His canned response isn’t surprising, but it still hits me like a punch to my chest. Eight fucking years. Over. In a matter of minutes. If I thought I had enough strength to lift my damn desk, I’d chuck it across the room. “Well then, do what you need to do.”

He springs to his feet. “With pleasure, Dean. With so much pleasure.” Before he leaves, he fires the kill shot: “You want to know the real kicker here? All your machinations didn’t even amount to anything. Kimberly Bailey passed on our offer this afternoon. I’ll make one last push, just to be sure she didn’t decline because of something you did, but in any case, it’s not looking good for you, kid.”

Henderson closes the door behind him, the click of the lock reminding me that he’s the firm’s gatekeeper, a power he relishes wielding whenever he can.

I stagger backward and collapse into my chair. My heart’s racing like a thoroughbred, and the tips of my ears are burning. I suppose I should have begged for his mercy. Instead, I let my frustration get the best of me. Leaning over, I place my hands on my knees and take small sips of air in a desperate attempt to calm down. It’s no use, though. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I think I just shit-talked myself out of a job.

What the hell do I do now?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dean

“They fired me,” I say, my voice sounding brittle and weak.

Solange pulls me inside her apartment, immediately drawing me into her warm embrace. “Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

Today may have rocked me to my core, but being enveloped in Solange’s arms makes me feel grounded. There was never any question that I’d come to her. I respect her opinion. Value her perspective. She knows I’ve been chasing partnership for years and understands how devastating this is.

Solange draws back and grabs my shoulders, her worried gaze roving over my face. “What happened? Tell me.”

“Henderson ate it up and ran with it,” I say, my voice just above a whisper. “Technically, I’m resigning. Said it was the least they could do to thank me for my eight years of service to the firm.”

“Bastards,” she says, scowling. “They were looking for a reason to do this.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Unfortunately, I handed them one on a silver platter.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, as if she’s willing herself not to cry. “Shit. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me. I took your mother to the shop, and it went downhill from there.”

I place a hand on her chin and lift it gently. “Look at me, Solange.”

She stares at me, her eyes glistening.