I return to work on Monday in what my mom would have called, "a snit." As I set my purse on my desk and sip at my coffee, I regret coming in today. I could have probably milked my "illness" another day or two. Because I feel wound up, overheated, and like the slightest jackass comment from Harper will set me into a rampage. And moreover, I know I have to confront Hughes about Crestline.

Instead of going out over the weekend and finding some no-name guy to vent my physical frustrations with, I spent my time tossing and turning and dreaming about Beau fucking Forrester and wolves stalking me through a dark forest.

And worrying about Crestline.

If Rhea Dawson, an amateur hiker, can spot a grey wolf near their proposed development sites, then a group of experts surveying the area should have noticed them too, right? So where was that report? I rechecked all of the notes I had borrowed from Cassie and not a single document mentioned wolves. Oh, there were notes on endangered flowers with promises to bolster populations elsewhere and assertions that the development would not risk interrupted the local swarms of at-risk glacier flies... but not a single mention of wolves.

I've repeatedly told myself that it's not my problem. I don't owe Beau or Marcus or any of the cute little community that I'll never be a part of. I gave them the foundation to fight back, didn't I? But despite my firm pep-talk, I keep thinking about Beau making me dinner and letting me wear his sweatpants. I think about Marcus fixing my tires without an invoice yet to come my way. I think about Owen taking teasing in stride, and sweet Lila who is clearly head over heels for the oblivious moron.

A tiny voice keeps telling me that Marcus clearly likes me, that I could help Lila with Owen, that I could help keep Owen with his ego. It says that I could win Nora over... probably not Caleb, though. The voice, at least, seems relatively realistic in its expectations.

It whispers that I could be with someone like Beau, that I could wake up every morning in his bed to the smell of coffee on the lake.

I refuse to listen to that deluded little voice.

Beau does not want me. Beyond the flirting, the touches, the passion was clearly one-sided. I practically screamed 'kiss me,' outside his cabin, and he pulled away. I can't even be that irritated with him: clearly, I am insane. Desperately, hopelessly insane.

And so I know that I don't need to keep digging into Crestline. I know that doing so is going to bite me in the ass. So why am I standing in front of Hughes' office, holding a file like a weapon, knowing that I'm about to risk everything for what I'm about to do?

Hughes isn't exactly the kind of man who appreciates gut feelings or hunches. He likes numbers, plausible deniability, and paychecks with lots of zeros at the end. He doesn't care if Crestline skirts the law, but my intuition tells me that he doesn't realize they're completely trampling it. Hughes doesn't give a shit about the environment, no, but anything that threatens the firm's standing (or his bottom line), however, is considered a problem. And, if not immediately solvable, problems are meant to be ignored. Or buried.

Too bad I'm not in the mood to bury this one.

Hughes' office is larger, masculine version of mine. The same sleek modern furniture but with dark wood accents and leather seating. The shelves that line the wall boast a collection of vintage law books flanked by photos of him in waders, fishing the same mountains that Crestline will demolish. There's some sort of irony there, I think.

I tap my knuckles at the open door, and he looks up from his computer.

"Dawson," he grunts in greeting. "Have you got the affidavit I asked for?"

I stride toward his desk, sliding over one of the files in my arms. The asshole had emailed last night at eleven o'clock with a deadline of this morning. Hughes leans forward to read over it.

"And the—"

"Draft for the Morningstar pleading is on the third page," I say.

"And the—"

"Sixth page, pink tab for your signature."

Hughes pauses and stares at me. I give him a practiced smile. For a moment, he seems disappointed that everything is in order. I get the strangest feeling that he wanted to find some sort of flaw to pick at, despite the fact that we've long outgrown the early relationship of mean boss and terrified new hire.

His eyes leave my face and track down my body in a quick once over. There's a part of me that wants to use my second stack of files to hide myself from his eyes, but I raise my eyebrows in a silent challenge.

"You look good, Dawson."

I keep my voice unaffected and my face stoic. "We've had this conversation before, Mr. Hughes."

The man has the audacity to bark out a laugh.

"You ever think about going back to school, Dawson? You'd be hell for opposing counsel."

I shrug, seizing my chance. "It's funny you say that. I've been thinking about it recently. The Crestline discrepancies have been making me wonder if it's time to finish up my degree."

My tone is light, easy, but with just enough bait to tempt Hughes' attention. His eyes narrow as he leans back in his chair.

"What discrepancies?"

"I took at look at some of their contracts. The bookkeeping is abysmal: payments that don't add up, missing paperwork. Things that could get us sanctioned if this hits the bench." I shrug again, smirking the tiniest fraction. "I mean, I'm just paralegal, of course. But if I could find all these inconsistencies, any competent counsel can sniff them out."

"And you're just now bringing this to my attention?"

I keep my spine straight, my voice relaxes. "You know, I really only just looked into it. Once my virus cleared up, I went hiking over the weekend, and, of all things, I saw a wolf."

"A wolf?" Hughes frowns. For a minute it looks like his brain isn't going to process the information.

"A gray wolf. A protected species trotting along the land Crestline's surveys say is free of any species that need protection."

There's a beat of silence. Then—

Hughes groans. "Are you seriously telling my that you think Crestline is covering up fucking wolves?"

I smile prettily. "Of course not, Mr. Hughes. Who knows? Maybe it was just a big dog. And it really isn't my case. It's just that, well," I pause. "I don't want to be tied to it if the firm gets dragged into their mess. Looks bad on an application." Before I turn to leave, I set the second set of files on his desk. "Just a little research on the Crestline surveys," I explain. "And a law school letter of recommendation I wrote for myself. Pink tab for your signature."

"Fuck." Hughes glares at me, as if it's my fault Crestline is made up of a bunch of shady assholes threatening his payout. Then, he lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. "Fine. I'll look into it."

"And my letter?" I ask, pausing as I leave.

Hughes' laughter only rings down the hall.

The little cafe that Cassie picks for our lunch break is tucked away just off the main street. The log cabin vibe is a little corny, but it's an older, family owned joint so I'm willing to overlook the faux-rustic aesthetic. It's not the kind of place I'd expect Cassie to choose; not when she favors the new tourist traps designed by restaurant moguls. It immediately makes me suspicious that she wants a favor.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to that new fusion restaurant off Broadway?" I ask as we wait for the hostess to check if there's any outdoor seating left.

Cassie smiles with feigned innocence. "I thought we could try this place! My sister-in-law said it's really cute!"

The only times that I've heard about Cassie's sister-in-law are when she's on a rant about how to properly raise children and the unwashed heathens that are her brother's kids. I shoot her a raised eyebrow, but Cassie ignores it as the hostess motions for us to sit outside.

On the little deck, covered in the faint shadows from a pine tree, Cassie flashes me a toothy smile.

"So," she says, not even bothering to glance over the menu. "Spill."

"Spill what?"

"Tell me about your new guy! I'm dying to know the details."

I know my expression doesn't show even a hint of what I'm feeling, but she's still looking at me like she knows exactly how horny my dreams have been lately.

"I don't have a new guy, Cassie."

She snorts in disbelief. "Rhea. You call in sick once a year, same day. I have seen you chug DayQuil at your desk. You seriously cannot expect me to believe you booked it out of here on a Friday with a flimsy excuse and show up Monday morning looking—Fine. As. Hell."

She punctuates each word with a little shake of her head. Cassie, for all her bubbly attitude, isn't stupid, I remind myself.

"I just needed a break." I glance over the menu instead of meeting her eyes. "Hughes and Harper's guffawing gives me a migraine."

Cassie snickers at that. "Andy is such a little toad. But you're totally deflecting. You disappear for a long weekend, right in the middle a case, and now you've got this glow? Spill."

We pause to place our orders.

"There's really nothing to say," I murmur, having picked the first thing off the menu. "I just needed some space."

Humming in disbelief, Cassie sips at her water. "Well, whatever it was, keep doing it. You look relaxed for once. Like you're not drinking wine alone and reading boring legal shit—"

"That sounds like an excellent night."

Cassie groans. "God, Rhea. You're not even trying to let me live vicariously through you. I spend my weeks cleaning up the mess of grown men and the weekends cleaning up after my kids. Can't you just do something fun for once?"

She means it casually, and I know that, but I still have to suppress the bristling indigence crawling up my spine. I almost tell her that I've been sleeping terribly, about the dreams that leave me hot and restless, the annoying little string constantly pulling at my chest... but whatever truth serum was in the water in Moran isn't going to loosen my tongue today.

I shrug instead of answering. Cassie takes a moment to check her phone, rolling her eyes at the barrage of messages.

"Maybe I'll take a page out of your book and do the same this weekend. Crestline's going to work me into early retirement at this rate."

"Oh yeah?"

Cassie grins, excited in a way that makes my stomach drop. "I think we're heading towards finalization within the next few months. We've come up with a couple strategies to squeeze on some of the last holdouts. You know how it is—people don't always know what's good for them."

The words make my skin go cold, because I know who the holdouts are.

I think about the honest smiles at the little cookout, the lakeside cabin that belongs out there in the wilderness... I think about Marcus and Lila and Beau. And I think about how I'm sitting here, across from Cassie, pretending like I don't care.

Rationally, I know I've been in denial, because I do care. A part of me wonders if that was Beau's goal. No longer is Crestline's project threatening to eat up communities of nameless faces. The romantic undertones suddenly feel manipulative, and the little taut tugging at my heart chills into something painful. I rub the spot at my breastbone absently, as if I can push away the prick of cold.

"Right," I say evenly. Carefully. "People can be stubborn."

She seems happy that I agree, launching into something about title disputes and inspection violations that will bankrupt the locals before they can even think about hiring someone to defend them. All the investment opportunities and buyout packages will dwindle into pennies, forcing the locals out of their homes and far from the glitzy new community that will sprout in their wake.

It sends a river of prickling foreboding down my spine. Or rather, I assumed the wash of discomfort was from that ugly fate. From the corner of my eye, however, a shape catches my attention.

A man. Standing across the street.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Standing too still to be waiting for a rideshare or window shopping.

The strange premonition of fear suddenly solidifies. I recognize the dark hair, the sharp-cut of his profile. It's the man from the coffee shop. Dressed in jeans and boots like every other man on the block, but so completely and eerily still that my heart threatens to beat a tattoo into the inside of my ribs.

It's too far, but his eyes meet mine. I swear his mouth curls into the tiniest of smiles.

My stomach drops. Noise bleeds away until I can only hear my breath. A primal, wordless instinct tightens in my gut, demanding that I run. Because it's not a smile. He's curling his lips, baring his teeth, promising to chase, to hunt, to harm in the silent, still manner that only an apex predator would show. A wildfire of adrenaline courses through me, sending my heart into a crescendo, before my brain can catch up. Run. Run. Run.

Just as I'm about to jump from my seat, to sprint to some unknown safety, he's gone.

I blink. The street is busy with people moving past the storefronts, enjoying the glow of early summer, but there's not sign of the man. He's not running across the street. He's not stalking me from the shadows. It was like he was never there. Just an ordinary afternoon.

I exhale slowly, release my fingers from the aching fists they had curled into. My palms throb with the pink crescents left behind. Cassie, still on the topic of Crestline, doesn't seem to notice as I loose the tension from each of my muscles. The hum of lunch time chatter around us is completely unaffected.

As the logical part of my brain shakes off the last hum of fear, I wonder if I just imagined it. Maybe my body still remembers the mad rush through the woods, being hunted by the glimpsed wolf. That I haven't fully processed that perceived brush with my mortality. Thinking about the woods, about wolves... there's a strange wave of warmth that unfurls from the little tug in my chest. It's faint and gentle, but reminds me of someone laying a jacket over my shoulders. It reminds of pine and sunshine. It reminds me of Beau.

I press my lips together and force the thought away. This little thread that I'm imagining between us is asinine. Delusional. He's made it clear that he's not into me. I've been fantasizing about a life that will never be mine. I'm just... lonely.

My mom was my only family that I really had, and her death nearly crushed me. I don't want to deal with the loss of another person. I don't want to sacrifice another piece of my tattered soul when things don't work out. Because things don't work out. That's the only guarantee in life: bad things happen.

I don't want to be like Marcus, clearly keeping his preserved living room as a shrine to the memory of his wife. I don't want to be like my mom, caught by the ghosts of the past, always running. I just want to be safe.

Alone is safe.

It doesn't matter that Beau feels different to me in ways I can't describe. It doesn't matter that I've never felt such a suffocating physical attraction to another person... that it feels like some nameless spirit inside of me knows him. Trusts him.

Because wanting someone doesn't make them yours. Wanting someone doesn't mean they'll stay. And Beau has done nothing but tease and keep me at arm's length, with that unreadable expression and the irritating ability to see too much of me.

I glance back across the street, just to be sure. The phantom sensation of his eyes lingers, but there's no dark stranger watching.

"They're even planning on adding in community spaces," Cassie says, flipping through photos on her phone. "Outdoor yoga, guided forest hikes... a sort of curated wilderness that everyone can enjoy. If they break ground by next spring—"

"It seems like they've already declared victory." My words come slightly harsher than I intend. A hint of a growl when I know I should keep my cool. The image of taming the perfect wild places I'd hiked through over the weekend spark bright anger into my tongue.

Cassie gives me a quizzical look. "Of course they are. They've already pitched the tourism and revenue projections to Senator Davis. Once there's a promise of a payout, the politicians just have a way of moving these things along." She pauses as our food arrives and thanks the waitress with a perfect smile. "I mean, you know how it is. Didn't Morningstar get the mayor to sign off on the re-zoning?"

I nod like I'm listening. I move salad around the plate as she continues on about the senator's interest in the project. The anger bleeds out of me. Eminent domain claims. Re-zoning the land. Those battles turn into something ugly... something like pushing aside regulation, like turning a blind eye to due process. I can't fight governmental collusion. The old Rhea Dawson would have rallied at the chance to take on Goliath. She would have fought, tooth and nail, regardless of the odds. But my withered little heart doesn't have the stones to fight a giant.

"Crestline is really just such a fascinating client though."

"Yeah?"

"Well," Cassie says, pausing to take a bite. "I've never worked with a corporation with such intensity, you know? One of the freelance designers—just some guy contracted for a few mock-ups—posted a concept image to his portfolio. Totally harmless, right? Not even labeled. Within twenty-four hours, they had us serving him with a cease and desist, revoked his contract, and basically blacklisted him from ever working with their affiliates again."

Cassie laughs a little, like it's a juicy office rumor.

"They have a whole team just for online surveillance. Like, not just your standard brand monitoring. We're talking deep search—" she glances up. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" I reply, too quickly. I shove salad into my mouth.

Cassie narrows her eyes. "You're being weird, Rhea. What aren't you telling me?"

I scramble for some sort of half-truth I can feed her, for some excuse I can dangle in front of her.

Forcing a sigh, I give her a sheepish smile. "I'm thinking about going back to law school."

With a happy shriek, Cassie launches into what that time course could look like for me. A year or two of school, the bar, Hutchinson and Hughes having to hire me back as a junior partner...

While she gushes about my hypothetical future, promising to make sure I get a good letter from Hutchinson (because the man has a sweet spot for her), I force smiles and encouraging noises.

My stomach is hollow.

The rumor of me going back to law school will keep the office busy. It'll keep Cassie focused on something that's not my secret boyfriend. It'll keep her from noticing the growing disgust I'm finding it harder and harder to hide.

Because I have to hide it, don't I?

Almost militant.

I'm caught on it. Although I tell myself it's probably just the dregs of adrenaline and paranoia, I can't seem to take the phrase lightly. Because what if it's not paranoia?

I didn't sign anything. I was brought on for one meeting in which Crestline's shit hole team forced me to speak. They couldn't pretend they knew I had no supervising attorney with me. I was just covering for Cassie. And I haven't publicly spoken against them. I haven't breached contract... but I was there, on the land. I gave the locals a list of competent counsel. I told Hughes about the wolf I saw.

I glance at my plate, at the wilting salad. My fingers ache from clenching the fork too hard. My skin has gone back to prickling.

The dark stranger had appeared after the town hall, hadn't he? Right after Marcus Forrester had shown up in my office.

Could Crestline be watching me?