“Son of a-” I curse under my breath as I swing the door shut behind me, one hand adjusting my tie while the other grips onto my briefcase so hard that the handle might snap.

I can’t believe I lost.

And to you of all people. Fuck.

I’m a criminal prosecution lawyer in London, and not to get cocky, but I’m a damn good one. I win 90% of my cases, the highest percentage of anyone else in my firm.

Except Daniel. He wins 92%. But he’s a raging dick, so I don’t count him.

Recently, though, I’ve been on a bit of a winning streak. I won my last six consecutive cases, and today would’ve been my seventh. Was supposed to be my seventh.

But I knew I was in for a tough day when I found out the defense team’s lead lawyer was you.

You work for a different firm here in the city, a firm that’s pretty even with mine in terms of ranking. You’re the best defense lawyer at that place, if not in the damn city entirely. I would be impressed, if it wasn’t for the fact that we somehow always end up in the same courtroom fighting each other.

I swear, even just seeing your face on those stupid signs around the city makes my blood pressure rise.

I run my hand over my jaw and toss my briefcase down on a bench outside the courthouse, sighing heavily. It wasn’t really a huge case, just over some financial fraud involving two former co-founders of a small business I’d never even heard of. I’d barely even call it a criminal case, but whatever. I still lost, and the blow to my ego is more damaging than anything.

I look up when I hear footsteps coming down the concrete steps, resisting the urge to roll my eyes when I see it’s you approaching me.

Christ, here comes the gloating.

“Good job in there.” I force the words out, a tight smile on my face as I hold out my hand.