by Harloe Rae
She returns my stare. “This space is very fitting for you.”
I shouldn’t ask, but sensible rationality doesn’t exist where this woman is involved. “How so?”
“Broody and crass, calculating and impersonal.” She points to an abstract painting that resembles a Rorschach.
“Did you come all this way to insult me?”
“I thought this was me returning the favor?”
Fucking hilarious, this one. “I’m a busy man, Braelyn. I don’t need to waste more time going back and forth with you. We both know how this goes.”
“But it’s okay for you to disrupt my routine?” She toys with the ends of her hair, and I imagine wrapping the length around my fist. Coming from her, even this insignificant action is a fucking distraction.
I see us getting nowhere, real quick, so I motion her on. “You came to spill your secrets. Out with it.”
Braelyn flinches, and another knife lodges in my stomach. I almost groan. All I fucking need is for this chick to reach my soft spot. That place is solely reserved for Ollie. I steel my resolve with a deep inhale.
“I never made a will,” she murmurs.
The chair creaks when I shift and lean forward on a bent elbow. “Okay? Not sure what that has to do with anything.”
She clears her throat. “I was hoping you could help me.”
My scoff might as well be a shout. “That’s not my department.”
Braelyn rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m well aware. But this is a law firm full of attorneys. Surely there’s someone who can help me.”
I tap a finger to my chin. “Hmm, and yet you’re sitting in my office.”
“You’re my jumping-off point. I figure you can guide me in the correct direction.”
That earns her a laugh brimming with thunder and contempt. “Wow, you’re a shitty salesman.”
She’s off the chair and on her feet before I can track the swift movement. “You’re right. This was a mistake.”
The fact Braelyn doesn’t take my shit turns me on in a big fucking way. Her sassy words send a spike of arousal straight to my dick. But if I’m honest, almost everything this woman does gets me going.
I point to the seat she just vacated. “Sit down.”
She crosses her arms, one of those cheap flip-flops tapping the floor. “I don’t take orders from you.”
Add temper tantrums to that rapidly growing list. I’m sporting a semi under my desk. I grind my molars. “Please.”
Braelyn parks her ass on the very edge, not bothering to get comfortable. “Satisfied?”
“How old are you?”
A dent marks her forehead. “Twenty-five. Why?”
I twirl a pen around my fingers. “Just wondering why you’re already putting a will together. That’s very… responsible.”
She lifts a hand to her chest. “Holy shit. Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t read too much into it. What made you decide to do this now?”
“Why do you care? I thought you don’t handle this sort of thing.”
I concentrate on her stoic expression. “I typically don’t, but we aren’t in the habit of turning away business. I can get the ball rolling if you’re willing to cooperate.”
“Because I’m the one being difficult,” she retorts.
“We’ll agree to disagree for the sake of keeping things moving ahead. Tell me why you’re concerned about handling this in the immediate future.”
Braelyn glances out the window. “Life can end before you’re ready. I’d like to be prepared.”
“That’s morbid.” A thorny vine loops around my ankle and cinches tight. I jerk my knee and kick off the eerie sensation.
She picks at a thread on her shirt, still avoiding my eyes. “So is reality.”
“Sounds like you have experience on the matter.”
She blinks and looks away. “You might say that.”
The sound of inevitable doom clangs in my ears. I steer this sinking ship into calmer waters. “We’ll discuss this further over dinner.”
Braelyn’s gaze snaps to mine. “What?”
“I haven’t eaten. You could always use two or three extra portions. Mary was already planning to stay late and get Ollie in bed.” I’m already shoving all the loose paperwork into a haphazard stack.
“That’s not necessary. I just want to set up a will.”
“Which is a complex process. We can start tonight.” I stare at her, my stony expression practically begging for an argument.
Braelyn collapses into her chair. “Fine. Whatever.”
I stand and step out from behind my desk. “I was mostly done when you showed up. Let’s hit the road. Have you been to Pour Spout?”
“Never heard of it.”
“We’ll go there. Good food, better atmosphere. We’ll be able to talk without shouting.
“Super,” she mutters.
“I’ll drive. You can ride with me.”
Her head whips back and forth so fast she transforms into a colorful blur. She visibly gulps. “U-uh, n-no. That’s okay. I-I want to take my car.”
I furrow my brow, an array of dots scatter in front of me without connecting. “Are you okay?”
Braelyn’s chomping on her bottom lip but otherwise appears frozen. “Y-yeah. I have issues being a passenger. It’s a long story. I need to be in control of the vehicle.”
If I look close enough, there’s perspiration dotting her brow. She’s haunted by something. I can almost see ghosts swirling in her eyes. Her sheer terror is probably connected to the accident she mentioned before. She has a similar air of panic surrounding her.
I edge toward the door. “All right, forget I offered. Drive yourself.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
This meek version of her awakens a piece of me that I’m uncomfortable giving a voice to. I’d like to dissolve that weakness in a tub of acid. Since that’s not readily accessible, I lash out the easy way.
“Before you get any ideas, this isn’t a date. It’s a means to an end.” I clutch my keys, their teeth digging in with a sharp bite.
Braelyn seems to snap out of the trance, her gaze clearing. She grabs her purse and shuffles over to me. “Wow, way to sell me on it. I can probably find a different lawyer who’ll make this ordeal less painful.”
I hitch a thumb over my shoulder into the dark corridor. “By all means, go get one. You’ll still owe me the truth behind your extreme reactions.”
She huffs but doesn’t dispute what we both know is true. We make quite the fucked-up pair. I decide to let her off the hook, for now. Braelyn gasps when I switch off the lights and we’re blanketed in darkness. A dry chuckle escapes me.
I yank open the door and guide her into the hallway. “Stick by me, and you won’t get lost.”
Braelyn
Tale
I follow Brance along the winding road and attempt to get my breathing under control. My palms keep slipping off the wheel, ensuring I remain hovering over the edge of a nuclear meltdown. Something sharp shifts inside of me. My heart is still pounding at an unhealthy rate. Why couldn’t I let him drive me? It’s such a simple, mundane thing. But to me it’s often the crux of a panic attack. Just thinking about it makes me twitchy, which is the last thing I need at the moment.
Without looking away from his taillights, I wipe the sweat from my hands. We’re traveling far below the speed limit. I’m not sure if Brance is always a terribly cautious driver or if this is for my benefit. Either way, I appreciate the snail pace. My days of joyriding are long gone.
A whoosh of toxic air blasts from my lungs when we pull into a mostly empty lot. Arriving at our destination is a soothing balm over my blistering skin. The trip was under ten minutes, effectively slamming a lid on further threat. That suits me just fine.
I park in front of the understated building and glance around. I figured Brance was more of the swanky restaurant type. This place looks like an industrial factory. But there’s a lake out back. Must b
e one of the perks. Finding beauty in concrete blocks is more challenging.
This will be fun.
After turning off the ignition, I leave the comfort of my air conditioning and wait for Brance to approach me. The temperature is balmy, even as the sun slips further down on the horizon. I shake out my hands, chasing off the last fringes of fear. It’s a small miracle I didn’t have a full-blown episode.
“Did you handle the journey all right?” There’s a hint of a grin lifting Brance’s lips.
I dust myself off. “Still in one piece. Thanks for your concern.”
“As your interim attorney, I take a sliver of responsibility. Wouldn’t want any guilt on my conscience.”
“Heaven forbid,” I mutter.
Brance dips his chin. “That’s the idea.”
I make the mistake of looking at him and get a bit tongue-tied. The spotlights give him a celestial glow. He ditched the suit jacket and tie. The collar of his shirt is unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. My focus drifts to his exposed forearms. Tan and dusted with dark hair, they’re sculpted with lean muscle to fend off opponents. Even with nightfall fast approaching, I notice two prominent veins snaking down his left one. My fingers twitch to trace those viral lines. Gah, he’s too sexy.
The sound of a throat clearing yanks me from my erotic reflection.
“Still in a state of shock?”
I snap my gaze away from his arm-porn. “Uh, no. I’m good. Yeah, really great.”
Brance chuckles, and the sound makes my belly do a stupid flippy-dip. “Seems that way. Shall we go in or continue loitering?”
I gesture to the entrance. “Lead the way.”
“Ladies first.”
His palm settles on the small of my back. The simple touch settles me more than I appreciate. After one small taste, my body is turning against me. Freaking harlot.
When we step inside, I do a double-take. The interior is stunning and unexpected to the extreme. Warm shades of red and orange blend seamlessly with light wood accents. Cozy booths frame the perimeter. The center consists of tables with comfy chairs. There’s an oval shaped bar along the far wall. I let my mouth hang open while taking it all in.
“Pretty sneaky, huh? Keeps the riff-raff off their case. Only those willing to take a chance get to appreciate this hidden gem.” Brance’s voice is missing the harsh edge, exposing a smooth timbre. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was teasing with me.
I peer up at him. “And how’d you find this treasure chest?”
“A client recommended it for a meeting.”
“Thanks for paying it forward.”
He scratches the fresh stubble on his jaw. “I like to be decent every now and then. Makes me more mysterious.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”
A hostess shows us to a booth in a shadowed corner. If Brance wasn’t the man beside me, I’d assume we had an intimate evening ahead. In our case, there’s nothing other than bumps and bruises waiting.
He motions for me to choose a side, then sits down on the other. A server drops off glasses of water, and I eagerly take one. The cool liquid eases my throat. I shift along the leather seat and grab the drink menu. I’m going to need wine. A single glass will do. Any more than that, and I’ll have to stick around until the alcohol wears off. That would defeat the purpose.
I’m busy looking at everything that isn’t Brance. His foot taps mine, drawing my purposely wandering attention.
“Nervous?”
I tuck some hair behind my ear. “No. Should I be?”
“That depends.” His blue eyes twinkle under the pendant lamp.
“Do I dare ask on what?”
Brance rests his folded hands on the table. “How much you’re willing to share with me.”
My stomach seizes at the impact of his words. I shove past the knot, inhaling the longest breath possible. “Can we order first?”
“I recommend anything on tap. They brew their own.”
I shake my head. “I prefer grapes, especially of the white variety.”
“Whatever gets you talking faster,” he mutters.
When the server returns, I throw caution to the wind and get a stout.
“Nice choice.”
The pause that follows is nine months pregnant. I drum my nails on the glossy wood edging. Brance watches my fingers with rapt focus. When our drinks arrive, we share a sigh that borders on comical.
I take a very unladylike gulp of my beer. The dark color is appealing, but the taste is better. “This is delicious. It’s so rich and thick.”
He wags his brows. I snort into my glass, bracing for the worst.
“Sounds like what you were grinding on earlier.”
That earns him a genuine laugh. The man doesn’t disappoint. That’s for certain. “Yeah, yeah. That was shameless.”
Dimples dent both of Brance’s cheeks. I never noticed those panty-killers before. Guess that’s where Ollie gets them from. Good grief, could he be more attractive?
“I’m not complaining.” He lifts his beer to mine.
I accept his cheers with a clink of our glasses. “What a relief.”
Brance takes a long swig. “Since we’re on the subject, what’s with the tears?”
I glance at the ceiling and exhale the weight on my chest. There’s no point trying to avoid this topic. The man sitting across from me has proven to be quite persistent.
“Promise not to be a brutal asshole after I tell you all my shit?” I shoot him a fierce glare.
He holds up a palm. “I’ll do my best to curb the snark.”
“Thanks.” My smile is forced, wobbling at the corners.
Brance watches me, his eyes bright and full of mirth. I drop my gaze from his. Getting lost in those blue depths will make trudging into the past more difficult. There’s a candle at the center of the table. The flame makes a safe focal point. I allow the numb to take hold. Ice clots my veins, the freezing layer familiar and almost comforting.
“I met Devon my freshman year of college. We ate lunch in the cafeteria at the same time and eventually got to talking. He was a junior and very charming, swept me right off my feet. We had a lot in common, especially when it came to escaping our families. Devon came from nothing. He was always trying to prove himself. He believed that landing the right job and getting a big paycheck would solve everything. Others would finally accept him. It didn’t matter that I always had. He was searching to fulfill that bigger picture.”
My beer trembles, vibrating on the wood surface. I belatedly realize the hand holding my glass is shaking. “It became obvious Devon had a very skewed mentality. But I understood that. Hell, I lived it. It’s hard to pull yourself up when everyone shoves you down. We sink or swim, right? Well, Devon worked himself to exhaustion on the daily. It got worse after he graduated.”
Why am I so parched? I lick my lips, a slow stroke to wet the dry skin. After taking a sip of my drink, I dig deeper. “Devon got hired by a huge corporation. He was one of thousands, but opportunities to climb the ladder were handed out like candy. That was all it took for him to go all in. The change started slow, but soon enough I’d go days without hearing from him. I didn’t let it bother me because he had good reason. Plus, he always made it up to me. We worked through the strains and looked forward to our future.”
Brance remains silent across from me and I’m thankful for it. I guess he’s respectful when it truly matters.
I pull in a slow breath and dive under. “The night of the accident, Devon was taking me somewhere special. There was a surprise he wanted to share with me. I could tell something was off with him. He was acting more unsettled than usual. I remember his knee bouncing so fast while he drove well beyond the speed limit. Devon blamed it on stress and some big project. When I pressed him on it, he admitted to taking caffeine pills. Apparently he wasn’t sleeping well and wanted to be alert for our date.”
The restaurant is quiet, allowing me to hear eve
rything from that night. Tires squealing and the windshield shattering. The blast of shards splintering pierce at my ears. Smoke fills my nostrils when I inhale. I cough, but it only gets worse. Searing heat blurs my vision as I watch it all unravel.
“The turn was sharp and sudden. Devon didn’t see it coming. The car flipped several times before crashing into a tree. The impact was on his side, killing him instantly. I was stuck in the car for hours. My vocal cords were ripped to shreds when they found me. I’ll never forget that feeling of being trapped. But the vision of him hanging lifeless in front of me is what keeps me up at night.”
Brance’s face has paled considerably, but I don’t let that stop me.
I wipe the tears off my cheeks. “The police found an engagement ring in his jacket pocket. Devon never got the chance to ask. I lost my shit when the doctor handed me that blue velvet box. He’d left me something to always remember him by. I slipped the band on my finger and didn’t take it off for a year. I wasn’t his fiancé, but wearing that ring meant everything to me. It became a symbol of him, I guess. My therapist said that was a normal reaction. Holding onto the possibility or whatever. Makes me sound more crazy. But having something of him close gave me a significance to grasp. Devon loved me enough to buy a diamond. That’s the type of boost a very grief-stricken girlfriend needs.”
I sniff and finish off my beer. “After the accident, they diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder. Can’t leave out insomnia and anxiety. Pretty much all the good shit. I was in therapy to learn how to cope and deal with my new normal. The first year was horrific. I was a shell. My friend, Sadie, is solely responsible for keeping me alive. I’m better these days. Most of the time, I can control the episodes. I still suffer from panic attacks, nightmares, and flashbacks. But not nearly as often.” I slouch in the booth, depleted and done.
Brance scrubs over his mouth. “I’m not sure what to say, which might be a first for me.”
I give him a watery smile. “I’ll accept that.”
“Shit, Braelyn.” He grunts and shakes his head. “The fact you’re sitting here is incredible. You could have died.”