Pleasure

by CM Deveraux

  “You know what this means,” Jess added.

  “Yeah,” Kenna said. “We’ll never be able to make fun of her for carrying around that ridiculous pint-sized container of pepper spray again.”

  “She did tell us it would come in handy one day,” I joked. “And secretly, I know she’s always wanted to try it out.”

  The tone in the room softened, but Jess managed to increase the tension with a request for the truth. “How long has Damon been hitting you?”

  “It’s not what you think,” I answered.

  “It isn’t? Have you looked in the mirror?”

  I hadn’t. And I wasn’t about to either. “I’m around you guys all the time. When have either of you ever seen me look like this before?”

  “So this time he took it out on your face,” Jess said. “It doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened before.”

  I was going through with the divorce. There was no point denying my past, not anymore. “There have been other times. Not many, a handful. He never touched the girls, just me. If he’d ever laid a hand on them, he wouldn’t be alive today. Honestly, he was gone so much, there was little opportunity for him to get angry.”

  “One time is one too many,” Jess said. “I can’t help but feel like I should have known.”

  “I hid it from you, all of you. I’m not proud of it. You never noticed because he never touched my face before today. In the past, it was always about control, domination. His favorite thing was to pin me down and hold me while he launched into a verbal assault. He left a few bruises from time to time, crushed a rib once. Nothing major.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Kenna asked. “Why didn’t you let us help you?”

  “She knew what we’d do when we found out,” Jess answered. “And even though he never deserved her, and part of her probably hated him, she wasn’t ready to leave.”

  A woman entered the room, clip-board in hand. “Ladies. I’m Doctor Stephens. How are we all doing today?” Her eyes rested on my face. “Ohh...okay. Not so good then?”

  I filled her in on the finer details. She remained diplomatic even though her eyes widened enough to part the Red Sea. When I finished she mentioned running tests to rule out internal injuries and then said she’d check on me again in an hour. Before she reached the door, she paused, mentioned her concern for my safety. Jess put her at ease saying it had all been taken care of, although I hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant.

  The last thing I remembered was being blinded by residual pepper spray and then loaded into Kenna’s car. She brought me to the hospital. As for Damon, I had no idea where he ended up. I didn’t care either. They could have stabbed him, shot him, or drove him off a cliff for all I cared. As long as he never came near me or my girls again...my girls!

  “Corinne and Lisa, where are they?!” I asked.

  “They’re fine, safe,” Jess said. “Callie picked them up from school.”

  “They can’t come here. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

  “They won’t. You don’t have to worry about—”

  “The house!” A wave of panic ripped through me. “She can’t take them there either. The blood and the glass and the—”

  Jess grabbed my hand. “You have nothing to worry about. They’re spending the night at Callie’s. Kenna will stop by your house, grab their clothes, and whatever else they need. The three of us will make sure everything gets cleaned up. They’ll never know anything happened. All you need to do is rest, focus on getting better.”

  “And you?” I turned to Jess. “Are you leaving?”

  She looked at me like it was the funniest thing I’d said in years. “Ohh...no. You think I’d leave you alone again? Not a chance.”

  CHAPTER 9

  I woke a few hours later in a drug-induced haze. The snippet of my mind still functioning alerted me to a casually dressed man in my room. He stood a few feet away, backside facing me, glancing out the window. At first I assumed he was another doctor, maybe off-duty, or a specialist or something, but then I realized he couldn’t be. He didn’t give off a doctor vibe.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I think you have the wrong room.”

  He turned, beamed a thousand-pound smile in my direction. Said nothing. He just stared. It made me uncomfortable, especially since he looked like he belonged on the silver screen, and I probably looked like I’d been dragged behind a car for several miles.

  Whatever happened to Jess saying she wouldn’t leave me alone?

  Some watchdog she was.

  “Look,” I said. “I don’t know who you are, but you have no right being in my room.”

  I surveyed my bed, looking for a clicker I could push to get some kind of outside assistance. I found nothing, probably because I still couldn’t see straight.

  “Sasha Chase?”

  Shit.

  He knew me. But unless amnesia had set in, I didn’t know him. Who was he? He removed a ball cap from his head, ran a hand through his hair. His thick, red hair. And then it clicked.

  “You,” I said.

  “Me?”

  He pointed to himself.

  Who else could I have possibly been referring to?

  “You’re my...Gideon. No. Not my...I mean—my lawyer.”

  Please tell me I did not just say that to my buff, hazel-eyed, not-what-I-expected-in-a-million-years lawyer.

  “I am—both of those—actually.”

  Now he was just trying to embarrass me.

  “But you...you’re...it’s just you don’t look like a—”

  “Lawyer?” He laughed. “What do lawyers look like?”

  Damon came to mind.

  Assholes?

  “Lawyers wear suits.”

  My face was hot, sweaty. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the injuries I’d sustained, the drugs I was on, or the sheer stupidity of the verbal gems I kept spewing. In either case, he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I wear a suit when I need to, and when I don’t need to, I don’t. Satisfied?”

  Satisfied? As in fully satisfied? No. Not for a really, really long time.

  I mustered a mostly coherent, “Why are you here?”

  “I’m Gideon O’Shea.”

  “I know. Jess told me your name.”

  “As to why I’m here—I wanted to let you know in person that your husband...” He cleared his throat. “Your soon-to-be ex-husband was arrested earlier today for assault with a deadly weapon. He’s also being charged with attempted murder.”

  He apparently thought this statement would produce a certain kind of reaction. It didn’t faze me. “He’ll get out just as fast as he went in.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  But I was sure. Damon was a weasel, a weasel with sharks for friends.

  “A crime is a crime, and this isn’t something he can walk away from.”

  “He knows people. Everyone, really.” I choked back the tears. I’d put myself through enough for one day, and ninety-nine percent of the time, I wasn’t the emotional type. I wasn’t going to lose it. Not here. Not like this. Not in front of a man I’d only known for five minutes.

  Gideon remained aloof, collected. “Damon doesn’t know me. Very shortly, he will. The charges will stick, the divorce papers will be signed, and he will be prosecuted. When I’m finished you won’t have to worry about seeing his face around you or your daughters again.”

  “If anyone can find a way to get off, it’s Damon.”

  Literally and figuratively.

  Gideon shrugged.

  “It won’t matter.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I don’t need to—I know his type.”

  “Mr. O’Shea—”

  “Gideon.”

  “I appreciate you taking my case. I don’t know what Jess has told you, but you should know, Damon will never stop until he gets his way and has what he wants. He doesn’t want me. Not really. He just wants to know he can have me. By have, I mean own, like a car parked in a
garage alongside twenty others. For him, it’s about possession, and that’s why he’ll never let me go.”

  He pressed a thumb to his chin but remained unruffled by my words. He walked to my side, hovered over me, his hand sliding over mine, thumb caressing the inside of my palm. It was a simple gesture, and though we were strangers, it soothed me, but that wasn’t all. I felt something. A connection? After a single, brief conversation with the guy, I didn’t see how it was possible. I blamed the drugs. I wasn’t myself.

  Gideon leaned in, ran a hand through my hair. “It’s time Damon learns what it feels like to lose everything.”

  They were the sexiest eleven words anyone had ever spoken to me.

  I just wished I believed him.

  CHAPTER 10

  A few months and more than two dozen therapy sessions later, the divorce I swore I’d never get was about to be granted. All that remained were a few signatures. Thanks to the life-size photos of my bruised and battered body we planned to enter as evidence and agreeing to give my sworn testimony, Damon would be on trial. He was being tried for second-degree attempted murder, soon to be sentenced to what I hoped would become a long stint in the Nevada State Prison.

  To add even more icing on the cake that ended his career, Damon was disbarred, but not before reaching out to his peers in desperation. Imagine his surprise when he was betrayed. All the high-end contacts he’d spent years finessing, slipping inside his sleazy back pocket, developed sudden cases of amnesia. They didn’t know him. They never had. Gideon had delivered, just like he said he would.

  My life was different now. The house Damon and I once shared was on the market, pending a sale at the end of the month. I hoped the buyers, a couple of perky, naïve newlyweds, would find happiness in their new abode, pleasure where I’d endured so much pain.

  Thanks to Jess’s position as a real estate broker, I had a new house and a new job. I was halfway through real estate school, and for the first time in years, I felt like myself again. I had a new life, new memories, and a new attitude. Well...I was working on the new attitude, at least.

  I sat inside my car in the parking lot of Gideon O’Shea’s law office, pondering why pulling the door handle and stepping out seemed like such an impossible thing to do. I had jitters like a freshman schoolgirl at her first high school dance. Since making an unforgettably hideous first impression at the hospital, we’d spoken several times by phone. We talked about the details of my divorce, went over the upcoming court case. We hadn’t seen each other in person. Until today.

  During our phone conversations, Gideon had always been pleasant, polite, and to the point, the consummate gentleman. It should have made me feel great. It didn’t. I was terrified. For all the confidence I’d gained, I’d also gained something else: man-phobia, the feeling that no man could ever be trusted, ever mean a word uttered from their surreptitious mouths, ever be right for me again.

  A knuckle tapped on the outside of my car window. I glanced over, struggling to draw breath. It was Gideon. In the flesh. And there I sat, car turned off, seatbelt unfastened, slouched in my seat like a nervous stalker.

  “You look great,” he said, when I lowered the window.

  Of course I did. I’d spent two hours prepping to make sure of it. After flinging every article of clothing I owned from its hanger, I’d finally decided to yank a few tags off my newly purchased real estate clothes. In a black pencil skirt, a semi-sheer silk tank top, and about ten pounds lighter than I was the last time he saw me, I believed there was a second chance to make a first impression.

  He stuck his head through the window, arms folded over the ledge. His face was so close to mine, I could feel the softness of his breath on my cheek. “Were you going to get out?”

  Of course I was going to get out. Eventually.

  “I just got here.” I said.

  “Really? Because I watched you pull up about ten minutes ago.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  “From where?”

  “My office window.”

  If I had something to crawl under, I would have.

  “I was...I needed to make a call.”

  Staring at the myriad of office windows in front of me, I had no idea which one was his. I prayed it wasn’t close enough for him to realize I was lying.

  “Why are you out here anyway?” I asked.

  “I left something in my car when I got to work this morning.”

  I glanced at his hands. They were empty.

  “You’re not carrying anything. What’s the real reason?”

  My attempt to play defense backfired when he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and, for added effect, jiggled it in front of me.

  Humiliation complete, I focused on the matter at hand. “Well, should we go inside?”

  He opened the car door and I got out.

  Today there was no ball cap, no distressed jeans. He wore a fitted suit and a perfect pair of dimples, a feature I’d missed before.

  “I’m on the top floor,” he said. “Stairs or elevator?”

  We stepped into the elevator. Alone. The door closed, and the rapid fire began.

  “How have you been doing?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “I heard you moved into a new place.”

  “A couple weeks ago, yes.”

  “And you’re preparing to take your real estate exam?”

  I nodded.

  Some conversationalist I was turning out to be.

  The elevator stopped on level four, two floors shy of our final destination. Four women and one man entered, pushing the two of us to the rear. As I slid back and over, I could have sworn a hand brushed across my ass, but Gideon was the only one next to me, and his disposition remained stolid, unchanged. He hadn’t even looked at me.

  I managed a sideways glance without moving my head, but not at his face, at his finger. No wedding ring. Why was I even looking? Why did I care? He was my lawyer. He was also a man, something I didn’t need in my life. Maybe if I kept reminding myself, one day I’d actually believe it.

  When the opalescent doors opened on the top level, Gideon stretched out his arm, indicating the way to his office. Once inside, he closed the door.

  From behind me, he tapped two fingers on my shoulder, almost catapulting me into the air.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You jumped when the door closed, and again just now when I touched you.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You did.” He reopened the door. “I thought you’d prefer some privacy while we go over everything one last time, but we can leave it open.”

  I walked to the door, closed it again, and tried not to focus on the confused glances coming our way, courtesy of his nosey staff. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

  I lowered myself into a rust-colored chair perfectly positioned in front of a cherry wood desk. He sat across from me, opened a white folder, slid the paperwork in my direction. He removed a pen from a drawer and handed it to me, his thumb brushing over the tops of my fingers in the process. Our eyes met, engaging one another for a few seconds. His mouth opened, slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He flashed the same go-to expression I’d seen before, a presumptuous smile that said, “You’ll never know what I’m really thinking.”

  Man-phobia or not, I wanted to know.

  I signed where indicated and handed the stack of papers back to him.

  I was done. Free. At long last.

  “Do you have any questions before you go,” he asked, “anything you’d like to discuss?”

  “Seems clear. I’m ready to put it all behind me.”

  He shook my hand, cracked a small smile. “I’m glad I could help you through this.” The line sounded scripted and rehearsed, like something he felt obligated to say with all his clients. He seemed to sense my assumption adding, “You deserve to be happy, Sasha. One day you’ll find it. I know you will.”

>   Not knowing how to respond to his earnest comment, I mumbled a terse “thank you,” followed by, “I doubted you at first, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. You weren’t feeling well. I understand.”

  “Still, I shouldn’t have doubted you. So far you’ve done everything you said you would, and a lot sooner than I imagined. It means everything to me to be free of him. You made that happen, and I’m grateful.”

  Someone rapped on his office door and it opened, a females head craned around the corner. “Meeting in five, Gideon” She noticed me in the room, and her face paled. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t know you were with someone. My bad.”

  “I better get going,” I said.

  “I’ll get a copy of the documents to you. If you need anything else, please call me. Otherwise, I’ll brief you before trial begins.”

  I stared at our hands, still pressed together in what seemed to be an eternal handshake. He seemed to have no interest in letting me go.

  I pulled back, and he released me. “So that’s it? We’re done?”

  “We are—until trial begins.”

  Done.

  It still didn’t seem real.

  CHAPTER 11

  I passed my real estate exam three weeks later, on the first try, thanks to Jess, real estate drill sergeant to the stars. In an hour, she was throwing me a celebratory party at a house that was to become my first listing. Following the tour, we were to hit up Vegas’s newest hot spot, a night club called Rapture. I’d purchased a special outfit for the occasion, a backless, navy cocktail dress and sparkly, five-inch heels, designed to take all five foot four inches of me to a whole new level.

  I arrived at the three-million-dollar, Spanish-style charmer located in Las Vegas’s highly sought after Espanza subdivision, and admired the view of shimmery lights glowing from the Las Vegas strip several miles away. The lights showered the sky like a strobe, beguiling visitors to come inside, become part of the magic of Sin City.

  Taking in the sheer grandeur of the house as I drove inside the iron gates, I had to admit, I was surprised Jess had trusted me with such a high-end listing for my debut. I figured she’d throw me a bone, toss a few dead-in-the-water unsold condos my way to get me going, but the spectacle in front of me was unexpected and pricey. I guessed the house was worth eight or nine million, maybe more.