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Back The Companion Project
Chapters (89)
  1. Dedication
  2. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  3. ONE
  4. HENRY
  5. TWO
  6. EMMA
  7. THREE
  8. HENRY
  9. FOUR
  10. EMMA
  11. FIVE
  12. EMMA
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. HENRY
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. HENRY
  20. ELEVEN
  21. TWELVE
  22. EMMA
  23. THIRTEEN
  24. HENRY
  25. FOURTEEN
  26. HENRY
  27. FIFTEEN
  28. SIXTEEN
  29. EMMA
  30. SEVENTEEN
  31. HENRY
  32. EIGHTEEN
  33. HENRY
  34. NINETEEN
  35. HENRY
  36. TWENTY
  37. TWENTY-ONE
  38. EMMA
  39. TWENTY-TWO
  40. EMMA
  41. TWENTY-THREE
  42. HENRY
  43. TWENTY-FOUR
  44. EMMA
  45. TWENTY-FIVE
  46. EMMA
  47. TWENTY-SIX
  48. EMMA
  49. TWENTY-SEVEN
  50. HENRY
  51. TWENTY-EIGHT
  52. EMMA
  53. TWENTY-NINE
  54. HENRY
  55. THIRTY
  56. HENRY
  57. THIRTY-ONE
  58. HENRY
  59. THIRTY-TWO
  60. EMMA
  61. THIRTY-THREE
  62. HENRY
  63. THIRTY-FOUR
  64. EMMA
  65. THIRTY-FIVE
  66. EMMA
  67. THIRTY-SIX
  68. HENRY
  69. THIRTY-SEVEN
  70. EMMA
  71. THIRTY-EIGHT
  72. HENRY
  73. THIRTY-NINE
  74. HENRY
  75. FORTY
  76. EMMA
  77. FORTY-ONE
  78. HENRY
  79. FORTY-TWO
  80. FORTY-THREE
  81. EMMA
  82. FORTY-FOUR
  83. EMMA
  84. FORTY-FIVE
  85. HENRY
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ALSO BY CHELSEA CURTO
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stopping in front of the glass door to my building, I check my reflection one last time before grabbing the handle and pulling it open.

“Morning, Miss. Emma!” Reginald, the morning security guard, greets me warmly like always, voice carrying over the atrium.

“Hey, Reggie!” I answer, tossing him a smile. “How’re you doing?”

“I woke up. There’s air in my lungs. The sun is shining. How can I complain?”

“I wish everyone saw the world like you. It would be a better place.”

“Anything exciting happening up on ten today?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary! Hopefully everyone stays out of trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble, Mr. Dawson is already here. He doesn’t seem to be in a particularly good mood, either.”

“Still? Thanks for the heads up, Reggie.” With a wave, I head for the elevators, hitting the button for the tenth floor and riding up.

I wonder if Henry’s attitude is related to the sour mood yesterday. He’s typically a ray of sunshine to everyone he encounters. Bubbly and energetic. Loud and boisterous. He had an air of indifference about him after his lunch with Noah, though, when I stupidly ended up in his office. There was a heaviness in his movements, and he seemed worried and anxious. The unusual behavior was off-putting, perplexing, and, as much as I hate to admit it, concerning.

The elevator doors open to the tenth floor and I stand on my toes, peering over cubicles and half-walls, noticing the light on in his corner office. I gnaw on my lip, weighing the pros and cons on if I should approach him again.

No.

I don’t need to make popping in to check on him part of my routine. He can figure out his problems by himself.

Turning on my heel, I head for my own office. When I see my space, I smile. My Columbia Law degree proudly hangs on the wall in a gold frame. It’s the first thing your eyes find when you enter the space. The placement was intentional; when I’m frustrated or overwhelmed, plagued by thoughts of professional inadequacy, I look at that single piece of paper and remember why I’m doing what I do, swatting away any pesky Imposter Syndrome that lingers around on the tough days. I’m reminded of how hard I worked to get here. The fulfillment I experience whenever I complete another case, success not measured by the numbers on my paycheck but rather the number of people I help. It brings me comfort to know I’m doing good in the world.