From:[email protected]
Date:November 17, 2023
Re:Erikson Account Documents
Ms. Parker,
This email is to confirm receipt of the scanned executed transfer documents to transfer account #767-458-9760 to “The Bob Erikson Living Trust u/a/d November 3, 2023.” Please send the originals by mail. Once wereceive the originals, we can effectuate the transfer.
All the best,
James Vance, CFP
I stand up so fast my chair goes flying backwards and clatters to the floor. Opening my cabinets, I find the Erikson file. Still standing, I slap the file down on my desk and flip through it. My fingers are numb as I try to turn the pages and my arms weigh a thousand pounds each. My teeth are clenched together so tightly my jaw aches. I sent those documents. I know I did. Any second now I’m going to find the FedEx receipt with the tracking number.
Except I don’t find it. What I find is so much worse.
With numb and shaking fingers, I hold up the original account documents. The ones that the financial advisor needed to finalize Bob’s transfer. They’re here in my office, which means the account was never transferred to the trust. And it’s too late to make the transfer without going to court because Bob is dead.
Think Julie.
Except I can’t think. There is nothing to think about. There is only what I know.
I made a mistake. An enormous, unconscionable mistake. A mistake so stupid that even a baby lawyer wouldn’t make it.
My heart beats so fast I get lightheaded, and my teeth start to chatter so violently my already aching jaw clenches tighter to try and make it stop. My breaths are fast and shallow, and black spots race across my vision. I try and grip the desk, but my numb fingers just drag along the glass surface, knocking the Erikson file to the floor and scattering papers everywhere.
What the fuck ishappening to me?
I lean over and put my hands on my knees, attempting to take a full breath, but the vise around my chest tightens. The harder I try to breathe, the tighter it gets.
I’m dying.
The thought has my legs buckling. I sink to the floor on my hands and knees in the sea of paper that used to be the Erikson file. Blood rushes in my ears, and my chest heaves in a futile attempt to take in oxygen.
Breathe Julie. Take a fucking breath.
Except I can’t. All I can do is gasp for air as darkness seeps into the edges of my vision.
Chapter Ten
Asher
“So, between the gala fundraising and the volume of donations you have received in the almost six months since, you have two years of operating expenses covered if you run the football and hockey camps at full capacity.”
I look at Jeremy sitting in the seat next to me. His elbow is on the chair’s armrest, his chin resting on his palm. Eyebrows drawn together, he’s clearly deep in thought. We’re sitting in Emma’s office as she goes over the financials for the sports camps Kids Play is establishing. She specializes in nonprofit law and is the foundation’s outside counsel. Handling financials for the camps seems like something an accountant would do, but when I asked about it, Jeremy’s glare practically melted the skin off my face.
Message received.
I don’t know why I have to be here for this, but when Jeremy texted last night to be at the law firm at three, I didn’t argue. I want to help where I can this offseason, and thethought of stopping by Julie’s office after the meeting to get in her way has had me grinning all day.
It’s been more than two weeks since I’ve laid eyes and…other parts of me on her, and that’s two weeks too long. My dick is probably two minutes from falling off with the number of times I’ve jerked off to the thought of Julie’s leg wrapped around me, her hips pushing forward, grinding into mine while our mouths danced. Fuck, it was hot. I shift in my chair, trying to counteract the blood suddenly rushing south. A hard on right now would be inconvenient.
Not the time, Asher.
I might not have seen Julie in the two weeks since the kiss, but I’ve been texting her every morning. Sometimes she responds and sometimes she doesn’t, but she reads them all and that’s fine with me. Until this morning, I hadn’t asked to see her. I want to see her. I’m dying to see her. To be in her orbit. I’m not stupid—Julie Parker, of the fierce competence and fiery attitude and brilliant mind, is the kind of woman men fall for. The kind of woman men ask to see and take to dinner and a movie and home to their place for a night rolling around in the sheets. The men who see what’s on the surface and think they know all of her.
