Connie only brought up Marcus Woll once after his trial had ended. It was several weeks into their blossoming relationship, when Mike was still battling with himself. He'd stood by her bedroom window, his eyes studying the carpet before finally meeting hers as she sat on the rumpled bed, bare legs draped over the edge. The first rays of sunlight had been peeking through the blinds, making it look like his hair was glowing.
"This…thing that we have. Whatever it is. I don't want…"
He'd trailed off, shaking his head, unable to put his feelings into words. He loved her, was in love with her, but what they were doing was unprofessional. Challenging. Risky. And yet fantastic and wondrous in so many ways that he often found himself not caring about the consequences. He needed to know from her that their relationship had meaning and substance beyond the typical workplace fling as he looked towards the long-term. He needed…
Connie had stood, face undecipherable as she walked up to him and coiled her arms tightly around his waist. She'd smiled into the curve of his neck, resting her head against his shoulder.
"You're not Woll—just out looking for a good time. You're not Jack, either. And this is what I want, same as you."
And that was all he needed.