In Bed With the Notorious Lawyer EZRA

2.

Chapter Two: Shadows in the Stack

The hallway stretches before me, a tunnel of glass and shadow, the flickering fluorescents casting jagged patterns on the walls. My pulse hammers in my ears, each beat a reminder that I’m not alone. That click—sharp, deliberate—still echoes in my mind, like a key turning in a lock I didn’t know existed. I grip the folder tighter, its edges biting into my palm, and move toward where the shadow vanished. Apex Legal’s fortieth floor is supposed to be my kingdom, but right now, it feels like a trap.

I pause at the corner, peering into the open-plan office beyond. Rows of desks sit silent, monitors dark, the city’s glow seeping through the windows like a warning. “Hello?” I call, my voice steady despite the adrenaline clawing my chest. No answer, just the hum of the air conditioning and the distant wail of a siren far below. I step forward, my loafers silent on the carpet, scanning for movement. Nothing. But the air feels wrong, heavy, like someone’s breath is still lingering.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I flinch, cursing under my breath. I pull it out, the screen glaring in the dim light. Another text from the unknown number: Dig too deep, and you’ll drown. My jaw tightens, and I shove the phone back in my pocket. Someone’s playing games, but I didn’t climb from the ashes of Northwest High to be spooked by shadows and cryptic texts. I head back to my office, locking the door behind me, and sink into my chair. The folder stares up at me, a challenge. If someone wants me scared, they’re about to learn I don’t scare easy.

I flip it open, diving back into the Holt lawsuit. Pages of accusations—stolen patents, hacked servers, Apex allegedly poaching clients with insider info. Cassandra Holt’s name is everywhere, her firm’s letterhead screaming money and menace. But something’s off. The evidence feels too clean, too convenient, like a puzzle with no rough edges. I grab the USB Lena gave me and plug it in, my laptop humming as files flood the screen. Emails, financials, internal memos. I’m hunting for the crack, the lie, the thing Holt doesn’t want me to see.

A knock at the door jolts me. “Ezra?” It’s Jaxon’s voice, low and urgent. My stomach flips, but I school my face into neutrality and unlock the door. He steps in, his broad frame filling the space, his blue eyes scanning me like he’s trying to read my soul. He’s ditched the jacket, his white shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing a phoenix tattoo on his wrist that makes my breath catch. It’s new—or at least, it wasn’t there in high school.

“You’re still here,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s almost midnight.”

I glance at the clock—11:47 p.m. Time’s slipped away. “Case won’t solve itself,” I say, keeping my tone clipped. “You got something to add, or you just checking up on me?”

He smirks, but it’s tired, frayed at the edges. “Both. Lena said she dropped off the files. Find anything?”

I study him, searching for a tell. Is he the one sending those texts? Or is he as in the dark as I am? “Not yet,” I lie, leaning back in my chair. “But Holt’s evidence is too perfect. Smells like a setup.”

His eyes narrow, and he steps closer, his cologne hitting me like a memory—woodsy, sharp, the kind that used to make my teenage heart stutter. “A setup?” he asks. “You think Cassandra’s faking it?”

“Maybe,” I say, holding his gaze. “Or someone’s feeding her what she needs. Either way, I’ll find out.”

He nods, but there’s a flicker of unease in his expression. “You always were good at finding things out,” he says, his voice softer now, almost wistful. “Even back then.”

My fingers tighten on the armrest. “Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t act like we’re reminiscing over old times. You know what you did.”

His face falls, and for a moment, he looks like the boy I knew, not the CEO. “Ezra, I—” He stops, running a hand through his hair. “I was a kid. A stupid, scared kid. I didn’t know how to—”

“Save it,” I cut him off, standing so we’re eye to eye. “You don’t get to rewrite history because you’re sorry now. You want my help? Fine. But this”—I gesture between us—“is nothing. Just business.”

He flinches, and I hate how it twists something in my chest. “Fair enough,” he says quietly. “But I meant what I said earlier. I’m glad you’re here. And not just for the case.”

I don’t answer, just point to the door. “Go home, Jaxon. I’ve got work to do.”

He hesitates, like he wants to say more, then nods and leaves. The door clicks shut, and I exhale, my hands shaking. Damn him. Damn the way he still gets under my skin, like a splinter I can’t pull out. I sit back down, forcing my focus to the screen, but his words linger, mingling with the ghost of that text. Some secrets are better left buried.

I’m deep in an email chain—Holt’s team demanding access to Apex’s servers—when another knock comes, softer this time. “Ezra?” Lena’s voice, hesitant. I open the door, and she’s there, clutching a coffee cup, her locket glinting under the lights. “Thought you could use this,” she says, handing me the cup. “You’re burning the midnight oil.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking it. The coffee’s hot, bitter, exactly what I need. “You’re here late too.”

She shrugs, but her eyes dart to the folder on my desk. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d check in. How’s it going?”

“Slow,” I say, watching her closely. “But I’m getting there. You know anything about Holt’s lead counsel? Cassandra herself?”

Lena’s smile tightens, and she fiddles with her locket. “She’s ruthless. Climbed from nothing to running her own firm. Doesn’t lose. Ever.”

“Sounds like someone I’d like to meet,” I say, sipping the coffee. “Any chance she’s got a weak spot?”

Lena hesitates, her fingers stilling. “Everyone’s got one,” she says finally. “But Cassandra? She’s careful. You’d have to dig deep. Really deep.”

There it is again—that word. Deep. Like the text. I set the cup down, my voice casual. “You ever get weird messages, Lena? Like, anonymous warnings?”

Her eyes widen, just a fraction, before she recovers. “What kind of warnings?”

I pull out my phone, showing her the texts. Her face pales, and she steps back. “Ezra, you need to be careful. This case… it’s not just about money. People play dirty.”

“People like who?” I press, leaning forward. “Cassandra? Someone here?”

She shakes her head, backing toward the door. “Just watch yourself, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

“Lena, wait—” But she’s gone, her footsteps fading down the hall. I stare after her, my mind racing. She knows something. I can feel it, like a thread I’m itching to pull. I lock the door again and dive back into the files, my eyes burning but my focus razor-sharp. By 2 a.m., I’ve found it—a single email, buried in a thread from three years ago. It’s from Jaxon to an unknown recipient, marked confidential. One line stands out: We need to contain this before Holt gets wind. Bury it.

My heart stops. Bury it. The same word from the text. I read it again, my blood running cold. Jaxon knew something about the espionage claims—something he didn’t tell me. Is he playing me? Did he hire me to fix his mess or to keep me quiet? I lean back, the city lights blurring outside, and my mind flashes to high school—his laugh, my journal, the crowd’s roar. He broke me once. I won’t let him do it again.

I’m about to dig deeper when a crash shatters the silence—a glass wall somewhere on the floor, splintering like a gunshot. I leap to my feet, my chair toppling, and grab the folder. The lights flicker, plunging the hallway into shadow. Footsteps—fast, heavy—echo from the direction of the crash. Someone’s here, and they’re not sneaking anymore.

I slip off my shoes, moving silently to the door, and peer out. The hallway’s dark, but a figure moves at the far end, tall and broad, a silhouette against the city glow. My breath catches. Is it Jaxon? Or someone else? The figure pauses, turning toward my office, and I see the glint of something in their hand—metal, sharp, deadly.

My phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up my pocket. I don’t look. I can’t. The figure starts moving, faster now, straight for my door. My heart’s a jackhammer, but I’m not that kid anymore. I’m Ezra Vale, and I don’t run. I grip the folder like a weapon, ready to fight, ready to face whatever’s coming.

And then the lights go out.