Page 102 of The Exit Strategy

Almost.

But like all things Juniper Mercer, I’m drawn to her in inexplicable ways, and I follow her path a short time later.

The house has a different rhythm.

It should feel bigger now—fewer people, fewer voices, less commotion. Instead, it feels like a room after the furniture’s been rearranged. The proportions are the same, everything just lands differently, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you stub your toe on something unexpected.

While my mind focuses on what’s changed, my body drifts closer to my own personal metronome.

She’s at the conference table with a mug in her hand, and across from her, at the place I’ve set up to work just to be near her, is one for me. Steam still rises from the top.

Junie knew I’d follow her.

And at this point, I’m pretty sure I’d follow her to the pits of hell if only she asked.

Sliding into my new workspace, thankful that I took the initiative to finally set up the monitor in here, I lift my coffee to my lips and take a long pull.

Only a month ago, I would have been concerned that she’d put MiraLAX in my coffee. We’ve come so far but still have a cavern between us named Natalie Moore.

“County assessor’s office confirmed the extension,” she says. “We have six more days.”

“Is that enough?”

“It would be if you let me pull the final thread on thatLLC Devin set up. It’s all we have left, Cole. It’s our final play.”

Instantly, my body becomes too warm.

“It’s not that I won’t go after him, Junie. It’s that I can’t take the fall when we do. I need everything to be in order for the assessment before we proceed.”

She lifts her gaze to mine. Hers is shrewd and assessing but also carries a warmth she doesn’t offer everyone. “It is, Cole, and I’ll have the report from the handwriting expert by the end of the week. She verified that the signatures don’t match. I’ve followed the threads and restructured the false narrative. Every misdeed is accounted for. Everything that’s framed to look like your doing, I have documented to prove otherwise. I need to finish this before we’re hit with another problem.”

Junie’s competence might be the sexiest thing about her, even if wielding it my way has the potential to be my professional downfall.

But she’s also right. She’s been right since she arrived, and I’ve been managing the timeline like a structural engineer who knows a wall is compromised but keeps adding load to it anyway because the alternative requires a complete recalibration of the system I’ve been operating under for six years.

“Give me until the end of the week,” I say, hoping that in those four days I’ll find some kind of clarity with the Natalie problem—just in case the assessment doesn’t go my way.

Her pen taps once. “End of the week.”

I nod.

“What do you think will change in four days, Cole? Why are you still trying to protect him?”

“Its…not about him.” Not really.

Devin is the first step. Natalie and what happened in Boston is another.

Junie nods. There’s no negotiation, no righteous fury. Just Juniper Mercer, giving me the rope and trusting me not to hang myself with it.

Her faith in me is almost harder to sit with than her anger was.

The invitation has been mockingme from my drafting table for days.

Nana Mae left it there after I refused to acknowledge it downstairs with a hot-pink sticky note that says: You’re going. —Love, Nana Mae.

Not a question. Not a suggestion. A unilateral decision she’s already made on my behalf.

The Meridian Architectural Design Awards.