Page 4 of Hidden & Held

“You’re re-reading the same paragraph.” His tone is gentle, not judgmental, which marginally lowers my defensiveness.

“I know,” I sigh, dropping my highlighter onto the table. “I’m having a hard time finding an out for my client without her losing all her royalties.”

“Royalties?”

I hum an agreement, still staring at the papers. “After they separated, she wrote a book about the abuse she suffered at his hands. He’s now claiming he deserves a portion of those earnings.”

Jackson pauses thoughtfully. “You’ll find it.” I look up in surprise, but he’s already standing and walking away. I watch him go, something settling in my chest.

I believe him.

Right before our meeting starts, he sits back down, gently setting a black coffee in front of me, as well as a cup of water.

By Friday, my eyes are so crossed I sprint out of work at five on the dot. On my way out, I pass Jackson at the door.

“Leaving so soon?” he jokes as he walks up beside me, messenger bag over his shoulder.

“Calling it early today, big plans this weekend,” I say as I unlock my white Chevy Trailblazer and put my bag in the trunk.

“Whoa, what’s that?” Jackson points to the six boxes of tile I have stacked in my car.

“Bathroom tile. I’m installing it tonight and through the weekend.”

“You have a fixer-upper?”

“Yes, I bought a duplex a little while back. I’m fixing up one side now, hoping to get it on the market in the next few months.”

“By yourself?”

I shrug. “Mostly.” Something in his expression makes me want to tell him more. “My ojiichan … Uh, I mean my grandfather, was an engineer, loved to tinker with things. We always had projects we worked on together, before he passed.”

Why am I telling him this?

“I’m sorry to hear that. He must have been very special.”

“Uh, yes. He was, thank you. It was a while ago. Anyway, I wanted to work on something of my own. After spending so many hours documenting, using lots of brain power …” I shrug. “It’s nice to do something with my hands.”

“That makes sense. Can I help?”

Shocked, I give him a quick once-over. His Italian leather shoes would be covered in grout, not to mention that even his casual Friday attire makes him stand out like a sore thumb. He does not belong anywhere near tile adhesive. Before I answer, another coworker walks by.

Instantly, I take a step back, putting space between us.

“So, big plans for the weekend?” I ask a little too loudly.

Jackson’s eyebrow raises. “Nope, new in town, just getting my bearings. Are you going to answer my question?”

I glance around before answering, “Sorry, that was Phyllis. She is a huge gossip. I didn’t want anyone to think that we were … you know.”

“Talking?” he supplies.

“Planning a date,” I blurt. “You’ve been in this field a while. It is tough to make a name for yourself, especially as a woman. I didn’t want anyone to start assuming anything between us. I like to keep my personal life private.”

Then why did you just blab to him about your life?

Something flashes across Jackson’s face, but it’s gone before I can tell what it means. “Of course, I get it. Our secret is safe with me. Now, let’s get this tile installed.”

He smiles, our secret. Like, there is an us. I almost correct him, I don’t remember agreeing to keep one.