Although some couples bragged of Friday date nights filled with romance and dinner, followed by extremely hot s*x, Karen O’Connell’s Friday nights unfortunately consisted of a quiet, darkened office, a shot of whiskey, and the locked drawer in her desk that only she ever went into.
She stared at the names on the files that filled the drawer, names that were meaningless to the masses but left her reaching for the bottle of whiskey she kept tucked in the back, a single short lead-cut crystal highball glass, and a green velvet ring box. The drawer was a constant reminder, like an albatross around her neck, of everything wrong with her life.
At the same time, she only ever opened it on Friday nights or whenever she needed to add yet another file from a case where she hadn’t gotten the win he
