Conflicted

by Missy Johnson

  We push our way through the crowds of people—mainly women who are too busy eyeing off Lucas to care that we’re pushing in—until we reach the front of the line. Sure enough, the bouncer greets Lucas with a slap on the back and ushers us inside. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don’t even want to know. Sometimes I wonder how we ended up such good friends when we couldn’t be more different. Think of it as a good thing that you’re only friends with him. I can’t even imagine Lucas in a relationship. It would be a surefire way to ruin our friendship.

  We spend the next few hours sitting at a table in the crowded club until my head can’t handle the incessant music any longer. It’s giving me a headache. And sitting here watching barely dressed girls fall over themselves trying to get Lucas’s attention isn’t making the experience any better. I play with the straw in the single gin and tonic Lucas insisted on buying me until I’ve had enough. I push back my seat. Lucas glances at me in surprise.

  “I’m not feeling great,” I say. It’s not a total lie. All these people are making me queasy. I tighten my jacket around my chest, ignoring the sly grin of the bimbo hanging off his arm. “I’m just going to catch a cab home, okay?”

  “But we’re celebrating,” he protests, his arm tightening around the waist of said bimbo. She giggles and flips her long straight hair out of her glazed eyes. I’m pretty confident she’d struggle to walk in a straight line if I asked her to.

  “I’m sure you can continue the party without me,” I say, my tone dry. I lean over and kiss him on the forehead, the smell of his aftershave sending shivers down my spine. Get a grip, Lace. “Call me tomorrow, okay?” I can’t be angry at the guy because he’s just being one hundred percent the guy he always is. I should be used to this by now.

  Outside, I glance up at the sky, and even in the darkness I can tell the clouds are angry and grey. At any moment I’m sure the rain is going to come pouring down. I walk the few feet to the taxi rank and wait. Crowds of people line the busy street, but there are no cabs in sight. I toss up whether to stand here and wait, or just begin the trek home.

  In the end, I decide to walk. It’s not that far, and I don’t stray off the busy streets. I’m halfway home when the rain begins to pour down. Within seconds, I’m soaked and regretting my decision to leave the cover of the small shelter at the taxi rank. I increase my gait and step sideways to avoid a large puddle on the sidewalk, tripping over my feet in the process. Shit. My ankle gives way under me, sending me sprawling across the harsh concrete.

  “Shit,” I curse, examining the impressive grazing that now covers my left knee. I watch as blood seeps through the tiny rips in the skin, sending a dirty trickle of blood down my leg.

  “I’m sensing you could use a hand.”

  I jump and look up into the eyes of none other than Aaron Wilmot. My heart begins to pound as I stare up at the man who holds my future in his hands. That’s a tad dramatic, but I really don’t need him seeing me in this state.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  He raises his eyebrows and I blush, accepting his extended hand. My fingers tingle as he pulls me to my feet and leads me over to his waiting car. I slide into the passenger seat as he runs around to the driver’s side and jumps in to escape the downpour. I shiver, rubbing my hands over my arms in an attempt to warm up.

  “I saw the tumble you took. Impressive. Are you hurt?” he asks, nodding to my knee. His dark eyes penetrate me and all thoughts of Lucas flitter out of my head.

  “Just a graze,” I say. He passes me a handful of Kleenex, which I place over the wound.

  “I don’t know what to criticise you over first,” he begins, his dark eyes creasing with concern. “The fact that you’re out walking in this kind of weather, or that you’re walking alone at one in the morning.”

  “I live less than five minutes away,” I lie, not enjoying the feeling that I’m some stupid child who needs scolding. I hadn’t even realised it was so late. Stupid Lucas. “I realise it wasn’t the smartest of choices, but I got sick of waiting for a cab.”

  “Out with friends, I’m assuming?” he comments, his gaze falling on my bare legs.

  I cringe, wishing I’d just gone with my original, more-sensible choice in clothing.

  “Couldn’t one of them have walked you home? Safety in numbers and all that.”

  “Out with a friend, and I didn’t want to ruin his evening,” I reply, gritting my teeth. I’m getting defensive, but I can’t help it. Why do I feel like he’s regretting his decision to hire me? “Look, I’m not in the habit of making careless decisions on my safety. My friend dragged me out tonight to celebrate me getting the internship, and to be honest, going out was the last thing I wanted to do.” I glance at him, sick of his questions and the way he’s making me feel. “Why are you even here?”

  “Pardon?”

  My face goes red. Exactly what am I accusing him of? Stalking me?

  “I just mean it’s a bit of a coincidence that you happen to be driving past right at the moment I fall.” The words spray out of my mouth before I can stop them. Amusement sparks in his eyes, making me feel even crappier.

  “I was working late at the office. You do remember it’s right around the corner?” he replies. His eyes dance at me, entertained.

  Oh shit. Of course it is. I cringe again, wishing I could just disappear. Why hadn’t that occurred to me before I accused my new boss of stalking me? I need to stop talking. This is why I don’t drink. Half a gin and tonic and I have verbal diarrhoea. Once again I curse Lucas.

  “Right,” I mumble, staring out of the window. Time passes slowly as we drive in silence until he looks at me expectantly.

  “What?” I snap.

  “I’m going to need your address,” he smirks, his lips twitching.

  “Oh, right,” I mutter. Of course. “It’s up over on Planter Street, number seven.”

  “Five minutes away, huh?” he murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

  I blush, having forgotten about my little white lie. Home was a good twenty-minute walk from the club.

  He pulls up outside of my house. My hand is already on the handle, ready to make a fast getaway.

  “Wait so I can help you,” he insists, getting out of the car before I can escape.

  Reluctantly, I wait for him to help me out of the car.

  “Lean on my shoulder,” he instructs.

  I do, letting him take most of my weight as he helps me inside. My ankle throbs as we reach the front door. The lights are all off, so Ariel is either in bed or not home.

  I hand him my keys and wait for him to open the door, and I hobble inside. I stand there awkwardly, wanting him to leave and stay at the same time. He smirks at me, which sends flutters through my stomach. I have no idea what I’m excepting to happen, but he’s so damn hot I can’t think straight. How am I going to be around him all day long?

  He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it casually over the back of an armchair. The suit he wears shows off his muscular frame and the dark blue shirt he wears is open at the neck. My gaze falls on his stubbled jaw and I wonder if he’s going for the rugged, sexy, just-out-of-bed look or if he just couldn’t be bothered shaving. Either way, he wears it well. He wears everything well. Lucas’s voice mocks me in my head. When was the last time I was thoroughly fucked? Too long ago. I internally groan. I need him to leave before I do something stupid.

  “Thanks for the lift. I appreciate it,” I say, hoping he takes the hint and goes.

  “No problem. Are you sure I can’t help you to your room?”

  My eyes shoot up and meet his. I can’t tell if he meant that innuendo or not, but either way I’m blushing furiously. He chuckles and turns on his heel.

  “I’ll see you Monday, Miss Anderson,” he says. “Perhaps you should invest in a less dangerous pair of heels.” The door slams closed before I can retort. Not that I had a decent response anyway.

  I limp to my bedroom and collapse on the bed. Staring at the ceiling, I don’t even h
ave the energy to change out of my still-damp clothes. Of all the people to run into, it had to be him. If he wasn’t regretting his choice in hiring me before, he would be now. Closing my eyes, all I can picture is that damn knowing smirk. Walking into his office on Monday morning is going to be interesting at the very least. Let’s hope I still have an internship by the end of the day.

  I’m going to kill Lucas.

  Chapter Ten

  Lucas

  Cracking open my eyes, I squint at the morning sun that is blaring through the open curtains in my bedroom. I lean over and grab my phone to check the time. Make that afternoon sun. And barely afternoon anymore at that. How the hell did it become nearly five in the evening?

  Sitting up, my body aches, leaving me wondering what I did last night. I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds of paintball, my body is that sore. I remember leaving the club not long after Lacey left, with some chick who offered me a lift home. I remember stopping at Fast Lane for some food and making out in the parking lot. After that, my memory is hazy.

  I stumble into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. Apart from my bloodshot eyes and the giant, unmistakable love bite on my neck, I look good. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t remember much.

  After a hot shower and a few Tylenol, I’m feeling more human. I check the fridge for some food. My choices are limited to off yoghurt and week-old Thai. Neither sound all that appealing. Giving up, I grab my phone instead and call Lacey. She takes her time in answering, and when she does she sounds annoyed.

  “I’m not sure I’m talking to you,” she mutters.

  “What did I do?” I protest. For a moment I’m worried that I actually did do something, because I still can’t remember shit.

  “You and your stupid plans, Lucas. Why am I always the one who suffers?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. I rub my head. I can’t take this today. Everything already feels too hard.

  “If you’d been thinking of me last night instead of yourself, then maybe I wouldn’t have looked like an incapable idiot in front of my new boss,” she says.

  I sit forward. That got my attention. “You mean Aaron Wilmot? What does he have to do with anything?” I ask.

  “I fell over when I was walking home last night—”

  “You walked? At that time of night?” I repeat. I’m pissed off at her. What was she thinking?

  “Save it, Lucas. I already got the lecture from Aaron, who just happened to be driving past.” She sighs. “He stopped and gave me a lift home.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I grumble.

  She was in his car. He probably had his hands all over her. My jaw twitches as unwanted images of the two of them filter through my mind. Why did I make her wear that fuck me dress? I know exactly why: so I could pretend she was wearing it for me. Seeing every guy’s eyes on her when we walked into that club was too much for me to handle. I had to stop myself from wrapping my arms around her to show them she was mine. I don’t handle losing control of myself like that—especially when it comes to Lace. I can’t afford to lose my shit around her. So I did what I always do: I put distance between us in the form of other women. I made her think that she was the last person on my mind when she was all I could think about. She’s all I ever think about.

  And all I did was push her into his arms. Literally.

  “What was the point?” she laughs. “You were so drunk, what could you have done?”

  She has a point, so I shut up.

  “Look, I gotta go,” I say.

  “Fine, but you rang me,” she points out. “You’ve been acting really weird lately, Lucas. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” I sigh. “I’ve just got some shit going on. It’s not a big deal. Call me tomorrow after your first day, okay?”

  “Okay. Lucas? I love you.”

  “Love you too, Lace.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lacey

  I knock lightly on his office door and step back. My hands shake as I attempt to smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle on the front of my skirt. I spent ages choosing my outfit—a cotton pencil skirt that falls just below the knee and a cream-coloured silk shirt. Normally it’s not something I would’ve worried that much about, but being my first day, and after how he saw me the other day, I felt like I needed to prove I’m capable of handling myself. I’m yet to make a decent impression, so I have no idea why I’m still here.

  “Come in.” His voice is imposing and I immediately feel intimidated—even through the closed door.

  Taking a deep breath, I push open the door and walk inside, closing it behind me. He looks up from his computer and smiles at me. I’m surprised by the shiver of excitement that smile makes me release, as if I’d forgotten how attractive he was in person.

  He motions to the empty chair opposite his desk. “Sit down. I’ll just be a minute. Coffee? Tea? A hard shot?”

  The last one is tempting, but I shake my head and sit down. God, I’m so nervous. Not only because of what this internship will do for me, but also because it’s with him. We sit in silence for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s little more than a few minutes. Finally, he snaps shut his laptop and turns his attention to me.

  “I’ve put a file together for you, outlining the basics on the case we will be working on. I thought for the first couple of days you can just watch me and we’ll assess from there how our relationship will work. How does that sound?”

  Relief surges through me as I begin to relax. I thought for sure he’d say something about Saturday, and I’m glad we’re not addressing it. Besides, the thought of watching him sounds very appealing, as does “assessing our relationship.” He stares at me and raises his eyebrows. I’m confused, and wonder what he’s waiting for, but then I remember I haven’t replied.

  “That sounds great,” I say, forcing the answer out. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton wool and I know I’m blushing. Snap out of it, Lace. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, but it stops now. I’m here to learn, dammit, not swoon over someone who is way out of my league.

  I breathe out and sit forward in my seat, determined to pull myself together. Taking hold of the crisp white folder, I flick it open. The information whore inside me is in heaven. The folder is full to the brim of newspaper clippings, handwritten notes and interview transcripts, and every other snippet of information on the case you could imagine—most of which has never been released to the public. This will keep my mind on track.

  “I have a meeting now with the prosecutor on the case. You can use my office to familiarize yourself with the case. I shouldn’t be longer than an hour.”

  “Great,” I say, getting to my feet. The mention of the prosecutor has me thinking of my father. I know he’s not on team for this case—I looked it up—but I wonder how long it will take to get back to him that I’m working with the defence. I shudder, putting it out of my mind. I’ll deal with that if and when it happens.

  I look around awkwardly. Every tiny bit of the office is utilized and covered with papers. “Where do you want me to set myself up?”

  “Use my desk for now, and I’ll find somewhere for you later,” he says. He stands up, presenting me with his chair, and then leaves.

  I glance around, my stomach full of nerves. I sit down, the chair still warm, and clear myself a small space to work.

  I try and concentrate on reading through the case notes, but I’m struggling to focus. I’m sitting in Aaron Wilmot’s office, looking through one of his cases. This is just way too surreal. Sitting back in his chair, I sigh, my fingers playing with a small black button on my shirt. His bookcase catches my eye. It’s crammed with every kind of book on crime and criminal law that you can think of. I walk over and run my finger along the titles before choosing one on the psychology of criminal law. The name on the bottom of the book jumps out at me: Aaron Wilmot. Holy shit, he wrote this. I carry it back over to his desk and flick through it. As if I needed any more reasons to be impressed b
y him.

  “Lacey?”

  I look up as the door opens. A girl not much older than I am peers inside. I’m immediately put at ease by her wide smile and warm eyes.

  “Mr. Wilmot asked me to let you know he’s been held up. He said to help yourself to anything. Would you like me to show you to the staffroom?”

  “That would be great,” I say, returning her smile. I return the book and follow her out of the office, in the direction of the reception. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Rebecca.”

  “Your Aaron’s—Mr. Wilmot’s,” I correct myself, “assistant?” She’s not the one who I spoke to on the phone, or the one I met before the interview.

  “I am,” she says. “I’ve just returned today from maternity leave, which is why we didn’t get to meet the other day.”

  “Really?” I say, my eyebrows shooting up. I feel my face heat. “I’m sorry, it’s just you don’t look much older than me.”

  She laughs, her pretty blue eyes sparkling. “I’m twenty-eight. I’m sure one day I’ll be thanking my lucky stars I look so young, but for the moment it’s a curse. I get asked for ID all the time when I buy wine. So, you’re studying forensics? Is that something you’ve always wanted to do? I think it’s really nice of Mr. Wilmot to extend his knowledge beyond law students. This case is perfect for someone like you.”

  “It is,” I agree, feeling a little bit uneasy. This case is just a taste of what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. What if I can’t handle it? What if all those years were wasted? What if my father was right?

  “Are you okay? You look a little bit green.” Rebecca peers at me with concern.

  I laugh it off and force myself to smile. “I’m fine. First day nerves,” I explain.

  “I understand.” She nods knowingly. “Mr. Wilmot is very…” Her voice trails off as she searches for the right word. “…particular,” she finishes. “But it’s worth it. He knows what he’s doing. If you ever have to learn anything from anyone, it might as well be the best. He is certainly that.” She glances around before lowering her voice to a whisper. “The problem with that is, he knows it and he’s not shy about telling everyone.”