CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE
LENA

If someone had told me a month ago that I'd voluntarily call a truce with Ethan Hale,I would’ve laughed and asked what they were smoking. Ethan and I getting along was about as likely as a tiger changing its stripes.

Still, I had to admit—grudgingly—that his argument made sense. I cared about doing a good job, and the last thing I wanted was for personal drama to spill over into work. Plus, his apology had thrown me so off-balance that I hadn’t had time to really think through the full implications of making peace with him.

Strangely enough, things hadn’t been terrible… though that was likely because we hadn’t crossed paths since the truce. According to Barbs, he only came in on his days off or when he wasn’t completely wiped out from a shift.

That arrangement worked just fine for me. The less Ethan, the better. I was still a little mortified over how I snapped when he accused me of not taking the job seriously. We’d exchanged far nastier words before, but for some reason, that particular jab had hit a nerve.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been underestimated—because of how I looked, where I came from, the field I chose, or even how I dressed. I laughed too loudly, took up too much space, and was too assertive for what people expected from someone like me. I’d learned to shrug off the judgment, but over time, all those sideways glances and snide comments started to weigh me down.

I was just tired. Tired of constantly pushing twice as hard to earn half as much respect. Tired of feeling like I had to prove myself every second of the day.

I exhaled and forced my attention back to the papers in front of me. No time for wallowing—I had a case to fact-check before the clinic shut down in three hours.

I was halfway through when the door opened and in strolled Ethan, carrying a box from Crumble & Bake.

“Well, if it isn’t—” my favorite demon in human form. I bit back the words before they escaped. “My best friend’s brother.”

It was going to take time to undo years of habitually insulting him on sight.

“Wow, sharp as ever,” he said, dropping the box on the table and settling into the chair next to me. His cologne drifted over, mixing with the warm sweetness coming from the box. “Let me guess—your coworkers finally got sick of you and exiled you to the kitchen?”

“If you were even slightly observant, you’d realize I don’t have a desk yet.” I kept my eyes locked on my notes, resisting the lure of sugar. “I’m here until it arrives. And,” I added, pointing my pen at him with a small smirk, “you just broke the truce.”

“Incorrect.” Ethan rolled up his sleeves, exposing golden-brown forearms and a sleek, heavy watch. If I weren’t morally opposed to finding him attractive, I might’ve found the look a little hot. “Sarcasm doesn’t count as an insult. It’s how I joke with friends. It’s affectionate.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “Sure. That line was clearly dripping with affection.”

“No, this is how I show my love for you.” Ethan’s drawl slowed to a crawl, as if he were talking to a particularly slow toddler. He flipped open the box, and my eyes locked instantly onto the cupcake placed dead center.

Salted caramel. My kryptonite.

Right on cue, my stomach gave a soft growl of approval. I'd been so buried in work I hadn’t eaten anything since my pathetic excuse for lunch—a sad salad and a too-thin smoothie hours ago.

Ethan’s smirk deepened. I tried to cover up the sound by rustling my stack of papers louder than necessary. No way was I giving him the satisfaction of knowing how tempted I was by anything that came from him.

“Think of it as my official peace offering,” he said, nudging the box closer. “And let the record show I could’ve pointed out that you broke the truce by insulting my excellent observational abilities. But I didn’t. That’s called restraint.”

Only Ethan would expect a gold star for not doing something he very much just did.

Rather than dignify that with a response, I eyed the cupcake like it might sprout legs and bite me. “Did you lace it with something? Feels suspiciously thoughtful coming from you.”

“Nope. I was in a rush. Next time, maybe.”

“Wow. Somebody call Netflix. You’ve got a stand-up special just waiting to happen.” I lifted the cupcake from the box and gave it a once-over, scanning for anything out of place.

“I know. I’m charming and hilarious,” he said, radiating confidence. “It’s a curse.”

I bit back another eye roll. I was convinced the universe had created a finite amount of self-esteem, and Ethan Hale had stolen an unfair share. Somewhere out there, a hundred people were battling identity crises just so he could strut around like the main character in a superhero movie.

“How’d you even know salted caramel is my favorite?” I squinted at a small black streak on the wrapper.

Was it just a random scuff mark, or evidence of foul play? The jury was still out.

“Doesn’t take a genius,” he replied with a shrug, nodding at the large cup on the table. “Every time I see you, you’re sipping on a caramel mocha bigger than your face.”

Okay, fair. My caramel addiction wasn’t exactly a covert operation.

“At this rate, you’ll give yourself diabetes,” he added casually. “You know all that sugar’s not doing you any favors.”

“Oh, so now you’re contributing to the problem,” I said, tapping my pen against the table. “Classic villain move. Butter me up before the grand betrayal.”

Ethan pressed his fingers to his brow like he was fighting a headache. “Lena. Eat the damn cupcake.”

I fought the urge to laugh. I was dragging things out just to mess with him now, and honestly, I was starving. If this was some elaborate plot to end me, at least I’d go out enjoying something I loved.

I peeled back the wrapper and took a cautious bite. Instantly, a wave of warm, sweet, caramel goodness exploded on my tongue, and I let out a soft, involuntary moan.

Nothing hit quite like a salted caramel cupcake after a long day of grinding.

Ethan watched me while I ate, his initial look of mild irritation slowly fading into something else—something I couldn’t quite read.

Uncharacteristic self-consciousness pricked at my skin.

"What?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "I like you a lot better when you aren't talking. I should bring you food more often."

"Good thing I don't give two damns whether you like me or not." My words dripped with honey. "But if you want to buy me food, go ahead. Just know I'll inspect every inch before it goes into my mouth."

I realized my mistake before the sentence fully left my mouth.

Shit. That came out dirtier than I'd intended.

Ethan's face split into a devilish grin.

"Don't." I held up one hand, my cheeks warming. "Save yourself from whatever juvenile joke you were about to spew."

To my surprise, he did.

Ethan tapped a finger on the pile of papers in front of me. "You know there are other places you could work besides the kitchen."

"Like where, the bathroom?" LHAC was tiny, and I didn't want to impose on anyone else's workspace. "It's fine. It's comfortable in here."

If you overlooked the ice-cold temperature, rickety table, and stiff wooden chairs, that is. Still, it beat working from the toilet seat.

"Yeah, if you compare it to the Siberian wild."

I released an annoyed sigh. "Are you here to work, or are you here to pester me?"

"I can do both. I'm a great multitasker," Ethan quipped before his eyes turned serious. "Heard we got a new case today."

"Yep." I slid the papers toward him, snapping into work mode. "The Bowers. The mother, Laura Bower, fell down the stairs and can't work for the next two months. No insurance, so they have a crazy amount of medical bills, and she's the family's sole breadwinner. Her husband Terence got out of jail a few years ago but hasn't been able to find work because of his criminal record. They have two kids, Daisy and Tommy, ages six and nine."

"They're facing eviction." Ethan scanned the files.

I nodded. "Laura needs a stable place to recover from her fall, to say nothing of the issues that accompany

homelessness."

Murky, unwanted memories crowded my brain at the last word.

Cold nights. Empty stomach. The incessant itch of anxiety crawling over my skin.

My situation had been different from the Bowers, but I remembered all too well what it was like to wake up every morning and wonder if that was the last day I'd have a roof over my head and food on the table.

My mother had been a cocktail waitress, but she'd been more interested in blowing her meager income on shopping than paying the bills. Sometimes, the lights would cut out in the middle of me doing homework because she forgot to pay the electric bill. Eventually, I figured out how to siphon electricity from our neighbor at the ripe old age of ten. Not the most ethical solution, but I did what I had to do.

A shiver rolled through me.

You're fine. You're not that little girl anymore.

"I know her." Ethan rapped his knuckle against the paper with Laura's picture stapled to it, yanking me back into the present. "I treated her when she came in. Multiple broken bones, heavy bruising, twisted ankle. Still, she was in good spirits and making jokes, trying to keep her kids from panicking." His face softened. "The ER can be a blur, but I remember her."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "She seems really nice."

I'd never met Laura, but I could tell she was the type of mother I would've killed to have.

I cleared my throat in an attempt to ease the knot of emotion that had taken residence there. "Legally speaking, the obvious solution is to clear Terence's criminal record so he can find a job," I said. As the clinic's practicing attorney, Lisa needed to sign off on everything I did, and she'd agreed clearing his record was the best solution. "He was charged for marijuana possession. One ounce, and he spent a year in jail for it."

Heat crept over my neck the way it had when I first learned the case details. Few things pissed me off more than the inequity of draconian drug laws. "How stupid is that? Some rapists only get a few months in jail, but have a little marijuana on you and your record is stained forever. That's such bullshit. You have weed farmers in Colorado raking in the cash from the sale of marijuana while people like Terence are vilified for it. Tell me where the justice is in that. I-what?" I stopped when I noticed Ethan staring at me with a tiny, almost fascinated smile.

"I've never seen you so worked up over something that wasn't me."

"Once again, you've proved your self-absorption knows no bounds." My flush of anger cooled, though my indignation at the injustice of it all remained. "That's not me breaking the truce," I added. "That's a fact."

"Sure it is," Ethan said dryly. "But you're right. There is no justice in what happened to Terence."

I cocked my head, sure I'd heard wrong. "Repeat that. The middle sentence."

First the apology, then the admission I was right. Was that really Ethan sitting across from me, or had aliens abducted him and switched him out with a more agreeable body swap?

"No."

"Do it." I nudged his foot with mine, earning myself a scowl. "I want to hear you say it again."

"Which is exactly why I won't."

"Come on." I gave him my best puppy dog face. "It's Friday."

"That has nothing to do with anything." Ethan heaved a long, put-upon sigh when I deepened my puppy eyes. "1 said, you're right." He sounded so disgruntled I almost laughed. "Only about this one thing, though. Not anything else."

"See. That wasn't so hard." I folded the cupcake wrapper neatly into a square and pushed it to the side for future disposal. "You have a decent smile when you're not being an ass," I added generously, since we were being nice.

"Thanks."

I ignored Ethan's sarcasm and switched back to the case. I wanted to finish all my work before I left so I didn't have to spend the weekend worrying about it. Our Vermont trip was tomorrow, and while I wasn't looking forward to two days in a cabin with Ethan, I was looking forward to my first vacation of the year.

I didn't count my trip to Eldorra for Bridget's coronation. I'd only been there for a weekend, and it'd been so crazy I barely had time to sleep, much less sightsee.

"Now, about the Bowers." I tapped my pen against the paper. "Lisa mentioned we could provide free medical checkups for Laura while she's healing."

"Yes. Usually, we have them come into the free clinic." Ethan waved in the general direction of the exit, and it only occurred to me now that he must've been staffing the clinic all day. The pop-up tent was set up outside LHAC, so I wouldn't have seen him arrive. "But given Laura's situation, we can make home visits. We just have to fill out the appropriate paperwork..."

For the next hour, Ethan and I worked on the Bower case together. He created a checkup schedule and handled the medical paperwork while I finished fact checking the details and gathered the information we needed to clear Terence's record.

I snuck a glance at Ethan while he scribbled something on a blank sheet of paper. His brow etched with a frown of concentration, and I realized it was the first time I'd seen him work.

"Like what you see?" he asked without looking up from his paper.

Heat crawled up my neck again, this time from embarrassment. "Only if the thesaurus changed like to be a synonym for loathe."

The corner of his mouth curved up a fraction of an inch. "Truce, JR."

I couldn't tell whether the soft reminder was mocking or not, but it made my stomach flip. Maybe he had poisoned the cupcake.

I highlighted a passage in the case with more aggression than necessary. Ethan and I made a surprisingly good team, but I didn't fool myself into thinking our truce was a precursor to an actual friendship.

Only a few things in life were certain: death, taxes, and the fact that Ethan Hale and I would never be friends.