying even the minutest indication that she has any leverage at this negotiation.