by Kim Linwood
The line falls silent. I feel a little sorry for him. Michael’s screwed up in a way that ruined whatever he thought he wanted, and it’s obviously driving him nuts. Even if he could be underhanded and manipulative when we were together, he never went all out crazy like this. He should be getting help somewhere. Like professional help.
“You know what. You’re upset. I’m sure this is a lot to take in for you.” He clears his throat. “Take a couple of days to think about it. I’ll call back on Friday.”
“My answer’s not going to change.” Not now, not ever.
“Just think about it. I’ll talk to you on Friday. I love you, baby.”
I try not to scream into the phone.
“Michael—” The phone goes dead. He’s gone.
Now what? I drop my head into my hands, defeated. I said I wouldn’t cry, but it’s making its way up anyway. Swallowing hard, I force it back down, quickly wiping a tear that escaped. How can he do this to me? He’s going to destroy me. And what can I do about it?
The only answer I can think of fills me with despair.
Nothing.
Rule number four: Never, ever assume the day can’t get worse.
Declan
Ding.
Fucking emails.
I slap shut my laptop and lean back to look at the chaos on my desk. Papers are everywhere, and I can still tell where Claire was stretched out across the top. But now I’m back to being just a cog in the damn machine.
Checking my email, making calls and drafting legal documents about shit nobody cares about but other lawyers. Was I ever like her? Dreaming of making a difference?
No, because this job was always just something I expected myself to do. I enjoy it most of the time, but the only difference I was thinking about making was in my bank account. I appreciate having a case that feels worthwhile, but not enough to go looking for them.
I choke down the last of the cold sludge in the bottom of my coffee cup. How fucking low have I sunk that I want a new cup of coffee, but I’m hiding in my office so I don’t have to look my assistant in the eye?
Instead I fire my machine back up to deal with the rest of my email. Walking on the wild side.
My phone rings, and I’m glad for the distraction. “Talk to me.”
“Hey, fucknut.”
I wish I didn’t recognize that voice. “You have exactly five seconds to tell me what you want before I hang up.” Why is Claire’s dipshit ex calling me? And why am I even still on the line? “Four.”
“It’s in your best interest to talk to me, fucknut. Life is about to get really unpleasant for our mutual friend, but there’s something you can do about that. I don’t know why she’s bothering with you, but I have a feeling you’d do quite a bit to avoid what I have planned.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mikey. Your mom and I are just good friends. I promise. Three.”
“Oh bravo, fucknut. That really told me.”
If he says “fucknut” one more time, I’m going to reach through the phone and strangle him. “Two.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to shoot your mouth off if I were you. It’d pay for you to listen to me.”
“You keep talking, but you keep not answering my question. I don’t have all day. One.”
“Alright. Fine. No beating around the bush. I can appreciate that. The short of it? Stay the hell away from Claire. Drive her off, make it obvious that you’re not interested. You don’t deserve her.”
I laugh. She doesn’t even want to talk to me right now. Driving her off seems to be something I’m particularly good at. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let dickless here boss me around though. “I’ll do whatever I want with Claire. Was she a screamer for you too? Man, I thought the whole office was going to hear.”
There’s silence at the other end, and I can almost feel him seethe through the phone line. “Do you really want to know? Because here’s the deal. I’ve got some footage that would answer that question for you quite well. If you don’t back off and leave her the hell alone, I’m going to send it everywhere I can, starting with your dad.” The glee in his voice is sickening.
I can’t imagine straight-laced Claire doing anything blackmail-worthy. “What is it, drunken karaoke?”
“Yeah, sure. Except instead of singing, she’s moaning, and instead of a teleprompter, it’s my dick. Are we clear now?” In the background I hear what sounds like porn, but my gut tells me it’s private vintage.
“And you think I care because? So what if you mess up her life? I’ve had my go with her. Take your threats to someone who fucking cares.”
He laughs, high pitched and nasal. “Oh, I think you care. You act like you’re so cool, but you keep showing up to get in my way. I saw how you two kissed. Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?”
Fuck, am I that transparent? “An idiot, yes. And a moron, a dimwit and a fucking monkey, shit-for-brains.”
“My finger’s hovering over the send button right now. One little click, and this private gem goes to your dad, to Stanford, to her mom, to anyone who’s ever known her. You can prevent that. Just step back and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I’ve got a better idea. How about we meet up and I break your face? I can’t make it much uglier, but I think knocking out your teeth would be an improvement.”
He tsks me. Fucking tsks me. “Now, now, Mr. Big Shot. That’s not going to make this any easier. Attack me again, and all that’s happening is that you’re going down for assault. I’m sure that’ll thrill your dad. He was so happy to hear about your fuck up at the party. I’m sure he’ll love it when I tell him about round two.”
Of course. “So you’re the fucker who called to tattle on me, huh?”
The shitty thing is, that while I don’t really care what he does with me, he might actually fuck things up for Claire. Maybe he’s just fucking with me, but can I risk it? I’ve got my job here, even if it’s... well, what it is. She’s just starting out, and doesn’t deserve to get dragged through the mud.
Fucking hell, am I about to make a goddamn mature decision? “Alright, so say I believe you’ve actually got something on her. I still don’t see why you’re calling me about it.”
“I told you, you’re going to do your damnedest to drive her away. Whatever you have to do to convince her you’re done. The end. Finished. If you so much as touch her again, I’ll ruin everything. Hell, if you play nice, I’ll send it to you as a bonus. It’s almost as good as the real thing.”
I very much doubt that.
Every fiber of my being tells me to hang up on the fucker, but I don’t. Will I go along with his messed up request? Hell to the no, but maybe I can buy some time. If I can find out what he’s up to, I can fix it before things get messy.
Or I could just go and rearrange this guy’s face, and maybe the rest of him too. It’s seriously tempting, but not an ideal solution.
In the long run, at least.
Look at me, thinking ahead. Dad would be proud. “And if I do this, you’re going to destroy that video, right? Permanently? Because if you don’t, I won’t have anything to lose.” I put all the menace I can into my voice. “And if I don’t have anything to lose, I will come for you. Is that fucking clear?”
His reply is the meekest he’s been since this damn call started. “Yes. Clear.”
“Good.” I hang up.
This day has gone from bad, to fantastic, to craptacular, to I don’t even know what the fuck it is now. It’s like soap-opera level shit.
And I still don’t have a fucking cup of coffee.
Claire
“What do lawyers get when you give them Viagra?”
Carl grins like a little boy while chewing his donut, which is a little disconcerting, to be honest. Still, he’s one of the few people I’ll miss when this job is over. He’s silly and a little crazy, but he’s nice enough and he seems to like me. Given how cool things have been between Declan and me since we made the mistake of crossing the
line, I’ll take any friendly faces I can get.
I’ve picked out a chocolate glazed from the box, and I’m eating while standing with him. It’s getting to be a bit of a morning routine for us. It was only supposed to be Fridays, but what can I say? I'm weak. A few quiet moments before I head deeper into the maw of the beast. God knows I need all the positives I can find these days. Carl definitely isn’t complaining.
Eying Carl, I sigh and give up. “I don’t know. What do they get?”
“Taller.” He laughs out loud, apparently finding his own joke hilarious.
I laugh, but raise an eyebrow at him. “What about us lady lawyers? Hm?”
He actually cocks his head and thinks about it. “You know, that’s a good point. I’m going to have to get back to you on that one. I might need to update the ol’ repertoire.”
“Well I’ve got one for you then. How is an intern different from a clay pot?”
For once it’s Carl’s turn to look at me blankly. “I don’t know, how?”
“Only one of them wants to get fired.” I give him a wink. “Time to get to work. Declan’s been on my ass lately about being on time.”
Carl chuckles at my attempt to be clever, and licks the last of his donut off his fingers. “He’s the last person who should complain about punctuality.”
I shrug. “Right? But whatever. He’s the boss.”
“The story of my life, girly.” Carl turns back to his desk and then snaps his fingers like he just remembered something. “Oh, you know about the summer party on Friday right? Half day—where pretty much nothing gets done—and then we party the rest of it.” He grins, obviously looking forward to it.
“Yeah, I heard yesterday. Is it really that much fun?” I try to picture Garrett cutting loose and can’t do it. Declan maybe, but his dad? No way.
“You’d be surprised.” Carl wiggles his eyebrows. “Besides, it’s worth it just to get out of wearing the same old thing every day. Say hi to Mr. Grumpy-pants for me.”
I smile and nod, not letting on to how small the chance is that Declan and I will even exchange words in person. We’ve gone email only, and it’s easier on my head and my heart. At this point I’m done trying to figure him out. I’ll be happy if I can just get through the rest of my internship with my dignity intact.
It’s been two days since Michael called, and I haven’t heard any more from him. That video is like the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head. If he uploads that anywhere, my life’s basically over. Google never forgets. School, job, family. I shudder at the thought. Can I really stay strong?
I’ve been trying to decide if I should just get it over with and at least tell my mother, because if he sends that out, well... It’d be better if she found out from me first. Right?
Now that’s a mother-daughter talk I’m not looking forward to.
I don’t know Garrett well enough to say if it would screw up their wedding plans or not. How would he react? Would he dump Mom rather than have an amateur porn star for a stepdaughter? I’m not exactly a celebrity, but his business reputation is important to him and people would definitely talk. I almost regret not just going along with Michael's demands, at least until after the wedding is over.
I don’t know what I’ll say on Friday when he calls back, but the idea of Michael taking me out and putting his hands on me, kissing me...
Ugh.
Unlike Declan, who makes my blood boil, but my heart beat faster. I smile and give a wave to one of the paralegals as I pass her desk. Nobody has said anything, but I feel like everyone knows something happened. They must be able to tell we are barely speaking to each other.
Entering my office, I set the donuts down and plop into my chair. Dad’s picture is there, reminding me every morning about the cost a bad decision can make. I trace the frame with a finger, wishing for the thousandth time that he had been around long enough to give me advice.
All I can do now is learn from his mistakes. The lessons he taught me have been painful, but valuable. Don’t settle for less than you’re worth, and that mistakes can only steal your future if you let them.
Saying no is the right decision, it’s just not the easy one. For either of my dilemmas. I deserve more than Michael gave me, and I deserve more than Declan is offering.
Speak of the devil. “Hey, you’re on time today.” Declan strolls in the door, talking like I haven’t been all week. He grabs his obligatory Boston creme out of the donut box.
He hasn’t stopped taking them, but he definitely checks a little more closely before biting in. I should stop buying them, but that feels petty. Besides, it’s a funny memory, and I actually miss having him as a sparring partner. At least a little.
Instead of heading into his office without a word like he usually does, Declan sits himself down on my desk, taking his sweet time to finish his donut before he says anything. If there’s anything he’s an expert at, it’s being annoying.
I suppose I can’t just email him the hell off my desk. “Can I help you?”
He grins, huge. “So, you got your costume ready for Friday?” As if we never argued.
“Costume?”
“Yeah. For the summer party. Best costume gets some fancy weekend getaway deal. I’m trying to decide between a werewolf and a biker. I’ve already got the tattoos, but I don’t know, they both seem sort of overdone. You know?” He grins, as if he’s already imagining himself winning first prize. “Oh wait! I know. I’ll go as Greg, and you go as Marcia! Hah! It would be hilarious.”
Yeah.... not a chance.
This sounds too much like a trap. “You’re not tricking me this time. Nice try, though.”
“What? You think I’m trying to get you again?” He gives me a look of outraged innocence, hands out and his eyes big and guileless. God, those eyes.
I tear myself away. “Yeah, I do. Show me proof and maybe I’ll believe you.”
“Alright, hold on.” He walks out of the office, and I watch him through my window as he stops at the bulletin board near the reception and pulls something off before coming back.
Slapping a piece of paper down at my desk, he looks at me with a satisfied grin. “Here. Read this. Right from the announcement board.”
2015 SUMMER PARTY
FRIDAY, JULY 17TH
PRIZE FOR BEST COSTUME!
JUDGING DURING MORNING ASSEMBLY
CAFETERIA AT 9 AM
“See?” he gloats. “So what do you think? If you don’t want to be my Brady, I bet you’d look hot in a belly dancer outfit.”
“I thought the party wasn’t until the afternoon. I think you’re faking.” It’s hard to trust anything coming out of his mouth.
He cocks his head. “Haven’t you ever worked anywhere on Halloween? We work half the day, but it’s ‘work,’ if you know what I mean.” He makes air quotes. “No customer meetings are scheduled, everyone comes in with their costumes on, and it gets the office all festive from the get-go. Then we get down in the cafeteria for the rest of the day. And out drinking afterwards.”
It actually sounds kind of fun, and it’s nice to be joking around with him again. Against my better judgment I give him a little smile. “I’ll think about it.”
“Nice.” He laughs. “Just don’t outshine me, you know? I hate to lose.”
God, I’d love to get the chance to one-up him in something, but I still don’t completely believe this is real. On my way out to lunch, I stop to talk to Carl.
“So... for Friday. Do you know what you’re wearing?” I try to act casual. Just the new girl making small talk.
“Did Declan warn you?” Carl laughs and slaps his desk in amusement. “It took me weeks to find something perfect, but trust me, you’ll die when you see me. This chance only comes around once a year. No way I’m wasting it.”
My head had been full of visions of ending up like Carrie at the prom, except in a cafeteria and with spicy mayo all over my head. Carl’s enthusiasm about dressing up for the party helps calm my nerves.
Claire
“Hey, sweet pea. Am I calling at a bad time?” Michael’s voice oozes out of the phone.
“Yeah, kind of.” Any time he calls is a bad time, but I’m already running late, so this is worse than usual. “What do you want?”
“It’s Friday, remember? I’m calling to see if you’ve changed your mind. Last chance.”
Hell no, not on his life, but after some soul searching, I’ve decided to play along until after the wedding. Once I know that’s out of the way, he can do his worst. Or maybe I’ll find some way to get out of it altogether. I need to play for more time, either way. I sigh as if he’s finally worn me down. “What would you want me to do?”
“Seriously? You’re actually—” He breaks off. There’s a pause at the other end before his gleeful voice comes through. “I knew you’d come around. We’ll start easy. A date. Monday night? At Figaro’s? I’m buying.”
I try to think of any reason out of a million that Monday’s bad, but other than not wanting to see his cheating-ass face, I don’t have one. “Fine. Monday. Don’t expect too much.”
Like, anything.
“I knew you’d see it my way eventually. Don’t worry, baby. All you need to bring is yourself.” I can practically hear the big shit-eating grin on his face. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
And let him be in charge of my ability to leave? No thanks. “No, I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Figaro’s, Monday, six o’clock. I’ll be there.” I hang up without bothering with goodbyes or waiting to hear him argue about who’s driving.
It’s only a dinner, and it’s in a public place. I can deal with him once or twice before Mom’s big day is over. Unless he tries something, in which case all bets are off. I should probably look up tips on hiding a body beforehand.