Glad to see you again...

Chapter 7

The next morning, I arrived at court with Michael by my side, dutifully carrying the files for today’s hearing. We're here for a submission to strike out the Plaintiff’s personal injury claim—on the grounds that it’s time-barred and constitutes an abuse of the court’s process.

The hearing is expected to stretch through the entire morning, especially since I’m going up against Taylor Kitsch—senior counsel from McGee Advocates. Dealing with Kitsch is always a headache. He’s notorious for his aggressive, borderline bullying tactics, especially with junior lawyers. He tried that with me once when I was a second-year associate. Big mistake. I pushed back and embarrassed him in open court. He’s never quite forgiven me for that.

As we make our way to the courtroom, I go over the key points of my submission with Michael. He nods along, tracking everything effortlessly. Honestly, he’s been my rock—handling the bundles, checking my citations, proofreading every draft. I’m not sure how I’d manage without him.

As we step into the courthouse hallway, I come to a sudden halt. Sitting just outside Judge Julius’ chambers—like a devil waiting to strike—is none other than Wesley Chase himself. Dressed to the nines in an Armani suit, his Hugo Boss briefcase at his feet, he looks every bit the smug, overconfident prick I remember.

And, of course, the second he sees me, that infuriating smirk spreads across his face.

“What the hell is he doing here?” I whisper to Mike, keeping my expression carefully neutral.

Mike shrugs. “Maybe he’s got a hearing?”

“He literally just started yesterday,” I mutter under my breath.

“Ah, Ms. Li. Good morning,” Wesley says in that syrupy, insincere tone I know too well. His gaze drags down my body, slow and deliberate, pausing far too long at my legs and heels.

I flash a tight smile. “My eyes are up here, Mr. Chase.”

He brushes off the comment and turns to Mike. “And you are…?”

“Mike. Katharine’s paralegal? We spoke yesterday,” Mike says, his voice cool but polite—clearly irritated, though trying to keep it professional. After all, technically, Wesley outranks him.

Wesley gives a dismissive nod. “Ah, right. My apologies. It’s been a hectic first day—lots to catch up on.”

I clench my jaw. “If you’re so swamped, Mr. Chase, what exactly are you doing here? I doubt you have a court appearance scheduled, considering you just started yesterday. And if I remember correctly, Kathy’s next mention isn’t until next week.”

The last thing I need this morning is him hovering around, especially after the mess in my head from last night. I already told myself to steer clear of him—and yet, here he is. Like a bad omen in designer tailoring.

Wesley tilts his head slightly, his smugness never wavering. “Impressive memory, Ms. Li. But since we’re in the same department, and I’m making an effort to, you know—connect with my new colleagues—I thought it’d be helpful to shadow you in court today. Get a feel for how things are done around here.”

He says it like it’s the most casual, innocent thing in the world. But I know better.

Mike steps in, his tone firm but careful. “I’m not sure Richard would be okay with that.”

Wesley gives him a slow, condescending look—like Mike had overstepped just by speaking. “Actually, I cleared it with him. He was all for it. He thought it’d be useful for me to observe her in court today. Get a sense of her… performance.”

I blink, stunned. “Wait—are you seriously here to spy on me?”

Wesley exhales sharply, clearly annoyed. “No, I’m not here to spy on you. Like I said, I wanted to see you in action. We approach the law differently—you have your methods, and I have mine. I’m not interested in tearing you down. It wouldn’t be fair to judge you just because your style doesn’t mirror mine.”

I don’t respond right away—not because I’m speechless, but because, to my own surprise, I’m genuinely moved by what he said. Wesley, of all people, understands that our approaches don’t have to mirror each other to be valid. We take different roads, but we still reach the same destination. That acknowledgment, coming from him, means more than I expected.

He gestures toward the file in Mike’s hands. “Brief me.”

Once the hearing begins, Wes takes the seat beside me at counsel’s bench while Mike settles in among the observers. Since it’s my application, I lead the submission. Judge Julius—stoic, sharp-eyed, and terrifyingly unreadable—reminds me of a bald eagle surveying prey. He doesn’t glance up once as I speak, just listens with an unnerving stillness.

Right on cue, Kitsch tries to interrupt—classic move. But the judge swiftly shuts him down, his tone biting. I suppress a smirk. So much for being the courtroom veteran.

Usually, when I’m in court, I command the room. I present my submissions, run my trials with the confidence of someone who expects to win. But this morning feels different. I’m thrown off—because Wesley is sitting beside me.

I’ve never seen him in court before, so I can’t compare our styles. But now, he’s got a front-row seat to my performance, and I can’t shake the anxiety. Halfway through, I stumble. Not because I don’t know what I’m doing, but because I can’t stop thinking about his presence.

I don’t even know why I’m this anxious. Confidence is usually second nature to me. Maybe it’s because I don’t believe him when he says he’s not here to evaluate me. He’s been hoping I’d fail since high school.

The hearing drags on—opposing arguments back and forth. We’re pushing past the two-hour mark in this stuffy chamber, and it’s wearing thin. Kitsch keeps taking shots at me, and I keep dodging them. I know how to hold my ground. But since he won’t back down, he asks for an adjournment to file another submission. Unexpectedly, the judge agrees.

Now I’ve got to come back again tomorrow.

I’m exhausted, and it’s nearly lunchtime. Without waiting for Wes, I head straight to Mike.

“How’d it go?” I ask.

He’s fumbling with a stack of files, so I step in and help him sort them.

“That went really well, Kitty,” he says. “You could tell that asshole was all fired up.”

I smirk. “Bet he hated getting shown up by a girl.”

Mike laughs. “Anyway… I won’t be joining you for lunch.”

That makes me stop. We usually eat together in my office, watching Criminal Minds while picking apart each case like we’re on it ourselves.

“What? Why not?”

He pauses, a little too long, then looks away. “I’ve got a lunch date.”

“Oh. Oh!” It takes a second for the words to actually land. “A lunch date, huh? With who?”

He shrugs. “Some girl my friend’s setting me up with.”

“Ah… alright, then. Have fun. Go get lucky!” I laugh, trying to sound light. “Here—let me carry the files.”

“No, it’s okay, Kit. I’ve got it—it’s too heavy for you.”

“I’m fine, really. I need to prep for my submission tomorrow anyway,” I say with a small laugh. “Gotta be ready for whatever tricks Kitsch throws at me.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.” I take the files from his hands. Mike gives me an uncertain smile, clearly torn between staying and leaving.

“I’ll see you back at the office,” I say, offering a quick smile of my own.

He gives me a small wave before heading off.

I watch him go, letting out a long sigh. Being friends with your ex is harder than people admit. Even though we broke up years ago, it still stings to watch him walk away—especially to meet someone else.

Then, from beside me, a voice I really don’t need right now cuts through the air.

“So, you and the paralegal, huh?”

I don’t even turn. “Mind your own business, Wes.”

I start walking, the bulk of the files weighing down my arms. Seriously, why didn’t Mike just use a suitcase?

“I’m not judging,” he says casually, then notices my struggle. “Need a hand?”

Yeah, right.

“No.”

“You sure? That looks brutal. I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t help a pretty lady.”

Ignore it, Kitty. He’s baiting you.

“Since when were you a gentleman?” I sigh. “Just leave me alone, Chase.”

He keeps pace with me. “We should grab lunch. Catch up. Talk about the good old days.”

Without asking, he reaches out and takes the files from me.

“Yeah, I doubt that’d be a pleasant conversation. And no thanks on the lunch.” I yank the files back.

“Eating at the office then?” he asks.

“No. Skipping lunch. As you may have noticed, I’ve got a lot to prep. I need to be armed and ready for whatever garbage that arrogant jerk is going to throw my way. I’m not losing to a pompous, sexist pig.”

He gives me a crooked smile, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes soften—like he's seeing someone he’s been missing for far too long. “That’s the Kitty I remember—the one I loved back in high school.”

I turn to him, firm. “Don’t get familiar with me, Chase. I want nothing to do with you. And you don’t get to call me that.”

Without another word, I walk away—straight out and not looking back.