Ava didn't attend the court hearing for the Harrington matter the next day, citing an urgent commitment to the Ethics Committee. In reality, she was barricaded in her office, nursing a monumental professional hangover from the previous day's chaos. She was furious at Julian, furious at herself for succumbing to the heat, and furiously trying to draft a letter to Sir Richard that somehow explained her "unprofessional conduct" without mentioning that she and Julian had used a broom closet in a disused office building near the court to settle their argument.
A harsh rapping at her door startled her. It wasn't the tentative tap of a clerk; it was the sharp, non-negotiable rhythm of her friend, Chloe.
"Open up, Ava," Chloe's voice was strained. "Don't think I haven't seen the footage."
Ava reluctantly opened the door. Chloe marched in, her face a mask of concern overlaid with severe disapproval. She was holding a tablet displaying a close-up photo of Ava and Julian leaving the building separately, Julian's expression thunderous, Ava's too pale.
"I don't know what you two are doing, but it needs to stop," Chloe began, leaning against the door as if to prevent a physical escape. "The tension in that courtroom yesterday was palpable. It wasn't rivalry, Ava; it was... foreplay. People are talking about ethical compromises, and this isn't the kind of gossip that dies down. This is the kind that destroys careers."
Ava rubbed her temples. "We had an intense professional disagreement about his use of personal history as a legal argument. It's over."
"It's not over. It's escalating," Chloe countered sharply. "You were spotted leaving the same building twenty minutes apart, both looking like you'd just survived an explosion. And Julian Thornfield is acting like a caged animal. You need to talk. Not about the restrictive covenant, but about the damn fire you two keep lighting."
"There's nothing to talk about, Chloe. We are legal opponents. I hate his arrogance. He hates my principles."
"And you have zero sexual chemistry, I suppose? You looked like you wanted to tear his clothes off in front of the judge, Ava. I've never seen you lose control like that." Chloe's voice softened, laced with genuine worry. "Look, I know he hurt your client, but this game you're playing is too dangerous. I've arranged a dinner. Not a meeting, not a committee, just dinner. The three of us. You will both be polite, or you will answer to me."
Ava resisted, but she saw the wisdom in it. A public, neutral venue with a trusted third party might be the only way to establish a necessary boundary, or at least force a truce that satisfied the gossiping eyes of London's legal elite.
"Fine," Ava sighed, the word tasting like defeat. "But if he mentions the restrictive covenant once, I'm billing him for my meal."
The restaurant Chloe chose was The Ivy, a place where public visibility mandated good behavior. Julian arrived ten minutes late, a masterclass in calculated power. He bypassed pleasantries, his movements economical, his dark gray suit immaculate again.
Chloe, the self-appointed mediator, took the lead. "Julian, Ava. Tonight, we discuss anything but law, tech, or the committee. We discuss human beings. I need to know why you two are so determined to be each other's professional downfall when, clearly, you have a rapport."
"Rapport is merely the ability to communicate fluently, Chloe," Julian said, his eyes flicking to Ava, a private language passing between them despite the public setting. "Ms. Sinclair and I communicate with brutal efficiency. Nothing more."
"Brutal efficiency that resulted in you almost being held in contempt yesterday," Chloe pointed out dryly.
The conversation that followed was painful and slow, guided by Chloe's determined moderation. They talked about their pasts, but only in the most abstract, guarded terms. Julian admitted, almost reluctantly, that he admired Ava's tenacity. Ava admitted that Julian's intellect was, frustratingly, the sharpest she had ever encountered.
It was a slow, mutual retreat from denial. They admitted to the professional respect, and even a grudging fascination, but when Chloe tried to push them toward the emotional core, the walls slammed down.
"You are obsessed with control, Julian," Ava stated, her voice low. "And you view any emotional connection as a leverage point. I won't allow myself to be part of a strategy."
"And you are obsessed with perfection, Ava," Julian retorted, his gaze intense. "You think if you don't feel anything, you can't be hurt. But that perfect facade is a cage, and you're suffocating in it."
The accusation hit too close. Ava's composure fractured. "At least my cage keeps the sharks out," she whispered, her Nigerian-British accent hardening with suppressed anger.
Chloe intervened instantly. "Enough. The point is not who is right. The point is that you both acknowledge there is something here that goes beyond professional distaste. You need to find a sustainable equilibrium, not just escalating acts of public warfare."
The dinner ended in a charged standoff. Ava and Julian exchanged sharp, meaningful glances…glances that acknowledged the deep, unwanted truth that Chloe had forced into the open. As they left, Julian lingered, letting Chloe walk ahead.
"She's right," Julian murmured, his hand briefly resting on the small of Ava's back, a non-negotiable, possessive touch that belied the formality of the venue. "You are suffocating. And I like that fire beneath the ice. I will see you again, Ava. Soon. And without an audience."
Ava didn't bother to deny it. She knew this truce wouldn't last. The conversation had done its work: it had confirmed the depth of the mutual admiration and the terrifying connection they shared. The fight was over, for now. But the attraction had been fed, and it was now too potent to ignore.