Indiscretion

by Anderson, Callie

  “Hi,” I said. “How was your night?”

  Stealing a piece of my sweet and sour chicken from the carton on the coffee table, she sat next to me on the couch. “Who cares?” she said, hugging the pillow. “I’ve been screwing Caleb forever. How was your night with Mr. . . . Mr. Toe Curler seems appropriate. How was he?” She slapped my thigh.

  “Nothing happened.” I took a big spoonful of gelato and shoved it into my mouth.

  “Take out and ice cream? You only do this when you’re upset. Do you regret it? Was he on the smaller side?” she teased and held up her index finger and thumb.

  I squinted from brain freeze before I responded. “There is something seriously wrong with you, you know that, right? No, he wasn’t bad in bed. I never got that far.”

  Taking the chocolate swirl and my spoon out of my hand, she dug out a scoop and pushed it into her mouth. “You can enjoy yourself sometimes, babe. Just because you let yourself have fun doesn’t mean you’re all screwed up again. We’ve grown since college, Kat, and you’ve been clean for years. You can go and enjoy a casual hook up without going all dark and twisted.”

  I yanked my ice cream from her dirty Caleb hands. “I just couldn’t. He brought me back to his house, and I knew it would be so much better with a little pill to get me over the edge. I said no more meaningless hookups, and I meant it. I’ve worked so hard to get here.”

  “I’m proud of you. I really am. Old you would be sitting here nursing a hangover with a few pills of oxy. No sex and takeout is much better, ” Lila said, getting up from the couch and making her way to her bedroom. “It’s very grown-up of you.”

  Lila knew not to press the issue and give me my space to sulk. She knew I would eventually come to her for another psychoanalysis. Lila minored in Psychology. Not to mention that both of her parents were shrinks, and during my dark days in college she was the one who pulled me out of it. She nursed me back to health. She made sure I got clean and stopped sleeping my way through school. She diagnosed me with PTSD, blaming my stepfather’s assault for my wild behavior, which led me down a terrible path.

  Placing my empty ice cream carton on the coffee table, I changed the channel on the television to something less depressing than the sappy Lifetime movies that had been playing all morning. I brought the covers over my head as I closed my eyes and prayed that I could erase Cole’s eyes from my memory, his touch from my skin, and the feeling of his tongue pressed between my thighs. With no such luck, I tossed and turned and imagined what it would have been like if I had stayed.

  That was much worse.

  * * *

  Sunday morning, I woke up refreshed and in need of fresh air. My take-out and sulking stage was behind me. I sent Ben a text message to meet me for brunch before I hopped in the shower.

  Ben lived on the Upper West Side, and I lived on the other side of the park on the Upper East Side, so Turtle Pond in Central Park was our usual meeting place. It was a chilly morning with temperatures dropping down close to freezing. I sat on a bench facing the pond as I waited for him to arrive.

  I was wiping my pink nose with a tissue when I saw him approach. His silky black hair was hidden under his pompom winter hat, and he was wearing jeans with a navy blue military-style coat.

  “KitKat,” he said, sitting next to me. With my smile wide on my face, I leaned my head into him, and he wrapped his arms around me as we took in the view of Turtle Pond. “You want to tell me about Friday?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.

  I didn’t move from his comfortable arms. “Seriously, Lila’s already dished?”

  “You know how she is, she worries about you.” He shrugged. “She said you didn’t want to leave the house yesterday."

  Lila also knew that I wouldn’t avoid the conversation with Ben because I could never hide anything from him. His past was filled with traumas, like mine.

  “Ugh!” I threw my head back, yelling at the sky. “He was . . . hot and intoxicating, and his kisses were electrifying.” I rolled my eyes remembering what his hands looked like. “We fooled around in the limo, and I did things . . . and he did things to me. Ben, I haven’t felt this way in years. There were no little pills to help it was all him. Then he made my toes curl in a way—” I covered my face as the heat took over. “God, did I want him. And not in the make me numb so I can drown out the pain way but in the make me feel alive kind of way.”

  I closed my eyes and buried my face in his chest. “He brought me to his place, and I chickened out,” I said in a muffled tone. With my face still pressed to his chest, I turned and kicked a rock on the ground, taking my frustration out on it.

  “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?” he asked, squeezing me a little. I pulled away from him so I could meet his eyes and nod. It wasn’t my fault that I was messed up when it came to men, but it didn’t lessen the anguish I felt. He brought his lips to my forehead and rubbed my arm, reassuring me.

  “Enough about that. Let’s go eat. I’m starving, and I also need some serious retail therapy. I start my internship next Monday, and I don’t want to wait until next Sunday to do some shopping,” I said, standing up.

  After brunch and hitting a few stores with Benjamin, the ordeal with Cole was no longer on my mind. I was organizing my new business-chic clothes in my closet, along with some sexy lace undergarments I just purchased, when I realized I hadn’t called my mother, yet to tell her about the internship. It was odd that lace undergarments made me think of my mother, but she always had the most beautiful lingerie.

  She was born in Paris and had spent most of her life there. She was studying in London when she met my father. One wild week together and she was flying back to the States to be with him. Two months later she was pregnant with me. Four years after that, he left for work one day and never came back.

  She did the best she could, I guess. She used her looks and charm to find another husband. Maybe it was the lace lingerie, who knows, but one after another they came and went, some leaving a few more scars on me than the others.

  I ran my fingers through the lace and shook my head. I wanted to be like my mother, beautiful and confident. A woman who knew she was beautiful. But I refused to let anyone hurt an innocent child. Not that it was her fault. I never had the courage to tell her. The fear of what he might do to me kept me quiet. He had promised to love us. He swore to her that he would be better than any father, so I was the silent victim until I got too old for him. Then he left without a word.

  Forgoing the phone call I was sure would consist of endless rants about me not visiting, her face cream that wasn’t working, and how her new neighbors were early risers, I chose to send her a quick email instead. I hoped she wouldn’t get it until Monday morning. I loved my mother; daddy issues were embedded in the marrow of my bones. There was no need for mom drama, too.

  5

  Katherine

  The first day of my internship, I was up at the crack of dawn. I couldn’t get any sleep the night before because I kept tossing and turning, fearful that I would oversleep. Since I was already awake, I decided to doll myself up and make a killer first impression on whom I hoped would be my future colleagues.

  After my makeup and hair were flawless, I dressed in my lace bra and panties before shimmying into a matching garter belt, sliding stockings up my legs, and attaching them to the suspender bands. The boost of sexiness under my charcoal gray pencil skirt would make me feel fearless on my first day. Besides, my mother always said, if you felt sexy you were more likely to get what you wanted. I tucked in my blue silk blouse and slid my feet into pumps, checking myself in the mirror one last time. Feeling determined, I grabbed my suit jacket and tote-like briefcase and headed out.

  I pulled open the door to the office and read the sign: Goldstein, Lipsky & Wallis. I was nervous as I approached the receptionist and provided her with my information. She asked me to take a seat and told me someone would be out shortly. I sat, taking in the white leather chairs and the beautiful aquarium fill
ed with colorful fish which ran along the wall behind the receptionist.

  “Katherine Wolf?”

  “Yes.” I stood and walked over to the beautiful, milk-chocolate skinned woman with tight spiral Afro-like curls.

  “Hi. I’m Victoria, Mr. Goldstein’s assistant. He asked me to show you to your office and brief you on the cases you’ll be assisting with.” Her pearl-white smile spread across her face, and I nodded, anxious to get started.

  I followed her to the back room until we reached a tiny cubicle. Computer, desk, chair, phone. Office? Maybe not, but I didn’t complain. She handed me a couple of files that I needed to review before lunch and gave me my login information for my email.

  “If you need anything, I’m right down the hall. Mr. Goldstein had a last-minute change to his schedule, so you’ll have to join him at a deposition today during lunch. Make sure you’ve studied the cases in the files.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the long white hallway.

  I put my stuff away and set up my email before I pulled the first file from the pile of manila folders. The first five seemed pretty simple and self-explanatory. I took a few notes so I could do some research when I got home.

  The last file was thicker than the others. The tab on the folder read: Natasha Venturini v. Evan Seymour. I took my time memorizing every detail.

  Professor Goldstein, or Mr. Goldstein as Victoria had called him, always insisted on having a detailed brief sheet. It was attached to the inner sleeve where anyone could read it and know what was current with the case. I skimmed the note.

  Mrs. Venturini is suing Mr. Seymour in a civil lawsuit for unfair and deceptive business practices and slander. Mr. Seymour is a mortgage broker at Allied Mortgage Associates. Mrs. Venturini contracted Mr. Seymour as a mortgage broker for purchase of a condominium in Bali. Mrs. Venturini claims that Mr. Seymour added additional funds to her loan application without her knowledge so she would qualify to purchase a bigger property. Mrs. Venturini has lost her job as a financial advisor due to Mr. Seymour’s actions and is suing for lost income, treble damages, and attorneys’ fees.

  I looked at the note again. There was no background on Venturini or Seymour, only a vague explanation of the case. Frustrated at the terrible excuse for a brief, I quickly searched through Google for Evan Seymour. With a few clicks, I found his personal Facebook page. I searched his wall and found statuses, photos, and places he was tagged. I also found a couple of group pictures at these locations, which featured him with various beautiful women on his arms. I made a note of all the places and people mentioned before returning my attention to the file.

  In a deposition taken at CHR Esquire, Natasha Venturini testified that she had no idea Seymour had added funds to her application. Evan Seymour, on the other hand, testified that Venturini provided the information to him. Now I had to find a way to prove his guilt.

  Around noon, Professor Goldstein approached my desk. “Miss Wolf, how is everything going?”

  I smiled at my professor, who had been a great help over the past few years of law school. “Great, Professor Goldstein. I’m really excited to be here and to help any way I can.”

  “Good. We need a fresh pair of eyes, especially on the Venturini case. But please, call me Howard when you’re here. I’m sorry that you have to follow me to a deposition on your first day.”

  I grabbed my purse from the drawer, locked my computer, and joined Howard. “I’m happy to be a part of it. No need to apologize.”

  We made our way down to the street where a town car was waiting. The ride to CHR Esquire was a short one as the office buildings were only a few blocks from one another. Howard held the elevator door for me as we entered the office.

  The ambiance screamed hotshot lawyer. Almost everything was white—the couches, the furniture, the walls—with the abstract décor incorporating shades of blue, gray, and yellow. The legal associate offices were located along one wall, with each separated by floor-to-ceiling glass partitions. There were no cubicles that I could see. The receptionist and waiting areas were joined together, with flat screens playing CNN and MSNBC on opposite walls.

  “Good afternoon. He’s expecting us,” Howard said to the beautiful brunette receptionist.

  “Yes, he is.” She smiled. “The meeting is in the conference room is at the end of this hallway. He’ll be with you shortly.”

  Howard and I took the long walk down the hallway, and I couldn’t help the butterflies I felt in my stomach. This was the first real case I’d be experiencing hands-on. We walked into the massive conference room. The back wall that faced Central Park was glass from floor to ceiling, and Manhattan was only thirty stories below. I took a seat next to Howard, my back facing the door so we looked out at the skyline.

  “Howard, my friend, I thought we agreed to stop meeting like this.”

  My lungs couldn’t grasp the air they needed. I recognized that voice. Cole. His velvety voice—the same one that had haunted my dreams for the past week—flowed through the room. My body froze. I closed my eyes and prayed that Howard would skip the formal introductions.

  “Come on, Hunter. Let’s get this over with. I’m missing a round of golf because you insisted on doing this today,” Howard joked.

  “Last time we were on the green, I remembered being down four as you trailed.” He laughed. “Still practicing?”

  “Still the cocky prick I remember,” Howard teased. “No one can beat the unstoppable Cole Hunter Rhodes.”

  Rhodes? As in Caleb’s friend, Rhodes? No, that can’t be. Why would Howard call him Hunter?

  My mind drifted back to how his lips felt on my core, and I lowered my head, hoping not to be recognized.

  Cole entered with an entourage of associates, a stenographer, and the witness for the defense behind him. They each took a seat across from us before we got started. Keeping my head buried in my legal pad, I tried not to make any sudden movements. His primary focus was on Howard and the witness, not me. My palms were sweaty, so I wiped them on my skirt as I took a calming breath.

  The deposition began, and I got lost in my notes, keeping my head down so he wouldn’t recognize me and no one else would talk to me. My heart continued to beat at a rapid pace. I didn’t know what information was useful or what I would need later, so I wrote down as much as possible, focusing on what they were saying.

  Seconds passed, and no one spoke. The conversation stopped suddenly, and the room was dead silent. Breathe.

  I lifted my head from my legal pad and noticed every eye on me. Slowly, I turned to the right and looked straight into his hazel eyes. His gaze was like the sun, burning right through me. The air in the room seemed to vanish.

  I was trapped.

  The room waited for Cole to continue, but he’d paused in the middle of what he was saying to stare at me. He didn’t speak. He only cocked his head to the side and smiled—at what I could only guess. Was he remembering our time together? The mischievous look on his face seemed to give away too much. It was enough to make me want to crawl into a hole. This couldn’t be happening.

  “As I was saying,” he continued, looking back at his witness.

  I felt the crimson flow through my body as Cole picked up where he left off. I dipped my head low again, turning my attention back to my notes. When I met him last Friday, I was drunk, and the room was dark. He was different now. His hazel eyes looked brighter than I remembered. The intensity of his smile, of his attention, albeit brief, made my core ache. What little focus I’d had to begin with was no longer on the job at hand. All I could seem to do was remember the ride in the limo and his tongue on my core.

  Oh, my God, his tongue. The way he brought me to the brink of orgasm within seconds by flicking his tongue on my clit . . .

  “Why don’t we take a quick recess? Snacks are in the next conference room,” Cole said to no one in particular.

  I stuffed my notepad back into my tote and looked at Howard. “Do you mind if I step out to get some fresh air?” I needed to get
far away from Cole as fast as possible.

  “Of course not. Just be back in fifteen minutes.”

  I nodded and stood, making my way out of the room as quickly as possible. But the four-inch heels wouldn’t let me escape fast enough. I arrived at the elevator and pressed the call button.

  Come on, come on. Hurry.

  “Katherine?” he called from behind me. Fuck. I closed my eyes for a brief second. It was now or never. I had to face him.

  But I couldn’t turn around.

  So I waited and watched the numbers change above the elevator.

  “It’s nice to see you again. You ran out last time without a proper goodbye.” I felt him a few inches away from me, and my heart raced in my chest.

  “I’m sorry.” I had no idea what I was apologizing for. Running away then, fleeing for my life now? My focus was still on the closed elevator door and the numbers above it.

  “For running out on me the other night? Or for leaving me with a tremendous case of blue balls after I . . .” He chuckled, and visions of him between my legs invaded my mind. “Or for ignoring me just now?” His voice was low.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but what we did was a mistake,” I whispered back to him, unable to meet his gaze as I stared at the ascending numbers.

  “It didn’t feel like a mistake when you were on lips,” he purred in my ear. It made the hair on my neck stand on end.

  “Don’t you dare, Hunter. She’s my best student, and I won’t let you convince her to come work for you. I need her on this case and I’m tired of you stealing all my students,” Howard said from behind us. When we heard his voice, we both turned to face him. Howard rested his hand on my shoulder. “I forgot to introduce you. My apologies. Katherine, this is Cole Hunter Rhodes, former student of mine many years ago. He’s trouble in the court room, hence why I call him Hunter. Hunter, this is my intern for the rest of the semester and summer, Katherine Wolf. And so far she is showing to be much better than you ever were.”