Boss I Love To Hate

by James, London

  After that, I’ll need to start the process of finding a job. I want to find the right fit for me, but I also know I can’t take too long – or be too picky. I know that desperate times like these aren’t exactly conducive to finding one’s dream job. But I am going to do the best that I can.

  My time in the PD’s office was invaluable. It gave me trial experience, helped me to hone my style and skills, and honestly, I think working with good people like Carl made me a better lawyer. Now maybe I can take all the tools I’ve gathered and get myself into a good defense firm or even a non-profit organization that has a solid reputation for doing social justice work.

  It may not be the sort of work that leads me to becoming a millionaire, but so long as I can keep the lights on, food in our bellies, a roof over our heads, and fill my father’s prescriptions, I’ll be happy. Plus, doing good work like that will be ten times more satisfying for me personally. I’d rather see true justice done and protect the innocent than have a Ferrari.

  “Berlin Roth,” the same bored sounding receptionist who’d left the message last night calls out.

  I quickly get to my feet and hustle away from the coughing woman. I’m ushered into the rear offices and parked in an exam room – where I have to wait another twenty minutes sitting. The waiting irritates me almost as much as people who don’t cover their mouths when they cough or sneeze. But that’s the name of the game, unfortunately. I know the doctors in these sorts of clinics are overworked and can’t always be as prompt as I wish they could be.

  Eventually, Dr. Harbor saunters in, reading from my file folder as he shuts the door behind him. He’s a tall, handsome man with perfect features, a pleasant smile, dark, soulful eyes, and a full head of dark hair that’s shot through with gray. He looks like somebody straight out of central casting who was put into the role of ‘kindly doctor’ on some television hospital drama. But I’ve been seeing him for years, and even though he can be a bit corny at times, I like him a lot.

  “Well good morning, Berlin,” he greets me.

  “Morning Doc Harbor,” I respond. “How are the wife and kids doing since I last saw you yesterday?”

  He flashes me a made-for-TV grin. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice?”

  “Well, I’m glad to tell you there’s nothing wrong with your hearing, Doc,” I finally give him a grin in return.

  He nods as he closes the file and sets it on the small counter against the wall. He pulls a stool over and sits down on it in front of me. He purses his lips, saying nothing, and looks at me like he’s trying to figure out how to impart some particularly bad news. It only ratchets up my anxiety. I’m not the greatest when it comes to dealing with doctors in the first place, so the fact that he’s not saying there’s nothing wrong with me – coupled with the strange expression on his face – has me on edge. To say the least.

  “You’re kind of freaking me out here, Doc,” I tell him. “What’s going on?”

  He hesitates a moment longer and looks at me with an inscrutable expression. I have to literally force myself to stay in my seat and not shake the answer out of him.

  “I have the results of your bloodwork, and I’m surprised, Berlin.”

  “Surprised?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Surprised.”

  As I listen to him explain the results of my bloodwork, I get the sort of weightless feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you crest the rise of a roller coaster that’s so high, you think you can reach out and touch the clouds – and then plunge straight over the edge into a nearly vertical drop.

  And it’s all I can do to keep myself from screaming in absolute horror.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sawyer

  I set my cup of coffee on the table as I sit down across from Berlin and give her a smile – one she doesn’t return. I can see how tense and upset she is, but one thing I’ve learned is to never try to handle or manage her. She’ll come to things in her own time, in her own way. There’s nothing I can do to force it.

  It’s why I haven’t been pressing her to get together with me. I’ll lob the occasional text just to let her know I’m still out here and want to see her, but I can’t make her contact me. I’m doing my best to be patient, knowing the tabloid article must have rattled her deeply. I know she’s embarrassed about it, and it’s made her very wary of being seen in public – especially with me. So, I’ve been trying to give her the time and space she obviously needs.

  I won’t lie, though. It’s frustrating as hell. The connection we share is real – and I know she feels it, too. But she has been keeping me at an arm’s distance. I can’t even say we’re really seeing each other since that would imply we talk more than once every couple of weeks. I don’t know what we are to each other, to be honest. I’ve made it clear that I want to be more with her – much more. I want to be closer to her, but she continues to resist.

  Honestly, I’ve never had to work this hard to be with somebody before, so this is all new ground to me. But as I look at her from across the table, see the way the sunshine makes her skin glow as if she’s lit from within, I know I’ll do whatever she needs to get to a place where she’s comfortable, and most of all, ready to be with me – and all that entails.

  Nobody has ever made me feel the way Berlin makes me feel. I’ve never wanted to be with somebody so bad that I chase them as hard as I chase her. There is just something about her; I connect with on a deep, primal level. As cynical and jaded as I can be sometimes, even I recognize how rare that is – and I’m not willing to throw it away just because she’s making me work for it. I’m not willing to walk away from her over my pride. I truly believe we can have something truly unique. Special. And I want it with everything in me.

  “It’s good to see you, Berlin,” I start. “I’ve missed you.”

  She gives me a small smile but says nothing. Instead, she looks down at the table and picks at the napkin beneath her cup of coffee. There is obviously something really weighing her down. We’re sitting on the patio at the coffee house she asked me to meet her at, and despite the place being packed with people, I can see how utterly alone she feels right now. My heart goes out to her. That’s something I want to change.

  I let out a breath and watch as the plume of steam wafts away on a current of air. And as the sun slips behind the iron gray clouds above, plunging us back into a dusky gloom, Berlin finally looks up at me. I see her jaw flexing, and the look of total discomfort on her face is painful for me to see.

  “Talk to me, Berlin,” I nudge her gently. “What’s going on?”

  “I – uhhhh –”

  She bites off her words as several fat tears roll down her smooth cheeks. She angrily scrubs them away and seems to be silently chastising herself. Reaching across the table, I take her hand and give it a squeeze. She looks like she might yank it away but then relaxes and looks at me, giving me the saddest, most humorless smile, I’ve ever seen on a person’s face.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

  Her eyes widen, and there’s a terrified glint that shines through for a moment – but just a moment – before she manages to quash it, leaving nothing but a flat, wooden expression on her face.

  “I – I lost my job at the PD’s office,” she finally tells me, her voice trembling.

  I stare at her blankly for a minute and watch as more tears roll down her face. She sniffs loudly and uses her napkin to dry her eyes. Her cheeks are red and blotchy, her eyes swollen, and although I know what a massive blow this must be to her, I can tell there’s something more. Something she’s not telling me. But I remind myself – in her own time, in her own way.

  “Berlin, that’s terrible,” I reply. “Why? What happened?”

  “Politics,” she sniffs, a note of disgust in her voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It seems that photo in the Ledger made some of the people above me uncomfortable,” she replies. “They – no, he – was
afraid it would somehow blow back on him and make him look bad.”

  “Who is he?” I growl. “What’s his name?”

  “Dwight. Dwight Watson,” she responds. “He’s the office’s Chief Administrator.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, I called him that too,” she says with a small grin. “Among other things.”

  It’s weak and watered-down, but it’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on her face since I sat down. I know what being an attorney and doing the work she does means to her. And I know that for Berlin, this isn’t just the loss of her job – it’s a blow to her very identity. She defends the people who can’t defend themselves. That’s just who she is. So to have that stripped from her is like a shot to the gut.

  “I feel like this is my fault,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault,” she insists. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”

  “Maybe not, but you wouldn’t have been there if not for me,” I admit. “And I should have known better. Those paparazzi assholes are always around, and they’re everywhere. They’re like fucking bedbugs.”

  Seeing the pain in her eyes affects me deeply. The last thing I ever wanted was to cause Berlin problems. As I look at her, though, I just get the feeling there’s more to the story here. I feel like she’s holding back and isn’t telling me something. I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m way off base, but there’s something in her eyes – something she’s doing her best to snuff out – that I’m picking up on. Though I’m tempted to ask her about it, I know that pushing her right now would be the wrong move.

  “What if I spoke to this – Dwight character?” I ask.

  She shakes her head vehemently. “God, no,” she replies. “That would only make the situation worse.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her. “He fired you. How much worse can it get, Berlin?”

  She blinks at me for a moment before erupting into laughter as if only just now realizing how absurd her statement was. She laughs long and loud, clapping her hands together. I get the feeling her outburst is not because it’s that funny – it really wasn’t – but is more of an expulsion of a tremendous amount of emotional energy that’s been boiling below the surface. It’s like turning the pressure release valve on a boiler that’s about to blow.

  She finally settles down and looks at me, an amused grin on her face. “It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been able to laugh,” she says. “Thanks for that.”

  “Anytime. I just like seeing you smile,” I reply. “And I meant it – I can talk to Dwight.”

  Her smile fades. “It won’t help. He’s a political animal,” she says. “Everything he does is calculated based on how it will affect his own political clout.”

  I flash her a roguish grin. “Yeah well, I’m not without my own political clout in this city,” I tell her. “I’ve got plenty of chits I can call in –”

  “I appreciate it, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” she shakes her head.

  “But Berlin –”

  “I don’t need you to always throw on your cape and come rushing in to save me, Sawyer,” she declares firmly. “I don’t want or need you to solve all my problems for me. Sometimes, it’s enough to just be able to talk to you. Sometimes it’s enough for you to just listen.”

  I nod and give her a small smile. Sitting around doing nothing has never been something I’ve been good at. I’m the type who will roll up my sleeves, dive into a problem, and hammer away at it until I find a solution. But I have to recognize that’s not what Berlin needs from me. I have to believe her when she says sometimes; she just needs me to listen – even though it might kill me to do so.

  “So what are you going to do?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I’m not sure yet,” she admits. “I need to start circulating my resume, obviously.”

  I open my mouth, ready to offer some advice, but then close it again, letting the words die on my tongue. This is a time for me to listen and not, as she says, throw on my cape and go rushing in to save her. Instead, I let her talk.

  And Berlin talks for a good twenty minutes or so, really opening up to me about her fears and the anxiety this is all bringing with it. She’s not good with uncertainty in her life and is battling the dark thoughts of doubts about her ability that are weaving their way through her mind. As I sit there and listen to her explain to me what it is she’s looking for and what she hopes to find, an idea begins to form in my head. But I decide to sit on it for a minute.

  “I have to say, I never thought my sex life would lead to a complete reevaluation and overhaul of the other parts of my life,” she chuckles.

  “Yeah, I’m –”

  She reaches across the table and grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. She looks into my eyes, and I see a steely resolve there I haven’t seen yet today – the sort of determination I typically associate with Berlin. I see her strength and confidence – I see all of the qualities that drew me to her in the first place.

  “If you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m going to kick you in the balls so hard, they’ll have to remove them from your throat,” she growls. “I’m not sorry it happened. Despite the fallout, I don’t regret being with you, Sawyer.”

  I raise her hand and kiss her gently on the backs of her knuckles. “I’m glad. Because I don’t regret it either,” I tell her. “Next time, though, we’ll make sure we’re actually alone.”

  “Good thinking,” she replies. “I’m not super crazy about half the city knowing about my apparent sexual deviancies.”

  I give her a grin. “I think the Ledger actually has a circulation that covers about three-quarters of the city.”

  She cackles with laughter and slaps my hand. “Shut up. You’re not helping.”

  “The saving grace here is that they didn’t have your name to print,” I mention. “And given the attention span of the American public, this will be old, forgotten news in no time.”

  “Thank God,” she grins. “But if you have any famous friends, could you ask them to do something outrageous to speed the process along?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I can see some of the tension around her eyes and in her body slowly melting away. There’s still something there that she’s not telling me. It’s been hovering over us like the damn Sword of Damocles since I sat down, but she’s holding onto it. Maybe I’m being paranoid, and it has nothing to do with me. It more than likely is, but I want to be the sort of person in her life she can fully open up to and hold nothing back with.

  We’re obviously not there yet. But I hope that one day soon we can be. I want to move forward with Berlin in my life. I want her to stop keeping me at an arm’s distance and let me in with no reservations. I take a drink of my coffee and decide now is as good a time as any.

  “Without sounding like I’m trying to solve all your problems, I’d like to make you a proposal,” I begin.

  “If this has anything to do with you giving me money –”

  “Far from it,” I promise.

  “Then what is your proposal?”

  “Come work for me,” I tell her. “I need a good personal attorney.”

  “Sawyer, I –”

  “Wait, wait,” I cut her off. “Hear me out first.”

  She sits back in her seat, cradling her coffee cup in both hands as if trying to absorb the warmth as the evening sets in and the temperature starts to plunge.

  “Consider it a temporary thing. A sort of bridge between jobs,” I explain. “You’ll be free to come and go as you please as you look for another job more suited to your talents and liking, but you’ll assist me with projects I need handled.”

  “What sort of projects?”

  I shrug. “Whatever may come up that requires a lawyer’s touch.”

  She smiles. “I thought Rider was your fixer?”

  “This is New York. One can never have too many fixers.”

  She laughs. “
I don’t know, Sawyer. I mean, I appreciate the offer but –”

  “Hey, you haven’t let me finish my sales pitch yet.”

  Her smile is dazzling, even in the oncoming gloom of the night. “Well, by all means. Pitch away.”

  “I can guarantee you’ll make double what you made at the PD’s office,” I begin. “Better benefits for as long as you’re with us, which will help with your dad’s meds. Whatever you need. You set your own terms, Berlin.”

  “That’s very generous, Sawyer.”

  “It’s the least I can do after allowing your sex life to become salacious gossip.”

  She laughs softly, and I can see her pondering the offer. She’s a proud woman. I know there’s some small voice in the back of her head telling her that this is an act of charity and to reject it out of hand – she doesn’t want to be viewed as a charity case. I know I need to give her a gentle push to silence that voice.

  “Like I said, it’s a temporary gig, Berlin. Just until you find something that will be a good fit for you,” I press. “And before you even begin to think about rejecting this as a handout, believe me when I say you will work for your money. I promise you that. This isn’t an act of charity. It’s bringing in a more than capable lawyer to help me protect my company.”

  She chews on her bottom lip, and I watch the wheels in her head spinning. She’s weighing out all the pros and cons and looking for hidden strings or pitfalls, which makes me chuckle to myself. I know Rider does this as well, which makes me wonder if all lawyers are this cynical. Finally, she raises her head and gives me a smile.

  “Can I think about it?” she asks.

  “Absolutely. Take your time.”

  “Thank you, Sawyer.”

  “Nothing to thank me for. Like I said, this is a legit job offer, and if you accept it, I’m going to put you to work.”