by Wolf, Alex
“Why? So you can continue to leverage a date that’s not going to happen?”
My jaw clenches and I stare right at her. “Keep the cupcakes,” I say through my teeth. I lean down, so that my mouth is right next to her ear. “And the date will happen.” I damn near growl the last part.
She gulps the second I say it, and her heartbeat redlines in the side of her neck. Good, I can still make her nervous if I need to.
She takes a few deep breaths, and I can’t tell if she’s irate or turned on. Maybe a little of both. “I’m sorry, Rick, but I need to get back to work. And it’s not going to happen.”
Just get the fuck out of here, man. Before you fuck everything up permanently.
I lean back and glare right at her for a few seconds, letting the silence stretch between us. Finally, I say, “We’ll see.” I walk off before she says anything else.
Mary Patrick
What the heck did he mean by that?
“We’ll see.”
He walks off and I sit there, staring at his back as he turns the corner. I bury my face in my palms. Why can’t he just leave me alone? It would be one thing if I thought he was serious, but I know how the real Rick Lawrence is. Everyone knows how he is.
I won’t lie and say there’s not more to him than what he shows people, but still. He’s pretending to be someone else when he’s around me. If he would just be himself, then maybe I could trust the things he says.
It’s all theater with him. Some big production, and part of me wonders if it’s just some big inside joke at the firm. Some way to humiliate me if I give in.
Ugh! I lean back and my head bumps against the back of my chair.
All I want to do is come to work, do my job, and go home. I don’t want some macho, cute, alpha whatever obsessing over me.
Liar.
Okay, maybe what happened the other night made me have some feelings I’ve never experienced before. I’ve never had anyone want to protect me the way he did, and it was nice. Really nice. Maybe it did send the best kind of chill through my body, and maybe it sent tingling sensations down my arms and legs, but I just don’t know if any of it is real.
Why me? I’m just normal, plain Mary. I’m not super gorgeous in short skirts like a lot of the other associates and interns.
I shake my head and try to focus on my work. Dexter asked me to look over a few case files for some potential finance clients. The words all run together on the page, and all I can think about is that stupid smirk on Rick’s face.
“We’ll see.”
The words play through my head over and over. Not just the words either, the way he stared when he said them, the tone of his voice, every bit of body language.
There was something about the way he said it. It wasn’t up for discussion. A date with him was going to happen whether I wanted it or not. A real date. He made that part perfectly clear.
And why on earth does it send butterflies dancing through my stomach thinking about going on an actual date with him? I’ve never been so nervous and excited in my entire life, but it just doesn’t make any sense, and I force myself not to get my hopes up.
“Mary!” My phone buzzes extra loud, and it’s Decker’s voice.
It startles me so much I jolt upright in my chair and my heart leaps up into my throat.
I manage to shake my head, take a deep breath, and compose myself before picking up the phone to take it off speaker.
“Yes, sir.”
“Need you in my office.” He hangs up before I can respond.
“Glad to, thanks for asking so nicely,” I say to no one in particular.
What could this be about? With any of the other partners, I’d think I was in trouble, but Decker is just always going a million miles-an-hour, so it might just be business as usual.
As I near his office, I actually breathe a sigh of relief, because I realize I just spent two minutes without thinking about Rick. That’s a win in my book.
There’s nobody at the desk in front of his office and the door is open. I see him leaned back in his chair. He notices me and waves me on in.
When I’m two steps into the room, he says, “Shut the door, please.”
Now, he’s saying ‘please’ and asking me to shut the door. This can only mean one thing; he wants me to possibly do something that skirts ethical boundaries.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. He hasn’t said anything yet.
I spin on a heel and close the door, then walk over and take a seat in front of him. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I need you to comb through some files on Wells Covington. Make a few phone calls. It’s more investigative work than you’re used to, but it shouldn’t be anything too difficult.”
“Okay.”
He stares at me for a long second as if he can read my mind. If he could read it, he’d know I’m asking a million questions I’d never ask out loud. Why me? Investigation isn’t my strong suit. Abigail is far better than me, and a few others for that matter.
“It has a strong financial component. It’s why I’m giving it to you, but I have Abigail and Rick doing various things as well. You may need to coordinate with them.”
Great. That will just make Rick’s day, getting to work with me.
Just be professional, Mary. You were hired to do a job, and you’re going to do it as long as they don’t ask you to break any laws or compromise your morals.
“What is it that you need me to do?”
“You’re the best I have at tracking down ownership stakes in companies, following the shell corporation mazes and all that stuff.”
Decker doesn’t handle finance much, other than one-on-ones with clients, and we brief him on everything he needs to know. Dexter and Paisley are the finance wizards.
“Thank you, sir. So you want to know all the companies Mr. Covington owns? That changes almost daily. He runs a hedge fund. There are—”
Decker holds up a hand. “I have a list of companies, the main one being Pacific Imports, but I think there are a dozen shells around it. I want you to see what you can find out about them. A deep dive. Find out who any other partners are, or who owns the capital. I want a list compiled of anyone with ties to these companies, and trace it through any parent companies, subsidiaries, all that shit. You know what to do. Then we’ll hand it off to Abigail and Rick to do more online and in the field.”
“Okay.” I nod. Sounds easy enough and it’s fantastic busy work that requires little thinking. It’ll help me take my mind off this whole Rick situation.
When he first said working with Rick, I pictured us having to go on a stakeout or something ridiculous. I’m sure Rick would’ve just loved that. I exhale a quick breath and relax a little. I may even be able to pass the stuff from Decker to Rick, and not even have to deal with him directly.
“Any other questions?” Decker stands up as if the meeting is over.
I stand up but at the same time say, “Why’d you ask me to close the door? Is this need-to-know?”
Decker nods. “Good catch, I was about to tell you, don’t talk to anyone else about this but me. You can discuss with Rick or Abigail if they have questions.” He stops in his tracks. “Actually, scratch Abigail, I’ll hand it to someone else.”
I freeze. “She’s great at this stuff.”
Decker stares for a long few seconds. He looks unsure about whether he can trust me or not. He has no reason not to. I’ve always done exactly what they ask of me, and I don’t go running to other partners or associates and tell them what I’m doing. It’s what they pay me for.
“I don’t want Dexter finding out. Any of my brothers for that matter.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Decker grins. “Really? That’s all it takes? Just say it, no questions asked?”
“Of course, it’s not my job to question you.”
Decker nods. “I like you, Patrick. And I’m going to tell you because I just realized I may trust you more than anyone else around here, and because
the answer is boring. There’s nothing nefarious or backhanded about it, it’s simply to make my life easier. Dexter and Covington are good friends, and I think that clouds Dexter’s judgment on these matters. Covington is not a black and white client when it comes to skirting laws. He’s a very complex individual, and I like to keep tabs on him to try and protect the firm from liability. If Dexter finds out, it’ll just be another headache I don’t need, because he can’t remain objective. I have enough going on right now.”
“Yes, sir. Is that all?”
Decker nods again. “Yep.” He hands me an accordion file.
I don’t even remember seeing him pick it up, but I take it from him.
“Should all be in there.”
“Time frame?”
“No rush, but don’t put it on the backburner either. If you have pressing assignments, knock those out, and use this as filler in between. That work?”
“Yes. I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Thanks, Mary.” His eyes dart to something behind me and he shoulders past like the conversation just ended on his terms.
When I turn around, I realize he’s heading after Tate, his wife. They’re such a power couple. They remind me of something out of a movie.
I really like Tate. She might be the only woman on the planet who can drop Decker to his knees with one cold stare. Plus, we worked together in Dallas for years, so I’m probably closer to her and Abigail than anyone else.
I don’t know if I buy Decker’s excuse that Dexter would just be a headache if he found out, but it’s not impossible. There may be more to this than I know, but looking up who owns companies is perfectly legal. If I’ve noticed one thing since I transferred here, it’s that the Collins brothers get emotional about business. It makes sense too. They’re all best friends and they’re brothers. I don’t think I could ever go into business with family. It’d be too weird, and there’s too much potential for a falling out over something petty, which apparently has happened here at the firm, more than once.
I walk back toward my cube, feeling pretty good about my new assignment. Just as I stroll around to my desk, I go stiff, totally frozen on the spot.
What. The. Heck.
There’s a giant bouquet of orchids sitting right where my keyboard should be. It’s a gorgeous arrangement. Orchids are my favorite flower. My first response is a spiked heartrate and healthy shot of adrenaline that floods my veins. Then, reality sets in, and I realize what this means. Rick came back. He’s the only person on earth who would leave flowers on my desk. How the heck did he get them that fast?
I want to be mad. I want to march them over and toss them in his trash can right in front of him, and tell him to stop obsessing over me, tell him to be himself. I would actually enjoy getting to know him. Not this pretend Christian good-guy he morphs into every time I walk around the corner. That’s the problem I’ve noticed when people know you’re religious. They change around you. They think you’re constantly judging them or something.
I’m just a normal person who believes in God and volunteers at her church. If people want to hear about my beliefs, I tell them, but I don’t go around trying to convert everyone. I want to be treated the same as everyone else. I make mistakes. Sometimes I do things I’m not supposed to. I try not to, but I’m not perfect.
I walk up to the flowers and can’t stop myself from bringing them up to my nose and sniffing them. They look extremely fresh, like he had them on standby in the office refrigerator. I shouldn’t give them any attention at all, because knowing Rick, he’s probably hiding somewhere watching me. Or he has some hidden video camera somewhere. He’s a private investigator after all. How creepy would that be if he has the building bugged? I try not to think about it, because it’s too much.
When I open my eyes after smelling the flowers, I notice a card underneath where they were on my desk. Carefully, I set the bouquet on the other side of my cubicle next to my file tray, and I pick it up.
It says my name and nothing else on the envelope. I glance around the office to verify nobody is watching. I even stare back into the shadows across the bullpen.
The coast is clear.
My heart speeds up in my chest, and my stomach does backflips as I slide my finger through to open it. When I pull it out, it’s not really a card. Just a thick piece of white card stock. No design or border on it—nothing.
I turn it over slowly and every muscle in my body tightens at once and my breath hitches.
Tonight.
6 p.m.
It’s happening.
I flip the card over a few more times to make sure there’s nothing else on it. Part of me wants to laugh, because there’s no way I’m going on this date. That’s the logical side of my brain talking. The other part, the very human part, with physical desires and needs is screaming I am absolutely going on this date.
I just don’t understand. It will never work between us. We are night and day different. I will never give him what he wants or needs, and he would never really be what I want or need. It would be silly to even try.
But I look over at the flowers, and then back at the card. I’ve never had anyone get so frustrated that they demand a date with me. I can’t even remember the last time anyone asked me on a proper date.
I shove the card in the desk and try to get back to work, but something is happening in my body. Something totally foreign. And I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.
I need to reject him, but I think he might be getting to me. I don’t know how, but it’s happening.
Rick Lawrence
I don’t know if I’ve ever been this nervous in my life, but I don’t give a shit. This is happening whether she wants it to or not. Sick of these little games where she acts all wishy washy. I want to bash my horn at the line of lights in front of me during rush hour, but it won’t do any good. I left with plenty of time, but I just want to be there now. I’m tired of fucking waiting around for bullshit. I want to see her face when I tell her to get in the damn car, we’re done messing around. This shit is real and it’s time to get on board.
Yes, I’m aware it’s my fault things are this way. I’ve been weaseling my way into her life for the past seven months or something ridiculous. She’s done telling me no, though. If I thought she meant it, I’d do my best to move on, but I know she feels the same way too. She can’t hide it from me. There’s a connection there that’s real, and it shall be explored.
Finally, I make it through the light and turn left onto her street.
This is it.
My big moment.
If she’s not ready, she better get ready. Rick fucking Lawrence is coming to the door, and he’s leaving with what’s his, goddamn it. I make a mental note to not drop any GDs in front of her. That wouldn’t go over well.
Someone signals to pull out on the road in front of her building, and I smile up at the sky, thanking the parking gods for providing in my time of need.
Once they’re gone, I pull in and parallel, then step out into the street and walk over to the sidewalk. I didn’t overdo it, but I’m dressed nice. I’m not about to wear a suit like the asshole Collins brothers, but I have on my nicest button-down shirt and some designer jeans. It’s a far cry from my usual ratty tee shirts. My hair is slicked back. I look good, someone Mary wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen in public with.
I get all the way to the entrance of her building and freeze in front of it. I stare up at the high-rise, jutting ten stories high into the Chicago sky, and take a deep breath.
She’s yours. Don’t be a pussy.
I glance down and—shit. Motherfucker. I stare at my empty hands and can’t believe this. I don’t have flowers for her. This can’t be happening.
It’s a fucking catastrophe. Who shows up for a first real date without flowers?
You dumb shit.
I stare down at my watch.
It’s 5:50.
My head swivels both ways down the street. I know for a fact there’s a floris
t who has a street cart in front of a store, one block down. I already got her flowers once today, but those were work flowers, not date flowers. I take another deep breath, glance up at the building, then back down the road. I think I can make it.
I take off in a sprint.
Orchids. Orchids. Always orchids. You need more.
That’s what my brain says on a loop. It’s Mary’s favorite flower and I know she saw them earlier, and she’s getting more. Every orchid in Chicago, I’ll buy them all if I have to, corner the fucking market. I overheard her and Abigail one day, shooting the shit in the paralegal bullpen. It was April of last year, warm day, Mary wore a floor-length khaki skirt and red blouse, hair down.
“They help add calm to the environment and they’re easy to care for.”
That’s what she told Abigail as I eavesdropped, while Abigail made her case for roses. Abigail is wrong. If Mary says orchids are the best, it’s fucking fact.
These assholes better have a truckload of them to choose from or I’ll kill someone.
I slalom around a few people walking home from work and one old lady with her dog on a leash. When I get to the cart, the worker lady is trying to close up early.
“Orchids!” I half yell the word right at her as I bend over panting.
“Excuse me?”
“Need. Orchids.”
She puts her hands on her hips and stares at me. “Sorry.” She nods back to the store front. “Closing up.”
My eyes must turn fiery red because I watch complete panic and fear overtake her face.
I do my best to look non-threatening because she looks like she might call the cops.
“Please? I really need some. It’s an emergency.”
Now, she looks intrigued. “An orchid emergency? At 5:55?”
I hold both hands up. “I have a first date with the love of my life. Might be the only chance I ever get. She loves orchids, and I can’t show up empty-handed.” I manage a sly grin. “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining our fate, and our future children never being born, would you?”