by Stasia Black
I was determined to prove myself, and I’ve actually come up with some solutions that seem to be working. It’s the first time in my life where I feel like I’m accomplishing something that I can be proud of. Something that I’m earning for real—not just because I have a pretty face and a big rack.
My thoughts are full of the project as I grab a coffee and settle into my cubicle. It’s your basic workspace, small but not claustrophobically so. Some people plaster the thin divider ‘walls’ of the cubicles with hundreds of pictures of their kids or their cats. I don’t see the point in that. I’m here to work. I don’t want anything else distracting me. Sure, I have a picture of Charlie that I keep taped to the left-hand side of my desk, but that’s all. This is not my home away from home. This might be a very good job, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is. A job.
The morning is all clear too, so I can get straight to work. Marcy likes us to come off the weekend and jump directly into whatever we’re supposed to be working on. She calls it starting off the week right. Weekly meetings are usually on Thursdays and Fridays. I think the whole Friday meeting thing is to try to get us to obsess about work all weekend.
Might work with some of the more anal types but her mind games don’t work on me. Not after working for the master of mind-fuckery. Plus, I like not having to socialize on a Monday morning when I’m not in the mood.
Like today. Another plus to being a little early? No one’s congregating around the coffee like they do when everyone gets here right at eight o’clock. The last thing I need is anyone wanting to do post-mortems about our respective weekends. It’s bad enough when Bonnie sends me an IM to ask where I disappeared to on Friday. I just shoot a quick message back that I’m deep into working on something. It does the trick. She leaves me alone for the rest of the morning.
It’s about an hour till lunch time when I lift my arms over my head and stretch my neck back and forth that I hear a throat clearing behind me. I swing around in my office chair. A guy stands behind me who looks barely old enough to be in college, shifting awkwardly back and forth from foot to foot.
“Um, hi. Are you,” he looks down at the paper he’s holding in his hands, then frowns, “Cal-ee-o-pee Cruise?”
I roll my eyes at the complete butchering of my name. “Who’s asking?”
The kid looks up at me. “It’s Mr. Vale. I’m interning for him this semester.” He looks very proud of the fact.
My stomach goes tight just at the sound of Jackson’s name. What the fuck? What’s he up to? We don’t see each other at work. That’s our deal. I told him that before I ever agreed to work here. This job wasn’t supposed to come with strings. Does he think just because of whatever Friday was that he suddenly has the right to—
I shake my head and hold out my hand. “Just give me the note.”
The kid’s eyes widen and I realize how clipped my tone was. I force a smile I don’t feel and add, “please.”
He hands the note over and I realize it’s not just a note, it’s a small envelope. I roll my eyes again, this time at the ceremony of it. Why not just send me an interoffice IM like a normal human being? I shove my thumb in the corner of the envelope to rip it open. Inside is just a folded piece of paper with only a few words written in Jackson’s neat handwriting: Please come up to my office. I need to talk to you about something. It’s extremely important.
That’s all. No hints as to what he’s talking about. My foot starts tapping in frustration. Is this just about what he brought up on Friday? Because so help me God, if he tries to push me about his genius plan of becoming my fuck buddy or whatever, his balls are going to be black and blue by the time I’m done with—
“Miss?” the kid butts into my thoughts.
“What?” Again my voice comes off too sharp. But hell, what do I care if I come off like a bitch? Men in offices are short with their employees all the time.
“What should I tell him you said?” the intern asks, seeming intimidated by me. The thought makes me sit up taller and I can’t help myself from smirking a little at him. I bite back what I really want to say just in time—run along little puppy and tell your master that I’ll answer his summons.
I glance at my laptop screen and then click to lock my station. I head to the elevator without another word. The intern follows at my heels. I push the up arrow.
“So how do you know Mr. Vale?” the kid asks.
Silence. I don’t have any use for inane conversation with some barely legal guy I’ll never see again, so I don’t bother.
The elevator dings and I step inside. The kid moves to follow, but I smile and give a head shake. “You catch the next one.”
I push the closed-door button before he can say anything else. I roll my shoulders and relax as the elevator starts to move up. Damn, I never realized before how good it feels to be a bitch. I think I missed my calling in life.
I smile to myself as I step off onto Jackson’s floor. His middle-aged cardigan-obsessed secretary only nods and waves me through the door from the lobby that leads to the back offices. I’ve been here on the top floor just once before, but it’s enough to remember that Jackson’s office is the last one at the very end. The corner office. Naturally.
The old world elegance hits me all over again. The part of the CubeThink’s offices where I work is perfectly modern. More industry-standard—brightly lit, fake plants around for ambiance. Ours has nicer furniture and desk spaces than I might expect at most office jobs. Other than that, though, it’s fairly sterile.
But up here in the executive offices, comfort and elegance seem to be the watchwords. Even more so when I knock and I enter Jackson’s space. A hulking cherry wood desk dominates the room, complimented by comfortable leather chairs and a plush beige carpet. Not to mention the intimidating man himself who immediately stands and comes toward me as I enter.
He tries to wrap his arms around me in—oh God, is that a hug? Is he seriously trying to hug me? Does he know me at all? I’m not a hugger.
Then I try to recall some of the anger I felt when his little intern was sent to fetch me and cross my arms over my chest. “Desperation isn’t a good look on anyone.”
I take a seat in the chair across the desk from him. “What’s so important that you decided to drag me here in the middle of my workday?”
His expression was open when I’d come in the room, but it’s shut down now. He strides back around to his desk chair and sits, immediately steepling his fingers under his chin. His features have gone all flat and serious.
Okay. What’s going on here? I sit up in my chair, suddenly on alert. I thought this was just his super unprofessional way of getting my attention, but maybe—
“Charlie,” I sputter. “It’s Charlie okay?” I’m half out of my chair before Jackson holds up a hand.
“Charlie’s fine.” He looks startled. “Of course nothing’s wrong with Charlie.”
I put a hand to my chest and then glare at him. “What the fuck then? You just scared the crap out of me.”
Jackson rubs one of his hands on his knees as if it’s sweaty. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he confesses.
“Just spit it out,” I say. “That usually works for me. Stop with the bullshit suspense and spill.”
He gives a jerky nod of assent and then starts to talk. “I’ve just learned that your lawyer, your previous lawyer that is, Don Maury, was paid off by David and Regina.”
I’m so startled by the intro of my former custody lawyer, and then my ex and his wife into the conversation that it takes me a second to process what he’s saying.
“That’s why he didn’t defend you as well as he could have at the last hearing,” Jackson continues.
I freeze. I can’t—what? I mean, I was disappointed when David’s attorney’s kept attacking me and we didn’t have anything to volley back with, but Don said we shouldn’t stoop to their level… that my case was strong enough without it…
I lean back in my chair and put a hand to
my head.
“That’s not all. Not nearly the worst of it.”
My eyes flick to Jackson’s face. Worse? There’s something worse than my own lawyer working against me?
“The day before your hearing,” his jaw goes tense as he talks, “Don had pastries set out during your prep session, correct? Bagels and some small cakes?”
I scrunch my brows, trying to remember. That whole period of time before the hearing is pretty much just a blur. “I don’t know. What does that have anything to do with—”
“Think.” Jackson’s voice is hard. “Did he have, say, poppyseed bagels that he gave you? Or everything bagels that have poppy seeds mixed with the other seeds? Or poppyseed cake?”
I close my eyes and struggle to remember. Bagels? Cake? I hadn’t been able to eat anything the day of the hearing itself, I remember that. But the day before?
Oh my God. My eyes flash up to Jackson’s. “Yes! At the strategy session with my lawyer, the day before the hearing. He had bagels set out, but I didn’t eat those. It was the poppyseed muffins. I ate two of them, I was so stuffed when I was finished. But I was stressed out and carbs are my downfall when I’m stressed.” Then I frown, confused. “Are you saying he spiked the muffins? Like with pot or something so I’d test positive for drugs the next day? But I didn’t feel high or anything—”
Jackson shakes his head and for a second I’m only more confused before he clarifies, “It was the poppy seeds themselves. They set off drug tests—a false positive—because they read as opioids. You know, poppy? As in, what opiates have been made from throughout history?”
I blink several times before finding my voice. “And that can affect the outcome of a drug test?” My voice goes high-pitched in disbelief. “So let me get this straight, you’re telling me I failed because of muffins? They took away my son over a couple of fucking muffins?”
“Calm down, Callie.”
It’s only when he says it that I realize I totally shouted that last one and that I’m standing with my hands clenched into fists.
I push back my chair as I start pacing his office. “You mean to tell me,” I stab the air with my forefinger, “that that fucking lawyer set me up to lose my son before I ever entered the courtroom, by fucking poisoning me? With. Fucking. Seeds. In. Some. Fucking. Muffins.”
I throw my hands up in the air and let out an enraged growl. Then I’m nodding my head.
“I’m gonna kill him. String him up by his balls and dangle him on the wall where his law degree used to hang. Motherfucker is gonna be so sorry he ever decided to fuck with me, I swear to fuckin’ God.”
I’m striding back and forth furiously across Jackson’s office. I note that he’s approaching and I’m two seconds from ripping into him to when he starts nodding with me. “I completely agree. And I’m going to help you do it.”
That brings me to a stumbling halt. “You are?”
“Fuck yes I am.” It’s only now that I realize his face is mottled with fury. He might not be as angry as I am about all this, but he’s close. “I’ve never in all of my years and interactions with sleazy lawyers, and believe me, I’ve dealt with some really sleazy motherfuckers, come across anyone this low, this willing to shit all over his client, the law, and simple human ethics.” Jackson’s voice is passionate and I’ve never heard him use so many swear words at once.
“Damn right,” I say. We just stand there, face-to-face. It’s a position that anyone else looking in on us would see as a standoff.
My chest heaves. There are too many thoughts zooming through my head to focus on a single one. Jackson’s standing so close I can see the tiniest cut on the edge of his jaw from where he nicked himself shaving this morning.
Fuck, why is that hot?
I grab him by the tie and yank him toward me and then I kiss him. If he’s startled, he reacts quickly enough that it doesn’t show.
I kiss him hard, but this is Jackson. Within seconds, his mouth demands control of the kiss. Which only pisses me off more.
I flip my left foot back, lean into it for a moment and then shift my weight forward again so that I can use my momentum to push Jackson backward toward the wall. I’m not sure if the element of surprise makes him stumble or if he just allows it, because, momentum or not, there’s no way I’m moving him that far, at least while we’re on our feet. Either way, the next moment I’ve achieved my goal. His back is against the wall exactly where I wanted him. The idea that he might have just willingly submitted to me sends a gush of wetness into my panties.
I run my hands through the back of his hair, up to where it’s slightly longer on top. Then I bring his head down to mine. I take control of the kiss, going deep. When he tries to take over and master me with his tongue, I pull back so that he’s forced to chase me. That only makes me move away again.
He growls in frustration when I retreat for the third time. I just cluck my tongue at him and shake my head. He narrows his eyebrows at me and I laugh and swoop down again to tease open the seam of his lips with my tongue. This time he lets my tongue do the leading and only engages after I initiate each time, meeting the tip of my tongue with his in a way that shoots electric pulses straight to my clit. That’s right. Let me direct the show.
I can’t help letting out a most unladylike moan and sagging against him. He makes my body feel liquid. And goddamn him, he was right, this does feel better since I don’t have to worry about grabbing for a knife every other second. There’s no danger here.
I continue kissing him as I hike one of my dress-pant clad legs open around his hips. Well, he’s so much taller, it’s really his upper thigh, but all that matters is that I’m achieving some friction now. I rub my body up and against him hard once, twice. Oh God, that feels amazzzzzzzzzzing.
Apparently Jackson feels the same way because he reaches under both my thighs and hikes me up to his waist, then carries me toward his desk.
For a moment, everything’s perfect.
I’m taken back in time to when he carried me exactly like this from his bathtub to his bed. Today, just like then, I revel in his strength and marvel at how easily he lifts me.
Then, exactly like in the movies, he shoves all the papers and a cup of pens off his desk onto the floor without any care and sets me down on the edge. He kisses me and for a moment, I’m all consumed. There’s only Jackson, his body, that scent of pine and spice and male. There’s only want and the insistent pulse between my legs. He kisses me deep and I even let him.
Then he presses me down on the desk with his body. He’s gentle. He doesn’t slam me down. In some sane part of my mind, I realize he even cups the back of my neck and is careful to keep all of his weight on his hands so no part of him crushes me.
But the rest of my brain goes to a very not sane place.
It’s his tie. It flops down into my face as he lowers me. And when I look up, I don’t see Jackson. I see the fluorescent lights in the office ceiling tiles.
I’m on the conference table again.
A hard surface underneath me, bright blinding fluorescents overhead. Men in business suits. I’m staring at the ceiling as man after man violates me. Oh God, is it over yet? Why isn’t it over yet? How is this even happening? It shouldn’t be happening. This is an office, for God’s sake. It’s supposed to be safe here. These kinds of things happen in the dark back alleys of East San Jose, not the conference room of a well-lit fifteenth floor office building.
Next in line, Gentry says, pointing to the box of condoms someone set out beside the coffee tray. You don’t know where that filthy cunt’s been. Better safe than sorry.
I scream and struggle to get away, but Gentry holds my shoulders down and the other man, Carl, has a bruising grip on my hips to keep me still. The next man in line, a middle-aged Japanese investor, puts one hand on my knee and with the other, rolls on the condom.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I shriek at the top of my lungs. I strike out in all directions.
“Callie!”
Sud
denly there’s nothing holding me down anymore and I scramble off the desk. I bolt toward the wall. Run! I have to run! My heart is hammering a thousand beats per minute and I look crazily back and forth for Gentry and the rest of—
But—
None of them are there.
There’s just one very freaked out looking Jackson, hand to his bloody lip.
Fuck. Me.
I’m not in the conference room at Gentry Tech. I blink rapidly as my head jerks back and forth in disorientation. But I was just— They were just here—
I put a shaky hand to my forehead. It felt so real.
Goddammit. I thought I was getting better, the more time passed. This isn’t the first waking flashback I’ve had, but it’s the most intense one ever. I thought I was getting control. Getting past it. God, I’m so dumb. I want to laugh at how dumb I am but mostly I just want to cry.
“Callie,” Jackson starts to say but I hold up a hand.
“Don’t.”
He opens his mouth to try again but again, I cut him off. “Just don’t.”
I try to gather what little dignity is left to me and I leave the room. Jackson must realize what’s good for him, because he lets me.
Chapter Five
JACKSON
I check my phone for the millionth time. It’s 5:05pm. Where is she?
Sitting here in the back of my towncar waiting for her to emerge from the front entrance of CubeThink is starting to make me feel like exactly what she accused me of being—a stalker.
Does the fact that it’s my building make it any better?
Probably not.
I’m just trying to find a way to approach her on neutral territory.
After what happened this morning… I shudder and curl into myself remembering the look on her face, the absolute terror as she shoved me off and fought and shouted NO like she was a trapped animal with the butcher’s knife raised overhead.
As if I was her rapist.