She heard him at the door and thought about standing up. Running to him was way too “damsel in distress” for her liking. She didn’t need a rescue. She needed common sense, and her supply had drained away, leaving her vulnerable.

He stepped inside and threw his keys on the small table next to the door. “Hey.”

The deep, rumbling sound of his voice should have comforted her. Instead, she heard judgment.

She closed her eyes as the reality that he already knew her terrible news hit her. “How did you find out?”

“Despite having the most lawyers per square inch, the metro area legal community is pretty small. Covington and a few of the senior partners in my firm are friends, and . . .” Tim shrugged. “Well, you get it.”

“Apparently, my private information is fair game.” Divulging unfounded allegations against her could get Covington and the entire firm in trouble. More than likely, if she complained he’d deny ever telling anyone and his cronies would back him up.

Tim sat on the armrest of the chair. Not coming one inch closer, keeping the emotional and physical divide between them intact.

He stared at his hands while he talked. “I think the call was meant as a friendly warning to prepare me.”

Him. The patriarchy never took a break. Her shitty day was about him.

He lifted his head and met her gaze straight on. “I told you to drop that case.”

He sounded exhausted. Resigned. Completely out of energy. He thrived on pressure. He lived for deadlines and meetings and all the things that drove her into a paralyzing panic. He memorized every detail of a case. Every discussion. In many ways, he was the lawyer she pretended to be. Competent and assured.

She worried about missing deadlines and failing to find that one piece of evidence in discovery guaranteed to break a case open in her client’s favor. Retta once told her that type of debilitating worry showed a lack of self-confidence.

“You were right.” It didn’t kill her to say it, which was the only positive thing she could find about today. Being dragged out of her law firm while everyone watched gave her a new perspective on shame and embarrassment. Admitting he’d called this one right didn’t come close to that bottom.

He didn’t have his briefcase. He hadn’t taken off his suit jacket. It was as if he’d swung by for a brief check-in and planned to blow out again. “Do you have to go back to work tonight?”

“No.” He rubbed his eyes as he often did when he was about to say something he knew she wouldn’t like. “But . . . I can’t do this.”

That comment pushed away the hollow feeling threatening to swallow her. He had her full attention now. She shifted on the couch, sitting up straighter and putting down the wineglass. “What are you talking about?”