by R. S. Elliot
Icy fear trickled through my veins, and the tips of my fingers started to go numb with shock. I could hardly breathe, and when I tried to set the picture down on the counter, it slipped out of my grasp and fluttered to the floor. There was nothing written on the back of it, no signature or threat, but I already knew who had taken those pictures. And I knew he wasn’t happy with me.
I scrambled for my phone, pulling up Jack’s number in a hot rush of rage. I had received no new texts from him that day, a new record, but now I knew why. He had elevated the angry reminders of his presence from texts and calls to physical stalking and invading my privacy with photographs meant to teach me a lesson about being careful who I spoke to.
I wanted to send him a torrent of anger, to unload all of my frustration at his actions into a text message and tell him, in no uncertain terms, to stay the hell away from me. But something gave me pause as I stood there, heart pounding, fingers trembling over the keyboard. He knew where I lived. Apparently, he stuck around enough to know when I would be at home and when I would be out, and he knew my routine well enough to see when something new was added to it. No one accidentally showed up to their ex’s apartment with a camera. Whatever he was doing, he was doing it intentionally, and he was three steps ahead of me.
A new terror filled my body at the thought that he may have found a way to get back into the apartment, especially since the locks were so old, to begin with. Picking them would be no trouble at all. I slammed on all the lights in my kitchen and ducked into the bedroom and bathroom, ready to bolt at the first sign of an intruder. He hadn’t said a word to me and still, he had managed to make me feel unsafe in my own home.
The rage came back, and I deliberated calling Jack out on his creepy bullshit or calling the police. But what would I tell them? I had no proof that Jack had done this, or that he was threatening me. I just knew.
I thought about Aiden and his reputation as a heartbreaker. A leaked photograph of him in a darkened car with a girl who showed up at his company days later as a new hire had more than a whiff of the casting couch about it and could be disastrous for him if it got into the hands of the tabloids.
The walls seemed to press in around me as I grew increasingly trapped with each passing second. Every mental avenue I ran down turned into a dead end, and panic rose up from my stomach into my throat. I felt as though I would be choked by it, and I started sobbing, alone, in my kitchen, with no one to turn to for help. My friends had heard my complaints about Jack a thousand times and would tell me to get a restraining order, even though they knew I was scared of doing that. There was no one else. I was on my own in this.
I covered my face with my hands, trying to block out all the darkness and the fear, and I cried until I was spent.
Chapter Eleven
Aiden
Mia integrated smoothly into life as a member of the Carrier team, or at least I assumed she did since she was always typing away at her desk whenever I passed and since I never heard any complaints about her work ethic or the quality of the projects she completed from her direct supervisors. Beyond that, I tried not to get any more involved than I already was. I smiled at her when I passed her in the mornings, trying not to notice the way my heart swelled in my chest from the simple curve of her lips, and I made polite conversation about how things were suiting her at work whenever we rode the elevator down to the lobby together. Beyond that, I kept my distance, and that kept my meticulously structured world in working order. Until one Tuesday morning when the whole thing threatened to come toppling down on me like a house of cards.
The atmosphere in the office should have been a tipoff the moment I arrived. People seemed distracted and irritated, and there was much more chatter in the air than usual. Employees were sitting on each other’s desks or standing in closed-off clumps by the water cooler, gossiping and showing each other articles on their phones. Heads snapped over to me when I entered the building and some people scuttled back to their work stations, but the gossiping didn’t stop. If anything, it got more pronounced.
"What the hell is going on in here?" I asked Bryan, loud enough that the cubicles near his desk could hear me. Bryan worked caddy-corner to my office, within shouting and errand-running range. He was usually unflappably upbeat, with a golden boy smile that never wavered no matter how many inane errands I had him run or how many impossible meetings he had to cram into my schedule. But now, he was looking a little pale.
"It’s about the subpoena, I’d imagine," he said, a little weakly. He looked vaguely anemic and like he might keel over at any moment.
"Subpoena?" I echoed, a little sharply. The woman typing away in the cubicle nearest Bryan’s shrank away a little bit, trying not to show that she was eavesdropping or spooked. Bryan didn’t startle, he just gave me that slow nod that told me he was about to tell me something terrible. For a kid barely out of college, he had all the foreboding gravitas of an old man when he was called upon to be the bearer of bad news.
"You’ve been subpoenaed, Aiden. A couple of execs have. We all just heard, and I didn’t want you to worry on the drive over so I waited until—"
"And why the fuck is that?" If he was going to throw formality to the wind and call me by my first name in an attempt to calm me down, I sure as hell could swear in the office.
"Sport Tech is suing Carrier to the tune of a half a million dollars. They’re saying we stole documents. Client lists, to be exact, and expense reports."
Rage bubbled up in my chest like lava from a volcano. Sport Tech, a mammoth conglomerate of a company, had been Carrier’s number one rival for years now and nothing but a thorn in my side over the last couple of months. They hounded us at every turn, bad-mouthing us to the press while mimicking our tactics and branding and constantly trying to swoop in and steal clients. The business was winner-take-all, but Sport Tech’s brutal competitive streak had a certain crude relentlessness about it that had always left a bad taste in my mouth. They had always been classless and shameless and now, to top it all off, they were liars.
"That’s bullshit."
"Correct."
"I’ve never so much as seen their documents—no one here has. And even if I had, I’ve got better things to do than cheat off their notes and try to pick up their sloppy seconds."
"That’s right."
"They can’t possibly think they’re going to win. This is just some big money trap to sink a bunch of our funds in and smear us in the press. They won’t even feel the sting of the court fees; their coffers are so deep. I cannot believe this. They’ve got some goddamn nerve."
"Yes, sir."
I paced a tight circle in front of Bryan’s desk, fuming. I could practically feel the steam rising from my ears, but Bryan sat on calmly, face soothingly bland despite the marked lack of color. People were staring, and I knew it. I couldn't lose control of myself in this situation; that was exactly the kind of thing Sport Tech was probably hoping for.
"I’m not showing up in court. I don’t have the time for it. Not remotely. Sport Tech and their lawyers can go to hell."
"Fair point," Bryan said delicately, lacing his fingers together. "But I thought you’d say that and I’ve done a little digging. If you don’t turn over whatever documents the court asks for and show up in court when you’re told, you could be held in contempt of the court. According to my research, that’s a very bad thing."
"They’re bluffing. No one is going to hold me in contempt."
"Actually," a small voice said behind me. "They could."
I turned around. Mia, who had been standing there watching me blow a gasket for God knows how long, was waiting patiently with her hands clasped in front of her. Her dress was black today, a dark splash against her creamy skin that elevated her beauty to high art, to something you would see captured in oil paints at MOMA. It was thigh-skimming and exposed her long, muscular legs, which I did my best not to look at. God knows I had better things to worry about right now, although probably not anything prettier
.
"I’m sorry," Bryan piped up in his snippy, can-I-help-you voice that he used with people on the phone who were on my do-not-forward list. "Who are you?"
"Mia," I said at the exact same time she did. We caught each other’s eyes awkwardly, and then I gave Bryan a pointed look. "She’s a new hire. Be nice."
"Oh," Bryan said, visibly relaxing into his chair. "Why didn’t you say so? Is she on the legal team?"
"We don’t have a legal team."
"Well, you’d better assemble one. ASAP. I don’t think Sport Tech is fooling around."
I glanced back at Mia, collected and gorgeous as always. Even shaken up after being attacked by those men in the diner, she had a sense of poise about her. Now, she seemed perfectly at ease, even though I could tell from the slight tremor in her fingers that she was nervous. Of me? Of a possible trial? I wish I knew.
"I’m sorry, Mia, I shouldn’t have raised my voice near your desk. I didn’t mean to startle you."
"I wasn’t startled. I just...well, I guess I shouldn’t have butt in like that." She tangled her fingers together, eyes darting nervously from me to Bryan. She probably thought she was in some kind of trouble, though I’d never been able to get or stay angry with her easily. "I heard you talking about the subpoena and what Bryan said is true. If you don’t show up without a valid excuse, the court has every legal right to hold you in contempt of the court. Some judges are more likely to exercise the right than others. But if that subpoena is legitimate, and after looking it over, I think it is, and you disobey it, you could be fined or sentenced to jail time."
I was a bit taken aback by her gentle, rational explanation of the situation. Anger and irritation were still coursing through my veins, but now, they started to mellow. Mia had always been the voice of reason in our relationship, and she apparently still had that near-supernatural ability to make me realize when I was getting myself too worked up. I had never had a temper, but I could become unreasonably irritated when I felt like someone was out to humiliate me. Which Sport Tech absolutely was, whether or not they were willing to admit it.
"I don't really know my way around a courtroom," Bryan said. "But I think she’s right."
I turned to Mia and looked at her hard, taking her in as though seeing her for the first time. She reddened and shifted a bit under my gaze, as though it had a physical effect on her that was uncomfortable in the present environment.
"I’ll just go back to my desk," she said meekly, already taking a step back towards her allotted corner. I held up my hand, fixing her in place.
"No, come here. I have an idea."
Mia blinked at me a few times but eventually did as she was told, slinking closer and closer until she was only steps away from me. I snatched up the thick file of official documents from Bryan’s desk, the one with the official seal of the New York court stamped all over them.
"Those just got in this morning," he said dutifully. "I was going to deliver them to your desk with a scone to take the sting out of the whole thing. But honestly, I can’t make heads or tails of them. I just know they’re bad news."
I passed the packet to Mia, who held it in her open hands as though it was radioactive waste she had no idea what to do with.
"Can you read that?" I asked. "As in understand it and put it into layman’s terms for us?"
Mia flipped through the papers in her hands, slowly and tentatively at first, but then with increasing speed and efficiency.
"Sure. It’s a pretty basic subpoena. I’m not familiar with all the legal jargon, but I know most of it and I can navigate my way through the rest. I’m happy to give you the Sparknotes version if you want."
I leaned back against the edge of Bryan’s desk, pinning Mia to the spot with my gaze. Wheels were turning in my head, quick and cunning, and a plan was starting to come together. There was a way through this whole mess I hadn’t anticipated before, one that might just end up working out in my best interest in the end.
"Hello?" Bryan chimed in behind me. "Mr. Carrier, are you alright? I know this is a lot to process, but I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that you should probably get ready for a full-on suit, since apparently, Sport Tech isn’t bluffing. You’re going to need to pull together a legal team."
I released Mia from the scrutiny of my gaze for one moment, casting a wilting look at Bryan.
"I don’t need to pull together a legal team," I said, and then nodded back over at Mia. She was standing with her hands clasped, green eyes full of apprehension. "I already have her."
Mia staggered as though she had tripped over something, opening up her mouth to protest. But nothing came out, she just stared at me, unbelieving. I raised an encouraging eyebrow at her. I couldn't tell whether or not she was going to put up a fight, but I hoped she didn't. I would much rather she get into all this of her own volition.
"The intern?" Bryan asked, incredulous. He was practically clutching his pearls.
I shot him a poisonous look. "She isn't an intern. She's our new hire. And she has a background in law."
"Oh yeah? What firm did she work for?"
"Don't be difficult."
"I'm being serious."
"You're being a pain in the ass."
"It's what you keep me around for. Seriously. What are her credentials? She looks like she's nineteen; Sport Tech's law sharks are going to rip her to shreds."
"I'm twenty-four," Mia shot back with a little heat in her voice that made me proud of her spirit. "I'm not a child. But I'm also not a lawyer. Er—" She caught herself, her pretty mouth twisting up around my first name and swallowing it before it could be spoken. She held the folder back out towards me. "Mr. Carrier, I'm sorry. I never passed the bar. I never even finished school. I can't help you."
I folded the papers back into her grasp, my hand covering her own for a moment. Her skin was softer than I could have imagined and warm, and I wanted to lace her fingers through my own.
"Yes, you can. All I need is help. Someone I trust to help me navigate this legal nightmare while I take Bryan's good advice and pull together a legal team."
Bryan made one of his little self-satisfied faces that made him look like a cat who had just gobbled up a canary. A little flattery went a long way with him and was a surefire way to get him off my case.
Mia looked up at me with giant eyes, and I was drawn, once again, tighter into her orbit, beckoned in by all the emotion in her stare. She was scared and flattered, and excited and hesitant. I wanted to watch every one of those feelings pass over her face individually, to savor and catalog them.
I had drifted closer to her than was strictly necessary, close enough to smell her dry floral perfume, and I looked down at the papers in her hands to keep my eyes off her face. It would at least look, to any random passerby, that I was just reading something work-related that she was holding, not that I was looking for any excuse possible to get closer to her.
Hands to yourself, Carrier.
"I've got no idea where to start with this," I said, voice a little lower so the whole office couldn't hear me. My little outburst had drawn eyes, and I was aware of how quickly gossip spread. Bryan could hear us, of course, but his job relied on his ability to keep his mouth shut, which was legendary. He had once walked in on me banging a financier on my kitchen counter and had just politely averted his eyes, set down my morning paper and coffee, and asked if I wanted him to call a cab for my "friend." In my books, Bryan was better than gold, and as far as I was concerned, irreplaceable. Now, he was filing his nails at his desk and pretending not to eavesdrop.
"I never finished school," Mia insisted, her misery at this fact evident in her voice. "I'm not qualified to—"
"I'm not asking you to defend me or to go toe-to-toe with Sport Tech's lawyers. I trust you, Mia, and I trust your mind. You're the smartest person I've ever met and you studied the law for years in college. I know that doesn't feel like a lot to you, but it's way more familiarity with this stuff than the average pers
on has, and right now, you're an invaluable asset to me. You have the expertise I need to help navigate this whole Godforsaken process, and all I'm asking you to do is lend it to me."
She narrowed her eyes at me and gave me that pursed-mouth look that always told me she was going to need more convincing. The last time I saw that look, I was trying to convince her to go skinny-dipping in my neighbor's lake. She hadn't taken the bait.
"How do you mean?"
"Just go over things with me, weigh in on which direction you think we should go in. I've got no shortage of access to over-educated eels in three-piece-suits who think they know what's best for my image and for my company, but their input doesn't mean a whole lot to me right now. You know me. You know the law. And you're getting to know Carrier as a business. It's a perfect storm."
Something behind Mia's expression softened, and I knew I was getting closer to breaking down her resistance and convincing her to agree to my arrangement. If she agreed to this, we would be spending more time together, probably in the privacy of a room away from the prying eyes of the rest of the office. The thought made my heart beat unnaturally fast, but I tried not to pay attention to it.
"So you want me to act as a consultant? Unofficially."
"Yes, that's exactly it. My legal consultant."
Mia set the papers down on Bryan's desk, but she didn't abandon them. Rather she stood there thinking intently, the little wrinkles between her brow furrowing. Bryan watched her with equal intensity, no longer concerned about hiding his interest. I had a reputation for working alone and have never invited anyone to act as my personal consultant before, which he was aware of. He was arguably the person in the office who knew me best and had the most power behind the throne, so to speak, but even he knew better than to make direct suggestions about what direction to take the company in or argue with any decision I made.