Time Served

by Julianna Keyes

  But all I say is, “I told you not to talk to her, specifically. I didn’t want exactly what happened to happen. I don’t need you to defend me.”

  Dean waves a hand dramatically. “Dear God, no. Heaven forbid Rachel Moser admits she needs somebody for a second.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You think it’s not crystal clear you can do things for yourself? All I had to do to learn that lesson was wake up one morning, Rachel. You got everything you wanted, and now you’re up here in your fancy fucking apartment, all alone, convincing yourself you don’t need anybody.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing. You think I can’t see it? I’m not as stupid as you think, Rachel.”

  My spine straightens. “Stop projecting your crap onto me.”

  “Well, you’re the one with the big degree. I guess you’d know. But here’s something for you to think about—I’m not the one pretending to be something I’m not. This is who I am. If you didn’t like it, you shouldn’t have kept coming over.” His eyes are bottomless pits right now, dark and angry. I want to look away, but I can’t. Even as I know I’m losing what little I have left.

  “I don’t want to be one of those suits,” he continues, voice flat. “I don’t want to be some guy who doesn’t stand up for the woman he’s with. And I don’t want to be like you. I don’t want to live in some overpriced apartment that doesn’t feel like home just because I’m hoping to impress somebody. I got that promotion you kept asking about. And I turned it down.”

  My mouth opens and closes soundlessly for a second. I want to argue with the assumption that I bought the apartment for somebody else’s benefit, but all that comes out is, “What?”

  “I thought you’d be happy,” he says meanly. “That way I’m still the dumbass warehouse worker you fuck on the side when you’re not out with your fantastic work friends.”

  The angry flush staining my skin drains away, leaving me pale and cold. “I have never said any of that. You like to say it’s me, but that’s what you see when you look in the mirror. Well, you chose to be a dumbass warehouse worker. Just like I chose to be something better.”

  A muscle in his neck ticks and even with several feet between us, I can feel the hurt and anger jutting out of him like spikes. “Why’d you come over that night, Rachel?” His voice is deceptively soft as he prowls closer, stroking one calloused palm up my forearm, scratching my skin with his. “Why’d you get all dressed up and come out to Camden to see me? You know I’d fuck you in overalls and flip-flops. You didn’t have to put on your fancy clothes to impress me.”

  I take a deep breath, feeling my lungs contract, struggling to fill the painful space around my heart. His scent invades me, pine and heat and lost potential. I raise my eyes to his, flaming hot, daring me to tell him the truth. “I was going to see Todd,” I say.

  Dean jolts. That cold mask disappears for a split second, revealing the hurt and surprise in the depths of those dark eyes, then slides back into place. His hand tightens, painfully hard, before dropping away completely. He steps back, putting distance between us.

  “You wanted the truth,” I say. “I had plans with Todd. I thought he’d like my new underwear. But I guess I needed someone to treat me like shit for a while, so I went to you instead. Now I can appreciate the life I have. Had.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You know I’m not.” My voice comes out much cooler and calmer than I feel. Inside I’m dying. It’s terrifying to think I could spend all day with some of the smartest, most well-trained individuals I’ve ever known, and realize they could never understand me the way Dean does. That with a single look he can strip me bare, exposing all my secrets and weaknesses, and lay them out in a row, picking and choosing his weapons as he needs them.

  It’s mind-numbingly, heartbreakingly scary. And maybe that’s what has me uttering my next words. “This isn’t working.” I blink away tears and turn my head, hoping he doesn’t see, struggling to retain my cold, calm facade. “You should go.”

  “You think?”

  It’s a rhetorical question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”

  “Good call, Rachel. It’s like living in a fucking fantasyland up here. It was never going to last, anyway. None of it is. You know that, right?”

  I suck in an injured breath. “Just go.”

  “It’ll be like I was never here,” he assures me. The promise does nothing to make me feel better: it’s exactly what I want and the polar opposite of what I’m beginning to worry I might need.

  I try not to watch his back as he scoops up the duffel bag he’d come with earlier and strides toward the door, but I can’t help but memorize every line. He catches me looking when he suddenly stops and turns. “C’mere,” he orders.

  My lips feel numb. “What?”

  “You heard me. Come kiss me goodbye like you didn’t bother doing the last time you broke up with me.”

  His head is tipped down slightly and he’s looking up at me from under his eyelashes, dark gaze scouring me from head to toe as I warily approach. He drops the bag when I’m two steps away and holds out his hands. Feeling foolish, I put my fingers in his and he tugs my hands over his shoulders, then wraps his arms around my waist, stroking up and down my back for a second before folding one hand under my hair and tilting my head for his kiss.

  If I was expecting something hard and vengeful, he surprises me again. This kiss is soft, and maybe a little sad. I feel the angry adrenaline drain away, making my knees weak, and I resist the urge to fall into Dean, asking him to hold me up one last time. He tips my head and deepens the kiss, tongue sliding along mine, hot and wet. Now I think he might be trying to show me what I’ll be missing when he’s gone, especially when I feel his cock stir against my stomach.

  He unzips my dress and pushes it down, past my shoulders and hips to pool at my feet. I’m standing in my heels and underwear, though not for long, as he quickly divests me of those garments, as well. My muscles feel loose and liquid, but I’m still on guard.

  Rough hands swipe over my skin, memorizing me the way I’d tried to memorize him, the way I still want to. I undo his tie and let the silk slide to the floor, then tug his shirt from his pants and unbutton it, pressing us together, his burning skin to my cold. His breathing is harsher now, erection hard and insistent, and I’m growing wetter by the second. But this is something different, not the dripping, flushed arousal of our past encounters, not the frantic, desperate need we’ve been trying so furiously to extinguish. This is coming from somewhere deeper, somewhere that hasn’t quite healed. Something buried beneath ten years of hurt feelings and dreams loved and lost.

  I undo his buckle and shove down his pants. When he’s wearing nothing but his socks, Dean scoops me up, legs wrapped around his waist, and surprises me again when he doesn’t fuck me up against the wall or the kitchen counter or even on the chaise lounge. He never stops kissing me as he walks down the hall to my bedroom, tugging back the blankets before laying me across the mattress, the cool six-hundred thread count sheets soft and familiar.

  He follows me down, covering my body with his, and fits the head of his cock to my entrance, working himself inside. I bend my legs to open myself more, toes curling into the bed at the inexorable pressure.

  Buried to the hilt, Dean brings both my hands over my head and holds them there, loosely shackled between his thumb and forefinger. The other arm is folded, resting next to my shoulder, propping himself up just high enough to allow him to move, deep, languorous thrusts that never speed up, even when I’m slick and needy, when it’s hard to breathe, when I’m desperate to come.

  I don’t ask him to hurry. Don’t try to free my hands so I can touch myself and bring the relief I need. We’d had sex last night. And again this morning. And still it’s not enough. It never could be. He’d started this bone-deep possession of my body and soul when I was fifteen, and he’s not finished.

  I don’t know how lon
g it lasts. Long enough that I know I’m going to feel it in the morning, despite my frequent sexual workouts of late. We come together with rough, shuddering sighs, bodies working in unison, one pushing, one pulling, taking as long as we can.

  I open my eyes when Dean finally stills. His face is just inches above mine, his eyes closed, mouth slack, unguarded. I want to kiss him one last time but I don’t dare. I don’t want to break this spell. Finally his eyes open and he looks at me, though what he’s trying to see, I’ll never know.

  When he pulls out and disappears into the bathroom, I don’t move. And I don’t move when he heads down the hallway and I hear him unzip the duffel bag, probably changing back into his sweatpants and sneakers. He doesn’t say goodbye when he goes, just the soft click of the door behind him, then the absence of footsteps.

  I don’t move a muscle. We both know it’s his turn to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I wake up at the dangerously late hour of six o’clock the next morning. It’s Saturday, and I have to go to work. I shower, dress in my best black suit—fitting for my own funeral—and take the elevator downstairs to hail a cab.

  I study my phone on the way to the office. Parker arrived at the party just after Dean and I made our disgraced exit, heard the story and called me seven times. I’d sent each call to voice mail. Finally he’d texted, asking if I was okay and could he do anything. I hadn’t replied. I didn’t know what to say. I was so fucking embarrassed. And angry. And ashamed.

  Parker’s working on the other side of town today, my closest friend and ally away from his desk when I could really use his support. I’ve been on my own a long time now, steadfastly going it alone, but today is the first time I’ve truly felt lonely.

  I half expect security to be waiting in the lobby, ready to hand me my boxed-up personal effects and escort me out to the sidewalk, but I make it onto the elevator without being apprehended. In fact, I make it all the way to my office with nothing more offensive than a few sidelong stares. The overwhelming sentiment seems to be curiosity: What’s going to happen to her? When will they fire her? How will it happen? Will she cry?

  After Dean left last night, I’d spent the rest of the evening trying to visualize today so I could mentally prepare myself and plan an appropriate response. I don’t think I’ll cry. I’m too numb for tears. And while I’m angry, I don’t see myself throwing chairs and knocking pictures off the wall, either. I feel a little desperate, but I can’t envision myself on my knees, pleading with Sterling, Morgan & Haines for a second chance.

  I sit at my desk and turn on my computer, glancing up as Belinda knocks on my door and pokes her head inside. “Morning, Rachel.”

  “Hi, Belinda.”

  Her eyes are comfortingly bland, uninterested in the drama. Or just good at hiding it. “Sterling wants to see you in his office at eight.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nods and leaves, and I stare at the computer screen, watching nearly a hundred new emails load. I blow out a heavy breath and close the window. Why bother responding when I won’t be employed here an hour from now? Why bother doing anything?

  Sterling knows I come in at seven, and there’s little question in my mind he chose eight o’clock deliberately, knowing I’d have to sit here and suffer for the next hour, waiting for the ax to fall. Little does he know, there’s nothing he can do to torture me more than I’ve been torturing myself for the past twelve hours.

  I turn my chair around, fold my hands in my lap and stare out the window at the waking city. The rising sun glints off the office towers, beautiful bands of pink and orange, yellow and blue, all melting together to give the world an achingly lovely tinge. Much as I had when I’d moved into my apartment, I’d stood in front of this window as I’d taken over my brand-new office and stared down at the city below, reveling in my success. It had meant so much to me, but not for the right reasons. I didn’t care about the fact that I could watch the sun rise over the city, see the way the streets slowly filled, watch traffic flow like water beneath us. It was merely a symbol, an indication of how high I’d risen, not a guarantee I’d learned anything along the way. Ironic that the view from the top had made me oblivious to the fact I’d lost sight of the things that truly matter. I’d seen only what I’d wanted to see and failed to appreciate what was right in front of me, and now it was gone. Or it would be, in...fifty-three minutes.

  Fuck.

  * * *

  Sterling is probably my favorite of the three partners. He’s always treated me with respect and confidence, like an actual person instead of just another bee in the hive, earning him dollar after dollar. If anybody has to do this, I’m glad it’s him. He’ll be kind.

  “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the chair opposite his massive mahogany desk.

  I sit on the edge of the pristine white cushion, knees pressed together, hands resting on my thighs, just barely managing not to tremble. I know people have been fired before, but I’ve never actually seen it happen. Never seen them making their way sadly down the hall, trailed by security to make sure they don’t flip out and pull someone’s hair or try to steal a stapler.

  Sterling doesn’t speak for a minute, and my palms start to sweat. My hair is tucked into its familiar chignon, but my neck feels hot and prickly. I struggle to pull in air, counting my breaths, keeping them even so I don’t keel over. I’m so focused on this simple task that I nearly topple out of the chair when Sterling finally addresses me.

  “So,” he says. His elbows are on the desk and he leans forward, fingers pressed to the underside of his chin. “Yesterday.”

  I swallow, even though my mouth is dry. “Right,” I manage.

  “Disastrous.”

  I nod. That’s one word for it.

  “Your...friend.”

  I look away at the word. Friend. Yes, that’s another word we could use. One that wouldn’t quite cover things.

  “I know you’re disappointed about the Fowler case. To be honest with you, I was disappointed too.”

  Now I do look at him. He sounds sincere.

  “But I was outvoted,” he continues. “And though it’s not always easy, I think even you can agree that Caitlin Dufresne is a wonderful lawyer, whether or not you appreciate her...methods.”

  I nod again, the closest I’ll ever come to complimenting her.

  Sterling taps his chin with his index finger, choosing his words carefully. “We can’t control the people around us, no matter how hard we try. And sometimes we can’t choose them, either.”

  I feel my brows pulling together, trying to frown, and fight to keep my forehead smooth. What the hell is he getting at?

  “One of the benefits of being a managing partner is that we do get to choose the people we surround ourselves with.”

  Oh God. Here it comes. Now get out, you trailer-trash loser.

  “You were my first pick, Rachel.”

  I blink in surprise. “Pardon?”

  “The year you were hired. We each selected five candidates, and you were my first. It was a no-brainer. You were the best. Your resume. Your interview. Your drive. Your polish. I liked you, Rachel. And I’ve always respected you. Have you ever doubted that?”

  I shake my head.

  Sterling looks relieved. “Good. Is there anything you would like to say?”

  Why yes, actually—What the hell is happening?

  “I’m so sorry about yesterday,” I say instead. And that’s true too. “I had no idea Dean would do that. He should have never—no matter how he felt—he shouldn’t have said those things. It was inappropriate to say them, and wrong to do it the way he did. I’ve never been so...” Embarrassed, is on the tip of my tongue, but, to my surprise, I can’t quite force it out. “Stunned,” I finish.

  “Stunned,” Sterling echoes. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

  “There are lots of words we could use.”

  He smiles faintly. “I’m not going to fire you, Rachel.”

  My jaw
drops. “You’re not?”

  “No. Morgan wants you gone, but Haines wants you to stay.”

  “That’s unexpected.”

  Sterling nods. “We both think you’ll learn a lot working with Caitlin.”

  I can’t help it. I rasp out a desperate little laugh.

  To his credit, Sterling smiles again. “You’ll be working with her, not for her, despite her word choice yesterday.”

  “I see.” I’m so stunned, I can barely see straight. I’m not fired. I still work here. I still have an office on the thirty-second floor. I’m one of the lucky ones...aren’t I?

  “Of course, you’ll never bring Dean to another company event. Or to the office.”

  “No problem there.”

  “And though I don’t believe you had anything to do with his outburst yesterday, you’re on probation. You may not have fired the gun, but you brought it to the party. If there are any more issues with Caitlin, we’ll have to revisit this discussion.”

  “Right.”

  “And you’ll need to apologize.”

  My gaze flies up to his, Sterling’s gaze steady and sympathetic. And firm.

  “I...”

  “Joseph’s out of the office this morning, but he should be back after lunch. Then you and Caitlin will sit down with Joseph, Lee and me to have a conversation about the best path forward. You’ll apologize, she’ll accept and everyone will move on. Back to business as usual. Agreed?”

  My head feels like it’s filled with lead as I nod. Each muscle in my neck groans with the effort.

  “Great.” Sterling stands and extends a hand. I rise and accept it, his skin cool and dry against mine. “Smile, Rachel,” he admonishes, only pretending to be stern. “It’s a beautiful day and you still have a job. You should be happy.”