by Kim Linwood
What is it with these women? How have they managed to wrap both of us around their delicate little fingers?
I check my email, not surprised to see a note from my father. He finally heard about my trouble with Cooper. It drives me crazy to have him watching over my shoulder the whole time. Dad knows I’m one of his best. If there’s anyone who’s made him more money this last quarter, I’d like to know who the fuck it is. No one, that’s who. But apparently we care about decorum and not acting like a kid.
If he knew what Cooper said, I bet he wouldn’t be telling me about running out of chances.
Fuck him, and fuck his chances.
What I want to do right now is tell the entire office to go to hell and then spend the weekend getting drunk enough to forget all about Claire, our parents, and this shit show of a case. I’ll find someone who reminds me of her, screw her brains out, and then come back next week ready to get on with my fucked up life.
The one I used to enjoy.
But what I do is pull up yet another boring as shit record of some other poor schmuck’s case defending some other asshole and start taking notes.
Four months ago, I walked into a party feeling like something had to change.
Now I want to go back in time and tell myself to run the other way, because change fucking sucks. I don’t want to feel drawn to my soon-to-be step-sister, and I don’t want her self-righteous morals to infect my brain, making me question everything I’m doing.
I need to get her off my mind, or onto my dick.
One or the other needs to happen soon or I’m going to fucking blow.
Claire
Monday. I’m so over this stupid elevator ride.
I had a nightmare last night where I was stuck in a twilight zone version of reality where the floor numbers kept going up in smaller and smaller fractions, and the closer I came to the fifty-fourth floor, the slower it rose, so slow that I never quite got to work. Eventually someone would probably come to check, finding my desiccated corpse inside, a tiny fraction of an inch away from freedom.
Maybe I’m just too excited to be patient this morning, because today is a special day.
Today I get revenge.
Ding.
I step out, a little earlier than usual. Just making sure that I get here before Declan.
Carl looks up and smiles. “Donuts again? But it’s not Friday.” Realizing he shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth, he quickly adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”
Laughing, I open the box and present it to him. “It’s a special occasion. Help yourself, but I advise strongly to keep away from the Boston cremes.”
He raises an eyebrow in question. “Really? How come?” One troublemaker to another, he can probably sense something juicy is coming.
I shrug with feigned nonchalance. “It’s a surprise, but it’s specifically for Declan. Maybe you should find something to do near our office when he comes in. And that’s all I’ll say about it.” It’s probably all I have to say, because I’m sure my crazy grin says the rest.
He pointedly picks out a cruller and bites into it after a suspicious look-over. Gesturing at me with what’s left, he speaks with his mouth full, “You’re making me curious, young lady. Very curious. How do you know I won’t just warn him? I’ve known him a lot longer than I have you.”
“Because those other two crullers are also yours.”
Carl shakes his head sadly. “I see all hope is lost. Your argument makes it obvious you were destined to be a lawyer. Obviously my suspicions were misplaced, because that looks like a box of perfectly normal donuts to me.” With great care, he removes the remaining two crullers, as if every donut around them might be explosive.
“I thought you might see it my way. Anyway, I have to get to my spot.” Closing the box, I set off towards my office.
“Claire!” Carl calls after me.
Looking over my shoulder, I wait for the inevitable. “Yes?”
“What can a goose do, a duck can't, and a lawyer should?” He grins over his second cruller.
“Still no idea, Carl.”
“Stick his bill up his ass.” And with that, he sits down out of sight from where I’m standing, undoubtedly enjoying his third cruller. I like Carl, but he’s a total weirdo, not to mention sugar fiend.
Picking up the pace, I rush to my spot, putting the box down on my desk, open and facing the door. Everything looks the same as Friday. There’s no way Declan won’t notice it. Now all I have to do is wait and hope I’m not too obvious when he walks in.
I get the sudden urge to rub my hands together like a super villain.
Three well-prepared Boston cremes are lined up next to each other, just waiting for my target. I take a regular glazed and munch on it happily while I wait. It’s a good thing it doesn’t take long, because there’s no way I’m getting anything done before he gets here.
Declan strides in like he always does, tall and straight, dressed in an immaculate suit that’s obviously tailor cut. He almost walks right by, but spots the donuts and stops. “Again? Is this going to be an everyday thing?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Carl doing the world’s slowest walk-by just outside our door. I smile, pretending innocence. “We’ve been working hard, and I felt like a treat this morning. That’s allowed, right?”
Do it, do it, do it!
“Yeah, sure, of course.” With a dexterous nab, he pulls one of the Boston cremes from the box. “Thanks.” He salutes me with it before taking a huge bite.
Watching gleefully, I can see it happen moment by moment. His teeth cut through the surface and punch down into the filling as it squirts out into his waiting mouth. It’s like watching a cartoon, where time stops as the main character figures out what just happened to them. It doesn’t take long.
His eyes pop open wide. With a deep hack, he spits out his bite, right onto the carpeted floor. “Oh my God. What the fuck is in this donut?” He spits again.
“Oh, that one?” I pause, savoring the moment. “It’s a special one for my boss. Packed totally full of creamy... thick... mayo.”
He sticks his tongue out at my words, batting at it with his hand like he’s trying to brush the taste off. Then his eyes go wide. “Holy fuck, my tongue burns. That’s not just mayo.”
I bat my eyes sweetly. “You’re right. There’s also a huge dollop of puréed chili mixed in, if you’re curious. It wasn’t even the hottest pepper I found, you big pussy. How’s it taste? Because from here, it looks really freakin’ sweet.”
His face is beet red and his eyes huge. Is that a tear I see? “Motherfucking Jesus Christ on a fucking pogo stick! Water. Fuck, I need water.” He tears open the door and charges down towards the reception where the water cooler is. He’d probably be better off grabbing milk from the fridge, but I’m sure he’ll figure that out on his own.
That’ll teach him to mess with me.
Carl pokes his head in, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Remind me not to get on your bad side. Or take the Boston cremes out of your donut box.” He laughs, a bit hoarsely. “I bow to ye, O Mistress of Practical Jokes.”
I acknowledge him with a queenly tip of my head and a smile before he turns, chuckling as he leaves. I have to admit to feeling pretty awesome right now. It was almost too easy. He never saw it coming. Victory feels so good.
I’m going to have to watch my back. For real.
But right now, I’m going to enjoy being in the lead while I figure out how to help Cooper Holdings win their case without totally selling myself to the devil or killing Mr. Cooper.
I’m just getting stuck in when my phone rings. Distracted, I don’t bother to check who it is before picking up. “Hello?”
“Claire, sweetheart. You’re there.” Michael’s slimy voice worms its way into my ear.
Why did I use to think he was charming, again? I really need to block his contact in my phone.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Wait! Don’t h
ang up. Please. We were together for three years. That has to count for something, right?” He sounds so pathetic that my finger pauses over the end call icon. “It’s not for me, okay? I’m calling for my parents.”
“Your parents? Did something happen?”
“No, not like that. They’re celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary next Sunday. Renewing their vows and they’d really like for you be there.”
“What? But we’re not together anymore. They know that.” Silence on the other end. “Right?” The terrible thing is that I actually like Michael’s parents. They’ve always been really nice to me, so I have no idea how their son turned out so rotten. “Michael?”
He hesitates. “Well, not in so many words, I guess. I’ve hinted at it.”
Oh, for... “You haven’t told them anything.” Avoidance was always one of his primary techniques. I shouldn’t be surprised. “So now they’re expecting you to be there with your fiancée and if I don’t show, you either ruin their night or make me look bad. Is that it?”
“Look, if you don’t show, I won’t say anything bad about you. I just—I just figured they’d appreciate it. They really like you. You’re the daughter they never had.” Am I actually feeling bad for him? Shit, I am.
“Alright.” Oh God, what am I doing? “Fine, I’ll go. For them, since they’ve always been good to me.”
“Really? You will? Thank you! Thank you, Claire. Maybe afterwards, we can—”
“I will say my greetings to them, give them a gift and then try to be social. Afterwards, I will leave and you will never call me again. Got it?” In, out, gone.
“Yeah.” He sighs melodramatically.
I used to appreciate that he wasn’t forceful or pushy like a lot of guys, but he just sounds spineless to me now. Typical. What I used to want has no appeal anymore, and what I shouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole looks like a nice juicy steak. I can’t win.
“Was that it? I’m supposed to be getting work done.”
“Yeah, I guess that was—”
I hang up, done. I’ll see him on Sunday, and then no more. I’m finished with him.
Claire
Declan’s revenge seems to be making me wait for his revenge.
It’s diabolical. I’ve been afraid to move all week.
That, or standing up to him taught him a lesson and now he’ll respect and treat me like an equal. I’m hoping for the latter and betting on the former. He’s biding his time, like the deep weeds dwelling trouser snake that he is.
I snort at the mental image of Declan hiding in tall grass and waiting for me to walk by so he can crawl up my skirt.
It’s Friday, and we’re across his desk from each other, working on the Cooper case. I glance over at him, but he’s completely focused on reading some documents in a tan folder. His face is furrowed in concentration.
He’s so focused that he forgets to put on the wealthy playboy mask he wears like a second skin. These are the only times I think I see the real unguarded Declan. I like to think that if he’d spent the whole night, I’d have been able to see it while he was relaxed and happy. I think about that more than I probably should.
While I watch, he wets his lips with his tongue, and I remember where that tongue has been, and what it felt like sliding over my skin. He leans back and stretches, working out the kinks in his neck and it makes me want to volunteer to give him a backrub so I can feel his muscles under my hands again.
I’m basically going crazy.
Working all this overtime together is like being trapped on one of those reality shows where everyone eventually sleeps with everyone, except there’s just two of us. Once I get voted off this stupid island, I’m going out and getting laid ASAP.
“We can’t use this guy.” He tosses the folder onto our messy reject pile. “Too unstable.”
I flip open the cover to see who he’s talking about. Lloyd Peterson, Chief Accountant. There’s a picture clipped to it of a scrawny old man with a bad combover and horn-rimmed glasses. His vest pocket even has pens sticking out of it. I’m not sure if I could find a more stereotypical picture of an accountant if I went Googling for one.
He was the last decent option on our potential witness list. Finding credible people to testify on Cooper’s behalf has been like finding needles in a hay field. Forget the stack. A few flat out laughed when we asked.
Looking up at Declan, I cock my head. “Unstable?”
His sigh is long and resigned. “I really hoped this guy would work. He’s been with the company for longer than I’ve been alive and knows everything there is to know about their economy. Seems friendly to Cooper. Hell, Cooper suggested him as an option.”
“Then he must be crazy,” I mutter under my breath.
Declan growls in frustration. “Cooper must be suicidal or something. He forgot to mention that he bumped this guy down from CFO to just accountant five years ago. Along with a matching pay cut. I gave him a call earlier to sound him out, and on the surface he seemed all about toeing the company line, but sometimes you have to trust your gut, and there’s something about him that makes me think he’d be a wildcard on the stand. He’s the best we’ve got, but that doesn’t mean shit if he gets up there and switches sides. I’m not gonna risk it.”
Sounds perfect to me, but I don’t think Declan and I are working towards exactly the same ends. I’m still hoping to steer things to some sort of reasonable settlement. “I’m all for taking the chance.”
“I bet you are. Anything that’ll drive this case right into the ground, right?”
“Hey, I really thought my idea about trying to track down his regular prostitutes as character witnesses was inspired.” I grin. “Getting screwed is in their job description.”
Declan laughs and kicks at my foot under the table. Warmth spreads out from the middle of my chest, a much more dangerous feeling than just attraction. I’m actually starting to like him. He’s really not bad when he’s like this. Not pranking me or trying to scare me off.
I smile. “Alright, alright, we’ll leave it as a backup plan. But you said he’s the best we’ve got and we know the plaintiff’s going to have people lining up around the block for their chance to rip on this guy. Do we really want to show up without anyone speaking for Cooper? Other than Peterson, all we’ve found are a couple people who agree that many of his practices are common in the industry.”
“It’s better than someone who’s going to fuck it all up. I’m dropping him.” He shrugs. “It’s not worth the risk. Maybe if we go over the financials again we’ll find something new.”
Again? I groan. “Declan, we did that already. With a fine tooth comb. They’re great proof—if you’re trying to get him convicted.” Not to mention that I’d rather stab myself with one of Lloyd Peterson’s pens than open that mountain of decimals again.
Declan laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, this isn’t exactly an easy starter case for you, is it? Unfortunately, he’s paying us top dollar to get him out of this mess, so get to work. You can’t say I didn’t warn you that I was going to make your life hell.”
I sigh. “Alright. Fine. One more time, and then I’m calling the hookers.”
Claire
Declan takes off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves. He’s already pulled off his tie and undone a couple of buttons, exposing just enough skin and ink to make it impossible for me to concentrate.
I’d say he’s just messing with me, but his office feels like a sauna, so I think something is screwed up with the air conditioning. I’ve taken off what I can too, and pulled my hair up off my neck. Once in a while I catch him looking, and wonder if he thinks about that night as much as I do when we’re together.
It doesn’t help that the financials aren’t any more interesting the second time around.
A drop of sweat makes its way down the side of Declan’s neck, and suddenly I’m back in my room with his glistening body straining above me and my tongue tracing that same line.
He coughs and I p
ull my pen out of my mouth. I’ve been absentmindedly sucking on the end of it, and his expression is so cocky that I just know he can practically read my mind.
“See something you like?” He asks.
I could deny it, but what’s the point? It’s too hot to be coy. “Yeah, but don’t get all full of yourself. It doesn’t take much to outshine Cooper’s ground maintenance budget. Did you know they cemented up their fountain to save money?” I frown and shake my head sadly. “No wonder people were unhappy. Everyone likes fountains. Besides, shouldn’t you be reading your own papers?”
His smirk widens. “Sure, but it’s hard to concentrate when you’re squirming in your chair right across from me. One could be fooled into thinking that your mind isn’t entirely on your work.” His foot hooks round my calf, stroking softly up and down, making me jump. “You’re blushing. You weren’t thinking of anything... naughty, were you?”
“Obviously, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Stop touching me.”
He doesn’t. I could move away, but I don’t.
“Say it like you mean it, and maybe I’ll listen.” His foot slides farther up, almost slipping in under my skirt.
“Don’t you think we’re a little old for playing footsie?” This time I move my leg away, trying to ignore the tingles he’s sending up my thigh.
He considers my words for a moment, his gaze distant while he chews his lip. “You know what? You’re right. Why play footsie when we could be fucking on my desk?” He grabs it as if he’s about to stand up. “No time like the present, right?”
Oh for... “I don’t know, ask me again in a decade and I’ll let you know.”
“I think you are vastly overestimating my patience.” He laughs and I watch him count to five on his fingers. “How about now? I think now might be even better.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, you must be right. I can just tell that right now is the perfect time to tear off our clothes and go at it. Right here, right now.”