Chapter 13

Mel was sitting motionless on the sectional sofa when Bebe finally descended the stairs around six in the morning. Mel hadn't slept a wink. She hadn't even tried. Her mind was spinning like a washing machine in its final cycle, and it would not slow down. The papers she'd discovered in the drawer sat like a loaded gun on the coffee table in front of her.

Bebe paused on the second-to-last stair as she spotted Mel. She was working an earring into her left ear, head tilted to accommodate. "There you are, Sweetheart," she said with an easy smile. "I thought you might have let yourself out."

"No," Mel said. Her voice was very scratchy from long hours of disuse. "I'm still here."

"Coffee?" Bebe finished with her earring and dismounted the staircase. She was wearing a pantsuit the color of eggplant, paired with a creamy blouse. Her hair was up, showing off the bright silver discs that dangled from her ears. She was gorgeous, as always.

Mel averted her eyes. "None for me."

"All right," Bebe said slowly. She changed course, heading to the sofa instead of the kitchen. "Are you feeling okay? You sound—" Mel knew the exact moment Bebe's gaze landed on the papers. There was a sudden heaviness to the air, like the moment between a flash of lightning and the crack of thunder. A moment where the world held its breath.

"You were not," Bebe said, "supposed to see that." She came closer, her heels clicking on the floor, and picked up the company letterhead with a quiet whoosh of displaced air.

Mel stopped studying the corner of the room and turned to her. "I didn't go looking for it, if that's what you're thinking," she snapped. "Shit, Bebe, I was just trying to open a fucking bottle of wine. Why can't you keep a corkscrew somewhere sensible like everyone else?"

"I'm sorry. Corkscrews are one of those things that's always getting away from me." Bebe wasn't looking at her. She was instead studying the letter, her eyes skimming over it like she was overly familiar with its contents and was rereading it from a novice's perspective. Her face went paler and paler. "I know this must look bad to you—" she began.

"Yeah." Mel shot to her feet. Her borrowed robe ballooned around her, and she wrapped it tighter around her frame. "It looks real fucking bad. Because unless I'm reading this completely wrong, you're being blackmailed. Because of me."

The paper—an interoffice memo from the partners at Bebe's law firm—was meant to inform Bebe that Gary Willis, he of the strip club scotches, had contacted them on behalf of his client. And that client was the Sunspot Group. The same Sunspot that "happened" to buy Terror Virtue recently. Willis had, as a professional courtesy, apprised Kipling and Beech, LLP, of the fact that Blair Murray, Esq., was romantically involved with an unnamed person employed by his client. He told the partners he looked forward to hearing from them regarding "the handling of the situation," which he hoped "wouldn't necessitate involving the judge." Mel, whose knowledge of legalese began and ended with half-watched episodes of Law Order, could still see what it meant. Bebe's frantic handwritten scribbles confirmed it: it was a conflict of interest for Bebe to date someone who worked for the company she was taking to court. They were fucked.

Bebe sighed through her nose. "?‘Blackmail' is a bit much. Technically it's just a professional heads-up."

"Feels like more than a heads-up." Mel crossed her arms over her chest. "Reads more like a ‘heads will roll' type of situation. Your bosses sound really unhappy." She hesitated. "You've been working on the case against Sunspot for a while now. Did you know that they were going to buy TV? Is that why you were avoiding me?"

Bebe's eyes went wide. "Of course not. I only found out about the sale when you texted me about it. The whole point was to sideswipe me. Gary clearly had this plan in mind from the moment he saw us on our first date. I guess I should be flattered that he was so scared of losing to me—again—that he convinced his client to drop a couple mil on a new investment." She stopped and put a fingertip to her chin in thought. "Sunspot must have a ton of skeletons in their closet that they don't want to come out in discovery. If I lean on them harder right now, I bet they'd—"

"Listen to yourself." It only came out as a hiss instead of a scream because Mel didn't want to wake up Kade. She jabbed a finger at the letter Bebe still held. "All this and you still only care about winning?"

Bebe shook her head and placed the papers back on the table. "Sweetheart…"

"You said we would be honest with each other," Mel spat. "That was the golden rule, right? Honesty."

"I was going to tell you as soon as I could." Bebe grabbed up both of Mel's hands in her soft ones and squeezed. "I needed to get some things straightened out before we discussed it. You don't understand how complicated this stuff is."

Mel stared at her, then pulled her hands out of Bebe's lax grip. "Don't tell me I don't understand. Don't talk to me like I'm stupid."

"I wasn't—!" Bebe closed her mouth forcefully. Mel could see her jaw working and distantly wondered what her dentist would say at the next checkup. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have phrased it that way. What I meant was, I wasn't sure what our options were, legally, and I had to work that out before bringing this to you. And I was going to, I swear I was."

"Why couldn't you have just told me from the beginning? There's no law against telling your—me—about your—whatever they call it. Conflict of interest."

"No, but depending on what I—we decide to do about it, there are laws about that. And since we're not married, you can't plead the Fifth if something goes sideways."

Mel snorted. "Oh, I see. So you're actually protecting me by keeping me in the dark. That's what I'm supposed to believe?"

"I can't help what you believe." Bebe threw her hands in the air. "If you'd rather tell yourself some story, I can't stop you. I can only tell you that I… care for you and I was trying my best." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner. I wanted to, but I also didn't want to put you or myself at risk."

Mel eyed her warily. She sounded so convincing, but Mel didn't want to be soothed. "Well, it's a bit late for that, isn't it? Because as I understand it—as an uneducated layman—"

"Mel," Bebe said with a heavy sigh.

Mel ignored her. "—we have three choices." She held up three fingers in a fan. "One." She pressed down her ring finger. "I quit TV. Conflict gone. Two." As much as she wanted to leave her middle finger in the air, she pressed it down next. "You quit the case. Conflict, again, gone. And three." The final pointer finger remained straining upward. "We quit each other. Not a speck of conflict to be found. Have I covered all the bases, Counselor?"

Bebe's whole posture deflated. Normally she seemed taller than she was, though she and Mel were around the same height. Now she looked smaller, her shoulders rounding forward and her gaze on the ground. "We don't have to talk about this now," she said. Her voice was wooden in a way Mel had never heard it before. "I haven't even had my caffeine yet. Why don't we both take a moment to cool off?"

"I think we've wasted enough time. I want to get this over with." Mel folded her arms over her chest. Her heart was beating so fast, she worried it was going to break free through skin and bone. "You never back down from a case. That's what you told me. So is that option off the table?"

"Sweetheart, I—" Bebe looked up at last. Her face was stricken, pinched. "It's not only my ego on the line here. I have an obligation to my clients, the employees who got screwed over by Sunspot. Remember the pregnant ones? They've got kids, Mel, and this lawsuit might be the difference between those kids going to college or not."

"Lots of people don't go to college! I didn't go to college." Mel pressed her hands to her chest.

"That's not the point!" Bebe said. "The point is, if word gets around that all it takes is a little light maneuvering to get me off a case, then the bad guys win."

"And you can't stand to lose." Mel wasn't sure why she was surprised. Cold ice spread through her veins. She forced her voice not to shake. "I'm the one who should give up something, is that it? I have to quit my entire job—not just a piece of it, like you'd have to—while you get to sail onward, doing your important work?"

"I'm saying there are levels of importance—" Bebe began.

Mel held up her palm. "Do you have any idea how I worked my ass off to get where I am?"

Bebe scoffed. "You complain constantly about your job," she argued. "It's not a crime for me to point out that option."

Mel's mouth hung open. "Complaining about my job and quitting it outright are two very different things." She snatched the paper out of Bebe's hand and tossed it back on the coffee table. "Sure, TV might not be perfect, but it's the best bar in the city by a lot of measures. There's nowhere to go but down if I leave."

"That is not true," Bebe said, heated. "You could open your own place. If you'd just let me help—"

"I don't want your money," Mel said. "Even if I did, I don't have the wherewithal to start something from scratch right now. And that is a totally separate discussion from this."

"So what discussion are we having?" Bebe asked. She actually looked at her wristwatch. It made Mel want to scream. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want—" Mel bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed. She stared at Bebe, her face pink with frustration, her soft hands in fists at her sides. What did it matter what she wanted? It was her own fault for ever believing this could work. For ever thinking she could have anything approaching real. "Nothing," she finally said. "You don't have to say a damn thing."

She brushed by Bebe and headed up the stairs. Bebe stood at the bottom, calling up to her. "I need to head into the office now. Early meeting. But can we—can we please talk about this later?"

Mel didn't answer. She went to Bebe's bedroom and collected her things. Threw on her own clothes and discarded the pretty robe. Shoved her feet into boots without bothering to lace them. When she went back downstairs, Bebe was standing exactly where she'd left her, though her eyes—they looked suspiciously red.

"Mel?" Her hand clutched the handrail of the staircase. "I said, can we talk about this later? Please?"

"I have to go," Mel muttered, and grabbed her coat from the rack. If Bebe was going to stop her, it would be now, while Mel was preoccupied with jamming herself into the black, heavy cocoon of her duffel coat.

But nobody stopped her at all. Mel was already gone.