Brooke spotted Neville's silver dodge challenger idling at the curb, hazard lights blinking against the early evening drizzle. The parking lot was nearly empty. Neville stepped out, crisp suit slightly rumpled from a long day, a manila envelope tucked under one arm. Even in the dim glow of the parking lamps, he looked unfairly composed, like the scandal had nothing on him or his client.
"Ms Brooke," he said warmly as he approached. The hint of weariness in his eyes didn't dull the steadiness in his voice. "Ashford's Printing Press partnership agreement. Signed, sealed, delivered, as promised."
Brooke took the envelope, the corners damp with mist. "You're a lifesaver and probably starving. Want coffee? I'm buying."
Neville glanced toward his car, then back at her. A faint smile curved at his mouth. "After the kind of day I've had, I'd accept coffee from a vending machine. Let's go."
She smiled faintly.
They both crossed to the café on the corner, a walking distance from her office. It was a small and cozy place with fogged windows and the faint smell of espresso seeping into the street. Inside, the hum of the espresso machine mingled with the soft banter and conversation of its patrons. Some of them were hunched over laptops, their screens casting pale light on their faces, but no one looked up, when they came in.
Brooke chose a quiet corner booth. Neville slid into the seat opposite, loosening his tie. His movements were careful as if he carried tension in precise compartments. She set the envelope beside her, trying not to stare at the way a lock of damp hair had fallen over his forehead.
When the waitress who brought their drinks left, Brooke stirred her coffee aimlessly.
"It's everywhere, you know" she said finally, voice low. "Every feed, every network. The Blackwood leak's eating the headlines alive." She couldn't help but be worried for her friend.
Neville's fingers tapped the ceramic of his mug before he lifted it. "Scandals feed on oxygen. The more attention and time you give it,the more power the press has over you to keep pumping for more." He took a sip, then smirked faintly. "I've seen much worse implosions."Despite herself, Brooke laughed under her breath.
"You make disaster sound poetic."
"I represented a media conglomerate for five years," he said. "You watch reputations combust daily, you start dressing the carnage in metaphors.
"Their eyes met over the rims of their mugs, just a flicker, but enough to make Brooke's breath hitch.
She'd always known Neville as competent and unflappable. He'd left an impression on her during their brainstorming sessions on how to protect their individual clients. But tonight there was a quiet warmth in him she hadn't noticed before. It was like she was seeing and noticing his features for the first time.
She hesitated, then asked, "Have you gotten any leads on the culprit behind Stonehenge incorporation as a subsidiary? Who's behind it?"Neville set his cup down carefully. "Yes, we are on it," he said simply.The simple evasive answer landed between them like a dropped pin. Brooke leaned forward, curiosity brightening her eyes. "And?"
He tilted his head, considering her. "I'm not at liberty to say yet." he said, softening the blow with a smile.Her brow furrowed. "Not even a hint?"His voice softened further. "What I can tell you is…whoever's pulling the strings isn't acting alone. We're just waiting for the other shoe to drop."A chill slid down Brooke's spine that had nothing to do with the weather.
The words carried weight, not gossip, but certainty. She wondered if Neville had just shared more than he should, or if he'd chosen those words deliberately, to warn her. She wouldn't have spared a minute of her thought for Blackwood's politics, if not that her friend was at the centre and heart of it all.
She worried at times for Ashley.Atimes she even wondered if she could have negotiated a better deal as opposed to roping her further in the mess.
Brooke traced the rim of her mug with a fingertip absentmindedly.
" I'd give a penny for your thoughts?" Neville cut in, disrupting her thoughts."You sound almost…calm and confident about the whole situation."
She quizzed him further.
"Calm?" Neville's mouth quirked. "I'm not calm. I'm calculating. Panic makes you blind. Calculation keeps you afloat and in control of the situation. With high profile clients, you have to be rational, centered and calm. You save your energy for future legal battles as well, because this ain't the end." Then he quickly added, "This round of panic belongs to his publicists anyways."
She laughed heartily for the first time. He had no choice but to join in. She studied him, noting the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. He was funny, effortlessly so without trying. But she could tell life had etched subtle stories on his face, stories she suddenly wanted to know.
"Do you ever get tired of the games?" she asked quietly."The games?"
"The contracts, the negotiations, N.D.A's, pretending people aren't bleeding inside their tailored suits."He was silent for a beat. Then, "Sometimes. After my divorce, I swore I'd only take cases that mattered. But bills don't honor vows."Brooke blinked. "Divorce? I didn't know.""Not many do." His smile was small but honest. "Messy, expensive, humbling. The holy trinity of breakups."The confession was casual, but it cracked something in her. A glimpse of the man beneath the practiced composure. "I'm sorry," she said, meaning it."Don't be. It taught me who I am…and who I'm not.
" He rested an elbow on the table, chin in hand, and studied her openly now. "What about you? Ever think of walking away from all this?""All the time." She surprised herself with the honesty. "But then I think if people like us leave the field, the wolves win."Neville's grin spread, slow and genuine. "So you're a fighter.""Or just stubborn."
"Sometimes they are the same thing."He responded.
They lingered there, cups cooling, silence stretching comfortably between them. Brooke felt the strange, exhilarating sense of the world shrinking to the four feet of space between them.She tilted her head. "So, a divorcee who still believes in contracts?"Neville chuckled, low and rough. "Contracts are just promises dressed in legalese. They're only as strong as the people holding the pen."Something in his tone, a quiet wistfulness, made her chest tighten. She wanted to ask about the woman who had broken him, but sensed the boundary. Instead, she said, "You do seem to be doing fine."
"That's because I'm good at redrafting." He smiled wryly. "Rewrite the clauses, salvage the deal, move on."A small laugh escaped her. "You talk about life like it's all paperwork.""It usually is," he said. "But sometimes…" He trailed off, his gaze slipping briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. "…sometimes it's a handshake you didn't see coming."The moment stretched, soft, fragile, the hum of the café fading.
Then Neville blinked, as if snapping himself out of something, and glanced at his watch. "I should go. I have dinner with a client within an hour."
Brooke rose with him, clutching the envelope. They walked to his car, as he paused beside his car, the streetlamp casting pale halos on the wet asphalt.
"Brooke," he said, tone lighter now, "thanks for the coffee.""You delivered life saving documents," she replied. "Coffee was the least I could do."He hesitated a second too long before unlocking the door. " I will call you" and quickly added, "If that's okay with you."His voice carried a warmth that had nothing to do with business or any formality. Brooke raised an eyebrow. "That's okay, I'll be expecting your call."Neville grinned, really grinned and slid into his dodge. The taillights glowed red through the mist as he pulled away.
Brooke stood there a moment longer, the envelope pressed to her chest, her pulse unexpectedly quick. The headlines, the scandal, the whispering vultures of Ashley and Blackwood's world. They all felt distant now, mere background noise. The only thing she remembered now was the memory of Neville's steady gaze, the way his confession had felt like a secret he trusted her to hold.
She started walking towards her office, the drizzle cool on her skin, and realized with a small, disarming flutter that she wanted him to actually call, for reasons that had nothing to do with paperwork. As she walked down,she wondered, casually, if there was any way they could ever dare explore the unknown path set before them, without hurting or conflicting the interest of their friends and clients.