Reasonable Doubt (1-3)

by Whitney Gracia Williams

  “I got you something…” Jessica pressed a small black box into my hand. “But I think you need to open it behind closed doors, when you’re alone and thinking about me.” She blushed and walked away.

  I made a mental note to toss whatever it was into the trash. And instead of immediately leaving the party, I walked around the room and said thank you to everyone—reminding each intern that “birthday” or not, the assignments were still due at the end of the day.

  I approached Aubrey with my hand outstretched, but she recoiled and walked into the adjoining ante-room.

  “Are you seriously this immature, Miss Everhart?” I followed her, spinning her around to face me as the door shut.

  “Are you seriously this cruel?” She glared at me. “You gave me more work than anyone else this morning just so you could berate me in front of them later, just because you think I embarrassed you in court again.”

  “You’d actually have to know what the fuck you were doing if you wanted to embarrass me in court.” I unintentionally grabbed her hands, rubbing my fingers against her skin. “And I gave you more work so you wouldn’t have time to make my coffee, which up until this morning, I only assumed you were poisoning.”

  “Since when is ‘spit’ poison?”

  “You owe me another fucking suit…” I lowered my voice. “Do you have any idea how much—”

  “No.” She cut me off. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve changed? I actually miss when I was Alyssa and you were Thoreau.”

  “Back when you were a fucking liar?”

  “Back when you treated me better…” She stared into my eyes—giving a look of longing, and my hands went around her waist, pulling her against me.

  My mouth was on hers in seconds and we were kissing like we hadn’t seen each other in years—fighting each other for control. I trailed my fingers against the zipper at the back of her dress, feeling my cock hardening against her thigh.

  She pressed herself against my chest and let me slip my tongue deeper into her mouth, but she eventually tore away and pushed me.

  Looking absolutely disgusted, she turned away and stormed out of the room.

  I straightened my tie before following her into the party room, but she was no longer there.

  “Are you going to cut the cake, Andrew?” Mr. Bach called out. “Or do you want Jessica to do it for another year in a row?”

  Jessica held up the knife and winked at me.

  “Jessica can cut it,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I stepped out and headed for the interns’ offices—walking straight toward Aubrey’s cubicle.

  Her face was beet red and she was stuffing folders into her bag.

  “I didn’t give you permission to leave early.” I stepped in front of her.

  “I didn’t give you permission to treat me like shit, but you’ve done one hell of a job, haven’t you?”

  “You just said that I wasn’t treating you like shit when I thought your name was Alyssa, when I thought you were a fucking lawyer.”

  “That makes your current treatment of me acceptable?”

  “It makes it justifiable.”

  Silence.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Andrew…” She shook her head.

  “Does that mean you’ll stop acting like a child in court? Does it mean—”

  “Here.” She cut me off and pressed a silver box against my chest. “I bought this for you a few weeks ago, back when Jessica was planning your birthday party.”

  “Did you spit in it?”

  “I should have.” She picked up her bag and rushed past me, heading for the exit.

  A part of me actually wanted to go after her and make her explain what the hell she meant about “not doing this anymore,” but I knew doing so would be pointless. Talking to her for less than three minutes aroused me, and I needed to remember why I ended “us” in the first place.

  I returned to the break-room and said thank you to the last of the interns, glancing at the photo HR had pinned on the wall. It was a collage of my professional photos with a birthday hat sticker attached to my head. And they’d written “Happy Birthday, Andrew! GBH Loves You!” in bright blue.

  In all actuality, my birthday was months from now—in December, a day I hadn’t celebrated in a very long time. And even though I’d never publicly admit it, I somewhat liked the fact that the people at GBH were willing to celebrate my birthday—real or not.

  “How many slices of cake would you like me to wrap up for you, Mr. Hamilton?” Jessica tapped my shoulder.

  “Three,” I said. “And I’ll take a cup of lemonade, too.”

  “You’re not going to stay for the “Who Knows Mr. Hamilton the Best” game?”

  “None of you know me.” I returned to my office and locked the door, setting the new birthday gifts on top of my bookshelf.

  The envelope from Mr. Greenwood contained a note that said he appreciated my hard work and dedication to the firm. Beneath his written words was a gift card to his family’s other multimillion dollar entity: A golf course.

  The gifts from the interns were all “I.O.U.” letters that begged for extra time on their assignments. I held all of those over my shredder.

  Jessica’s black box was next, and as much as I wanted to throw it away and never think of it again, I couldn’t resist knowing what she bought me. I took the top off and removed the paper, pulling out a soft piece of silk and a note:

  I overheard that you like to keep these in your pocket… Here are mine. PS—I took them off in the bathroom five minutes ago

  :-)

  Jesus…

  I buried her panties at the bottom of my trashcan and crumpled that note.

  I stared at Aubrey’s silver box for a while, wondering if I should wait until later to unwrap it, but I couldn’t help peeling off the paper.

  Inside of the box was a small black photo frame. It was handcrafted—bordered with iron pressed images of pointe slippers, law scales, and the words “Alyssa” and “Thoreau” in smooth white letters.

  The picture in it was one of us, one of her laying against my chest in my bed and smiling at the camera. Her cheeks were flushed red—like they always were after sex, and she was dressed in one of my T-shirts.

  I remembered her forcing me to take that photo—insisting that she “wouldn’t share it with anyone” and only wanted it for herself. She even forced me to smile…

  I set the frame down and took out the other object in the box—a sparkling silver watch with an inscription etched across its back:

  Subject: You.

  I liked you as “Thoreau,” but I love you as Andrew.

  —Aubrey (Alyssa)

  My glass of wine sat untouched at Arbors Restaurant, and the candles in the centerpiece were shedding sheets of their wax onto the table.

  I was expecting a date any moment now, but I couldn’t stop staring at the watch Aubrey gave me. She’d clearly thought about each and every part of the design; no element was by mistake.

  I noticed two interlocking A’s in the corner of its screen, and earlier, in the sunlight, I’d noticed that my name was etched on the edge of its frame.

  “Are you Thoreau?” A woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts, making me look up.

  “I am.”

  She smiled and took the seat across from me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m a regular here and the waitress asked if I’d be having my usual when I arrived. I told her you would have the same.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” A small feeling of guilt welled inside my chest, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from pursuing what I needed tonight: Pussy. ASAP.

  The waitress placed two steamed dishes in front of us, and I checked the time. I was only giving this woman one hour.

  “So, what type of cases do you normally handle?” she asked.

  “Corporate for the most part, but I’ve done government and tax as well.”

  “Interesting. Have you lived in Durham long?”

  “Too long
.”

  “And is this your normal M.O.?” She leaned back in her chair, dragging her nails against her see-through top. “One night stands?”

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  “It never is.”

  I raised my eyebrow and looked her over. She was actually quite appealing—long blond hair, curvy figure, and perky breasts.

  Physical attributes aside, we seemed to have a lot in common. She was a real lawyer in the next county over, she read most of the same books, and from what she’d told me over the phone, we shared a comparable sexual appetite.

  Our entrees came and went, the conversation plodded along, but Aubrey’s watch still had a part of my attention.

  “Is something bothering you?” My date waved her hand in front of my face. “I remember you being a lot more talkative over the phone.”

  “I’m fine.” I waved the waiter over for the check. “Just tired.”

  “Too tired to fuck?”

  “I’m never too tired to fuck.”

  Blushing, she crossed her legs and leaned over the table. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

  I didn’t respond. I simply signed the check and stood up, holding out my hand for her.

  We walked through the hotel lobby and straight for the elevators.

  The second the doors closed, she pressed her lips against mine and threaded her fingers through my hair.

  “Fuck…” I groaned as one of her hands slid down to my belt.

  She moved her mouth down my neck as we ascended to the top floor, grazing her teeth against my skin. Moaning, she gasped as I gripped her waist and kissed her back—controlling her tongue with mine.

  I pulled the band away from her ponytail and tossed it to the floor. I closed my eyes and deepened our kiss—torturously biting her lip as she tried to pull away.

  Sliding her knee between my legs, she unfastened my belt and tugged at my zipper. “How long are we going to fuck tonight?”

  “As long as you want.” I palmed her breasts through her shirt, slipping a hand underneath her bra.

  “Ahhhh…” She murmured as I caressed her nipple.

  The elevator doors slid open quickly, but our bodies remained entwined as we found our way to the suite. Her lips latched onto mine again as we stumbled into the room—bumping into the lamps and the dressers.

  She was moaning louder now, barely controlling herself as I unzipped her dress and unclasped her bra.

  I felt her hands at my waist—pushing my pants to the floor, and when my back hit the wall, I realized she was on her knees in front of me.

  Leaning forward, she rubbed her hands up and down my cock, asking me to tell her how badly I wanted her mouth on me.

  “I don’t…” I shook my head as I realized I had been fantasizing about Aubrey the entire time.

  “You’re not even going to beg for it?” She smiled, bringing her head closer.

  “Stop.” I grabbed her by her hair and gently pushed her away.

  “Is something wrong, Thoreau? Did you want to do me first instead? Should I get on the bed or the chair?”

  I couldn’t make out the rest of her questions; images of Aubrey were clouding my brain, invading all my senses. And the more I stared at this woman, a woman who was nowhere near as beautiful as Aubrey, the more I felt my cock softening.

  Fuck…

  I pulled my pants up and zipped the fly. “I no longer feel like fucking you. You can leave.”

  “Excuse me?” She sucked in a breath and crossed her arms. “What did you just say?”

  “I said that I don’t feel like fucking you.” I spoke slowly. “And that you can leave. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “You’re going to put me out? Just like that?”

  “Would you like me to reserve another room for you?”

  “What happened to the man I met online?” She stood up. “Was that all a front? Is this some type of game where you take out women, say sexy things you’ve probably read off the internet, and then make them get naked knowing damn well that you don’t know how to fuck?”

  “I definitely know how to fuck.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “I just don’t feel like fucking you.”

  “I can’t…I can’t believe…” Her jaw dropped. “You’re a fucking asshole!”

  “Asshole? Yes. Fucking? Unfortunately not. Can you make sure that the door is completely closed on your way out?”

  She pulled her dress over her body and picked up her purse. “I’m putting a flag next to your profile on Date-Match. And you know what else? I’m going to leave a review of our encounter, too. I’m going to make sure—”

  “Do you normally talk as you get dressed?” I cut her off and took a seat on the bed. “I’m pretty sure it’s something that doesn’t require conversation.”

  Fuming, she slipped into her shoes and rushed out of the room—slamming the door behind her.

  I waited until I heard the ping of the elevator and lay across the mattress. I tried my best to think of something or someone other than Aubrey, but she was all that came to mind.

  What the fuck is happening?

  I stared at the ceiling for another hour, unable to take my mind off of how her mouth felt against mine at the office earlier today. Even if it was only for a few seconds.

  Needing to get to the bottom of this, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called her.

  “Hello?” She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Why did you buy me that watch, Aubrey?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t, but I read the inscription on the back.”

  Silence.

  “I need to ask you something,” I said.

  “Only if I can ask you a few things first…”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How can you possibly be so adamant about honesty when you haven’t been completely honest with me?”

  “I have been completely honest with you.”

  “I’m starting to believe that your name isn’t really Andrew Hamilton…”

  “So you’re still stalking me and my past online? Do you not have any other hobbies?”

  “Who is EH?” Her voice cracked. “Why are those two letters hanging on all your walls? Why are they engraved in all of your cufflinks?”

  “Aubrey…”

  “What’s going on with you and Ava? I saw her walk out of your office last week, and she smirked at me.”

  “Is this a bad time to talk?”

  “Yes.” She was breathing hard. “This is a very bad time. Why don’t you just hang up and go to the Marriott so you can fuck someone else?”

  “I am at the Marriott, and I was actually about to fuck someone else.”

  She was silent for several seconds. “I don’t… I don’t want to hear from you anymore, Andrew.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said I don’t want to hear from you anymore. Don’t you ever fucking call me again.” She hung up.

  Impasse (n.):

  The inability of two parties to reach a negotiated settlement.

  A few days later…

  Aubrey

  My heart was still aching—reeling, and although I’d told Andrew never to call me again, and that I didn’t want to hear from him, I couldn’t move on until I received an apology.

  I needed it…

  I felt sick to my stomach after giving him that watch, and I’d foolishly expected for him to call and say, “I love you, too,” but he acted as if it meant nothing.

  Without knocking, I opened the door to his office and shut it behind me.

  He raised his eyebrow as I stepped over to his desk, but he didn’t hang up his phone.

  “Yes, that will be fine,” he spoke into the receiver.

  “I need to talk to you.” I blurted out. “Now.”

  He motioned for me to take a seat, but he continued talking. “Yes. That will work as well.”

  I sat and crossed my arms, trying not to stare at him too hard. H
e was utter perfection today—looking more fuck-able than usual with a fresh hair-cut and a brand new grey suit. His eyes regarded me intensely as usual, and I noticed he was actually wearing the watch I gave him. He’d even paired it with matching cufflinks.

  Maybe I’m overreacting after all…

  “Right…” He leaned back in his chair and typed a few things onto his keyboard. “I’ll see you at eight o’clock tonight, Sandra. Room 225.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “Something I can help you with, Miss Everhart?” He hung up the phone. “Is there any reason why you barged into my office without knocking?”

  “You’ve fucked someone else already?”

  “Is that a serious question?”

  “Did you fuck someone else already? Did you?”

  “Would it matter?”

  “Yes, it would fucking matter…” My blood boiled as I stood up. “Did you sleep with someone else?”

  “Not yet.” He narrowed his eyes at me and stood up too, walking over to me. “However, I really don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

  I looked at his wrist. “Why are you wearing that watch if you don’t feel the same way I do?”

  “It’s the only watch that matches my new cufflinks.”

  “Are you seriously this blind?” There were tears welling in my eyes. “Are you—”

  “I told you a long time ago that I don’t do feelings—that if we ever did fuck, that would be the end of us.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “However, I do realize that by crossing the line with you, personally and professionally, that a percentage of the blame is mine.”

  “A percentage?”

  “Would you like me to bring in the firm’s accountant? I’m sure he can work out the exact figure.”

  “Andrew…” I was on the verge of losing it.

  “Since we did break the boundaries, and we were in fact friends before, I’m willing to revert to that arrangement.”

  I shook my head as he tilted my chin up and looked into my eyes.

  “We can still talk on the phone at night,” he said. “You can tell me about your ballet, your parents, your life…And, to be sensitive to your feelings, I’ll tell you about my life but I’ll leave out my one night stands until you’re completely over whatever the hell you think we had.”