Excerpt from Take It Back by Kia Abdullah, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

When she lost her father six months after their estrangement, something inside her slid apart. She told herself that it happened all the time: people lost the ones they loved, people were lost and lonely, but they battled on. They kept on living and breathing and trying, but trite sentiments failed to soothe her anger. She let no one see the way she crumbled inside. She woke the next day and the day after that and every day until, a year later, she was on the cusp of a landmark case. And then, she quit. She recalled the memory through a haze: walking out of chambers, manic smile on her face, feeling like Michael Douglas in Falling Down. She planned to change her life. She planned to change the world. She planned to be extraordinary.

Now, she didn't plan so much.

* * *

It was a few degrees too cold inside Brasserie Chavot, forcing the elegant Friday night crowd into silk scarves and cashmere pashminas. Men in tailored suits bought complicated cocktails for women too gracious to refuse. Zara sat in the center of the dining room, straight-backed and alone between the glittering chandelier and gleaming mosaic floor. She took a sip from her glass of Syrah, swallowing without tasting, then spotted Safran as he walked through the door.

He cut a path through soft laughter and muted music and greeted her with a smile, his light brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "Zar, is that you? Christ, what are you wearing?"

Zara embraced him warmly. His voice made her think of old paper and kindling, a comfort she had long forgotten. "They're just jeans," she said. "I had to stop pretending I still live in your world."

"'Just jeans'?" he echoed. "Come on. For seven years, we pulled all-nighters and not once did you step out of your three-inch heels."

She shrugged. "People change."

"You of all people know that's not true." For a moment, he watched her react. "You still square your shoulders when you're getting defensive. It's always been your tell." Without pause for protest, he stripped off his Merino coat and swung it across the red leather chair, the hem skimming the floor. Zara loved that about him. He'd buy the most lavish things, visit the most luxurious places and then treat them with irreverence. The first time he crashed his Aston Martin, he shrugged and said it served him right for being so bloody flashy.

He settled into his seat and loosened his tie, a note of amusement bright in his eyes. "So, how is the illustrious and distinguished exponent of justice that is Artemis House?"

A smile played on Zara's lips. "Don't be such a smart-arse," she said, only half in jest. She knew what he thought of her work: that Artemis House was noble but also that it clipped her wings. He did not believe that the sexual assault referral center with its shabby walls and erratic funding was the right place for a barrister, even one who had left the profession.

Safran smiled, his left dimple discernibly deeper than the right. "I know I give you a hard time but seriously, Zar, it's not the same without you. Couldn't you have waited 'til mid-life to have your crisis?"

"It's not a crisis."

"Come on, you were one of our strongest advocates and you left for what? To be an evening volunteer?"

Zara frowned. "Saf, you know it's more than that. In chambers, I was on a hamster wheel, working one case while hustling for the next, barely seeing any tangible good, barely even taking a breath. Now, I work with victims and can see an actual difference." She paused and feigned annoyance. "And I'm not a volunteer. They pay me a nominal wage. Plus, I don't work evenings."

Safran shook his head. "You could have done anything. You really were something else."

She shrugged. "Now I'm something else somewhere else."

"But still so sad?"

"I'm not sad." Her reply was too quick, even to her own ears.

He paused for a moment but challenged her no further. "Shall we order?"

Excerpted from Take It Back by Kia Abdullah. Copyright © 2020 by Kia Abdullah. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.