by CD Reiss
The executive lot was underground, on the other side of campus. If you wanted to get there underground, without crossing the courtyard and getting rained on, you had to take the elevator.
“Yes.” She started down the hall and I followed.
“I’ll walk you.”
She looked me up and down, Sharpie lashes fluttering. “Do you have an umbrella? You’ll need it.”
“Ah.” I patted my pockets like a dumbass who lost his keys, not an umbrella.
“I have an extra right inside my office door.”
“No, I have one.” I stepped backward down the hall. “I’ll just go get it.”
“Great. See you tomorrow!”
She hurried down the hall as if she’d just dodged three painful minutes in my company.
I shook it off. What was the difference? What was I trying to do here? Get my ass fired? Get her fired? There were dozens of women I could take to bed and absolutely no reason to focus on the one who could make my life and my job miserable.
But that body. The way she walked. The swing of her black hair across her back.
A female voice came from behind me. “There are rumors about that one.”
It was Marie Siska. Founding partner at Siska + Welton. She was in her early fifties and had her brown hair up in a tidy twist. She was a former litigator who had argued in front of the Ninth and had a way of knowing the intricacies of every case we handled.
“What kind of rumors?”
“The unsubstantiated kind.”
She invited me into my own office and closed the door behind us. I sat in front of my own desk, in one of the two guest chairs.
Marie’s lavender pants suit was custom made and she never sat down. She put her hands on the back of the second guest chair, pulling herself up a little as if she wanted to look taller.
“Barney and I have made a decision about you.”
I tried to look completely calm, but there was a pretty good chance my face froze over in the attempt.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Alexander Burke and Neuronet are your catch. If you go, he goes with you. That’s a plus in the senior partner column.”
I’d played MMPORGs with Burke way back in the day. All the zombie shooting had paid off. He was also a great guy and a badass gamer.
“But we’re a recent contract,” she continued. “And it’s short term. He can cut us loose any time for another outside contractor or to keep it all in-house. It’s fine. It’s part of the business, but a long-term retainer could be big for us. One third of future billing.”
“And my name would be one third of the ones on the letterhead.”
She did something she never did. She sat down in front of me. “I’ve wanted to be a lawyer ever since I saw a Senate debate on C-SPAN. We’re a small, classy operation with a stellar reputation. Classy and stellar were the goal, but small wasn’t. We should be litigating in front of the Supreme Court, and the reason we’re not is because we have to scratch and claw every quarter. We can’t take the chances we need to. I have ten or fifteen more years of active participation in this business before I can’t keep up, and it’s coming at me fast. We’ve tried to grow and it’s never stuck. This is our chance to turn this firm into what I dreamed about when I was ten. You are our chance.”
“No pressure.”
“None.” She got on her feet, where she was most comfortable. “I need you to find a way to be indispensable. If we want to stay, we have to be of value. If we’re going to be of value, we have to do more than the job. Then we’ll reprint the stationery.”
I stood with her. She was offering me my own heart’s desire on a plate. Her partner was sixty-four. She’d retire way before me. It would be my firm to run if I could just find a way to keep Neuronet.
Keeping clients was about relationships. I was friends with Alexander Burke, but I needed good connections on the ground. Piece of cake.
I’d get close to Raven.
Professionally, of course.
Chapter 6
RAVEN
Oona had a thick Afro and deep brown skin she didn’t need makeup to smooth. She was wildly efficient, painfully honest, and continually communicative.
“I wish I could turn my desk around,” she said, handing me a stack of printouts. Her setup kept her back toward my office. “I can’t look at him all day. I feel like I’m cheating on Brice.”
Through my windows, across the hall, and through Roman’s office windows, I could see over the city of Palo Alto all the way to the other side of the bay. But Oona had a point. That wasn’t the best view from where we were. The view at the moment was Roman looking out the window with one hand in his pocket and the other with his phone to his ear. The silhouette over the long view of the city was enough to make me press my knees together. One day the implementation would be done and I wouldn’t have to look at him any more or avoid him in the cafeteria. I wouldn’t have to look away whenever he made eye contact, or avoid laughing at one of his jokes in a meeting.
“You can turn it,” I said.
She tightened her lips and shook her head. “Company’s very strict on that.”
“Uniformity.”
“Yeah. But, hot damn.” She glanced across the hall, where Roman had gotten off the phone, and back to me. “Sorry, that’s not very professional.”
“I won’t write you up.” I smiled at her, but we weren’t supposed to talk like that about associates, no matter how gorgeous they were. “But if you’d be more comfortable moving your computer, you should.”
“Great idea.”
I flipped through the printout, but Oona stayed by my desk.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, actually.” She lowered her voice. “Do you ever wonder why they put a white dude in charge of overseeing equal compensation?”
“He did arbitration on the Apex case.”
“Ah.”
“And he’s got a history with Burke.”
“Knock, knock.” The male voice was accompanied by quick-knuckled raps on my open door. It was Roman, eyes greener in the morning sun. It was really hard to breathe when he looked at me. “Raven, do you have a minute?”
He and I acted as though we hadn’t weaponized each other’s personal information. I pretended I never heard him ask me to have fun gaming and he acted as if he never said it. Not because I wished he hadn’t asked, but because the prospect of seeing him socially was so appealing. He was hard to talk to when my body kept reacting to the clear-as-air smell of his aftershave and the cut of his suit.
I avoided him. I didn’t want to lose this job doing with Roman what I’d done with Taylor. I wanted stock options and a pension.
But I had a minute and he and I were working together.
“Sure,” I said. Oona left.
He and I always met in conference rooms with teams present. But here he was, in my office, and there went Oona, out the door to her own desk. We were alone.
He sat in the chair across the desk, leaning back with his ankle on his knee. Ribbed socks. Sage green. Tan shoes. Gray suit.
It worked. He worked. He was put together like a masterpiece. Oona leaned into the room and started to close the glass door.
“You can leave it open,” I said. She nodded and went left down the hall to pick up more printouts.
Roman tilted his chin to the stack on my desk. “Funny how you still want paper in a digital company.”
“The digital reporting capsule hasn’t been uploaded,” I said, making it a specific point to not look at the way his hand curved around the edge of the armrest, or the way his watch peeked past his cuff, or the way his shirt stretched across his chest.
He nodded. “I wanted to talk about that.”
His eyes were on my face. Completely appropriate, but when he looked at me like that I felt naked.
I didn’t want this kind of energy at Neuronet. I’d dealt with enough of it in my first couple of weeks. On any normal day, from any normal man, I’d feel bo
th violated and annoyed. But he was different. He didn’t repel me. He did the opposite, no matter how professional he was. I lost myself.
What was I wearing? I couldn’t remember.
“Reporting’s not in your plexus,” I said.
You’re wearing the burgundy skirt suit.
“Well, maybe.”
And the pink blouse…
“If you want to open up a node, I can get you the information management forms.”
…with the third button that pops open when you don’t want it to…
“Here’s my point,” he said, eyes in only the most appropriate places. “You’re new. I’m new. I have no idea how you work.”
…and the hot pink bra…
“Why is that important?”
…that scratches your nipples when they get hard.
“Process is everything.”
Don’t think about it.
“The software measures results.”
Do. Not. Think. About. It.
“We’re two ships passing in the night,” he said, and I imagined a pause after, but it might have been just my imagination. “Unless legal fully understands how results are tabulated and understood by management, we can’t offer an accurate recommendation.”
His gaze flicked lower for a brief second and my chest—which was hopefully under a fully buttoned shirt—tingled with prickly heat and the lace scratched where I was sensitive.
“We can set up a series of meetings,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to.
“If I sit in one more meeting, I’m going to throw my degree in the trash and join the circus.”
I laughed, forgetting my blouse for a second. He smiled when I did and for the first time, Roman Bianchi seemed approachable.
“Let’s just have a lunch in the cafeteria.” He took his ankle off his knee and leaned forward. “See how we start approaching this.”
The laughter had caught me off guard.
“Sure. How about Friday?”
He looked at his watch and leaned back, calling out the open door. “Oona?”
She appeared. “Yes?”
“Does Raven have anything on the calendar for lunch today?”
“Nope.”
“Great. Thank you.” He stood up as if it was all decided. “I have an eleven-thirty. Meet you at one by the Big Circuit.”
When he left, I very calmly put my hand to my chest. All my buttons were fastened. I laughed a little at myself. Silly, silly girl.
I had to work with him, and as the months went on, I was going to have to work more and more closely. My hard nipples and flushed skin were going to become problems.
I was giving Roman power over me. Yes, he was fine on the eyes. He dressed well and carried a power and confidence about him that turned me on. He wore his competence like a suit of armor.
The only way to break down my attraction was to make him human. I could do that. I’d done it before.
First step, get to know him and all his most unattractive traits. Knock him down a few pegs and he’d just become another coworker.
Yeah. I could do that.
Chapter 7
ROMAN
The Big Circuit was off the back of the cafeteria. It was a vertical topiary climbing a thin steel plate. The branches and flowers and whatnot made it look like a circuit. Water flowed to make more lines and connections. It had a few green metal tables around it and since the sky was cloudy and the air was cool, I figured it wouldn’t be too crowded.
I got there first. That was intentional. It would be easier for her if she was the one approaching and standing. I’d let her dictate the pace and volume of the opening. This was important. She needed to feel safe, because in her office a few hours before, a couple of things had become clear.
One, I made her uncomfortable.
Two, she was attracted to me.
Was one the result of two? Or the other way around? Or were they separate?
I had to know. In the most unprofessional way…I had to know.
I stood when she came out with her tray.
“Hi,” she said. “Did you get the chicken?”
I pulled the chair out for her. She swallowed. I wasn’t supposed to do that. We were professionals and equals, but I had habits instilled in me I wasn’t breaking. Fuck that.
“We’re not on a date, Mr. Bianchi.”
“You’re holding the tray with two hands, Ms. Obvious.”
She laughed. When I’d made the circus crack that morning her laugh almost broke through every last shred of professionalism I’d had. It wasn’t some unique snort or a sun-just-came-through-the-clouds kind of thing. It was perfectly normal. The gratification came from the fact that I’d created it.
She sat.
“What did you get?” I asked. The cafeteria was run by a full-time professional chef and staffed so fully that they could put out one perfectly plated serving at a time.
“The tikka masala.”
“I got the generic chicken.”
“Do you not like the food here?” she asked. I noticed she’d only brought a small notebook, and her phone was in her pocket. If she’d prepared for this meeting, I couldn’t see it.
“Better than the firm’s. We have a vending machine with ramen noodles and granola bars.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It’s fine. My mother was a complete hack.” I cut my chicken. “I mean, I love her and all. She’s my mother. But she boiled pasta to a paste. When it got cold, my sister and I cut it into slices.”
“Come on. Really?”
I was amusing her. Total dopamine rush.
“We had sliced spaghetti sandwiches for lunch.”
“Stop.”
Laughing a little now.
“With ketchup.” I popped a piece of very non-generic chicken into my mouth. “Does a body good.”
Her smile was genuine, and that too was a natural high.
“And did you miss it when you left Oakland?” Her question was a shameless admission that she knew where I was from. Fair enough. We’d already gone down the path of admitting we’d researched each other.
“Not a bit. You miss Austin’s weirdness?”
“It’s only weird for Texas.”
“You don’t have an accent.”
“Funny. You do.”
Touché, lovely woman. Touché. I was forgetting myself, my surroundings, my purpose in being there.
“What brung ya?” I spun my fork at the Palo Alto sky, Silicon Valley, the entire Bay area.
She put her eyes on her plate, stabbing her food so hard the plastic plate clacked.
“Someone already killed that chicken,” I said.
She smiled. Man, I liked that smile.
“I came with a guy named Aiden. He developed HearThis, which I’m sure you’ve heard of.”
“That got sold to Niles Havershim, right?”
“Yeah. Then he dumped me. Which is more than you need to know.”
“And why did you stay in paradise?”
She shrugged. “My parents are artists. We lived in a van until I was eight. We were always hand to mouth or like, if my dad sold a sculpture it was great for a bit, but if my mother didn’t have a tour one year, which was pretty common, it was ramen and granola bars.”
“They must have stocked the vending machines in my office.”
“That would require business sense, which they don’t have and never will. I’m not judging because I didn’t get any either. Not for my own business. I’m happy in a regular gig and my best option was to stay here. Get a stable job. Be a grown-up.”
“You grew up nice.” I think I said it with a little too much conviction. She put her hand to the top button of her blouse. Maybe not too much conviction. Maybe too much subtext.
“You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” she said. “It could create the wrong impression.”
“This is the first time you’ve told me anything personal. Something tells me if I were a woman, I’d know something
about you.”
“So?”
“Don’t you think that might create the wrong impression?”
Her glance was just a tick to the left of flirty, and the way she tilted her head to expose her neck was just to the right side of sensual. My dick reacted. Biology is powerful. But it wasn’t just my dick. My brain decided it was time to shatter a solid brick wall wrapped in corrugated steel behind a hard-earned filter that separated the appropriate from the inappropriate.
My plan to make her laugh was breaking down and I had no control over it. None. I was my own worst enemy. Everything I’d been bottling up came out all at once.
“Your neck’s broken out in spots.” I leaned forward so I could speak softly. “You’re fondling your fork like it’s a kitten.”
Shut up, asshole.
“Your legs are crossed, but I bet in another place—”
No, really, shut up.
“—another time—”
There’s no going back from this.
“—I could get you to open them.”
Her fork clattered to the plate. Grains of rice bounced onto the tabletop. She stood like a shot.
“This meeting is over.”
As much as I usually enjoyed watching her walk away, I kept my eyes on my plate.
If she thought she was shocked at my behavior, I was ten times as surprised.
What was wrong with me?
Chapter 8
RAVEN
I didn’t see Roman for the rest of the day, which was a goddamn good thing. Getting to know him so I could be less attracted to him was backfiring spectacularly.
And yes, I was deeply offended at the lines he’d crossed over lunch.
But I was also turned on. All through afternoon evaluations, I was deeply, uncomfortably engorged and wet. I was glad I’d worn a skirt because the crotch of my panties was wet enough to soak through.
As the VP of human resources, I taught classes on company policy, diversity, and sexual harassment, and I’d been sexually harassed at lunch.
But it didn’t feel like sexual harassment. It felt like foreplay.
And since feeling harassed was part of the definition, and because I never told him not to tell me he could open my legs at some point in the future, I chalked it up to a fair game attempt that couldn’t be repeated.