Don't Stand So Close

by Eva Luxe

  “Very well.”

  I knew they would, despite their complaints. It was a done deal before I even walked in here. They knew they would accept whatever I offered. And fifty percent is still a good deal considering that originally Ron had been thinking of representing me for free.

  Before his meddling girlfriend Ruby got involved. If he wasn’t fucking her I’d demand he fire her. But I know that that would complicate matters more than necessary right now. By having Katie in here, I accomplish two purposes— I send a message to her friends not to fuck with me anymore, and I also get to look at her.

  As we go over the various details of the case and strategy for my case, I can’t keep my eyes off of her. I can’t believe I’m this close to her and I can’t have her. I’m not used to having to wait to get what I want. But I definitely want her. Just once. That’s all. Then I’ll get bored of her like I do the rest.

  Won’t I?

  Looking at her curvy hips and large breasts, I’m not sure I will. And that could be a problem.

  I also get the sense she wants me just as badly as I want her. Or at least I originally got that sense. But as the meeting nears to a close, she looks impatient, ready to leave.

  “Do you want to go down to Manny’s with us and iron out the rest of these details?” Asher asks me.

  “No thank you,” I tell him. “I think we’re pretty close to being done.”

  “So, then Mr. Sanchez, can I go now?” she asks, as she raps her pen against her notepad. “It looks like you guys don’t need me anymore.”

  “Sure, Katie,” Ron says, as if he’d forgotten she was there. I guess he doesn’t have the same motivation to pay attention to her as I do. “Just type up those notes and put them in a memo in Damien’s file. I’ll speak to Jim but I think I might ask you to work on it some while he’s in court.”

  I like that idea. I’d rather anyone but Ruby work on my file and it gives me yet another excuse to be close to Katie again in the future.

  But what bothers me is that she doesn’t seem to be as excited about the idea as I am. In fact, she looks like she dreads it.

  “Alright Mr. Sanchez, but you know how Jim gets. Territorial about his staff members. You might want to extra confirm with him before you say anything in front of the client.”

  She winks and nods her head obviously in my direction.

  “But, oops, too late for that, right?”

  Ron lets out a strained chuckle, as if he can’t believe the nerve of this girl. I can’t either. I’m not used to a woman not wanting to be near me. I usually have to run away from them.

  But as Katie stands up and walks out, I realize that apparently, she’s not like most other women I’ve known. She’s got a strong mind of her own and I can’t figure out what’s on it.

  After I hash out a few more things with Ron and Asher, Ron says, “Well Damien, we’re really glad to be working together and we think we should be friends. Enough of this quibbling over money.”

  “Hmmm.”

  I don’t really do friendships. Just like I don’t really do relationships. But if it’s important to these guys that I pretend to like them socially, I can go along with it. I don’t particularly like or dislike them either way. It’s just a business arrangement: I need their legal services and they need my money.

  “We know you’re not a big drinker but you should come with us to Manny’s sometime since you can’t come now. We’ll buy the first round,” Ron continues.

  “And you should come to my wedding,” Asher says. “It’s in two weeks.”

  That makes me perk up and pay attention. Not just because it’s kind of odd that he’s inviting me to his wedding— he must really want me to stay on as a client— but also because I assume Katie will be there. I’ve gotten the sense that she’s friends with this Ruby girl whom I assume will be there along with Ron.

  “Thanks, Asher,” I say, as if it’s normal to be invited last minute to someone’s wedding when they’re still practically a stranger. Although we did just enter a complicated and hefty legal representation arrangement. I guess in that way we’ve bonded. “Send me an invite and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I would be honored,” he says, and he looks like he means it.

  “See you soon, then,” I say, and leave Ron’s office.

  But first I must find Katie. I’m not leaving here again without getting her fucking number.

  Chapter 8– Katie

  As soon as I leave Ron’s office I head back to the file room. Ruby’s still there, thank goodness.

  “Oh, my god,” I tell her, nearly running into the shelf in my hurry to get to her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “So sorry for what?” she asks.

  “For ever— um…”

  I was about to say for ever being into Damien Hudson but then I realize she doesn’t know I’m into him. I’ve been her confidante but I never spill the goods about my own life.

  “…for not being able to get here sooner and tell you,” I say. “But Damien Hudson is really mad at you. It sounds like he kind of wants you gone. Or at least off his cases.”

  She considers this and nods, as if it doesn’t surprise her very much.

  “Well, I did hack him,” she shrugs. “But I did it for love. So, I’ll take whatever consequence I get.”

  I start laughing and so does she.

  “It’s not like I really need this job all that much,” she says. “Cameron just likes to have me close by and likes my help. I don’t think I’ll get fired but if I do, oh well.”

  We laugh again but I’m thinking, must be nice . I need to work here until I can afford to move out of my parents’ house and even then, I’ll still need to slave away to be able to afford rent.

  “So why do look flushed?” Ruby asks, changing the subject.

  “What?” I ask her, playing innocent.

  “I know that look,” she says. “I know all about this. You’re in looooooove.”

  “I am not ,” I insist.

  “Well, you’re at least in like . In lust?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it.

  “You like Damien Hudson, don’t you?” she demands.

  I shrug.

  “I may have, but since he’s not fond of you, I don’t like him that much any more.”

  “I knew it,” she says. “And don’t let me ruin a good thing.”

  “Oh, just because you had sex with an older man, now it’s a good thing?” I ask.

  “I certainly think it is,” she says. “Not that I have anything to compare it to.

  I don’t either, but I don’t admit that.

  “I bet he’d know what to do to you,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile. “And I bet you’d enjoy it.”

  “Very funny,” I tell her, but I know she’s right.

  I wish I could just let go and be with Damien but I still have too many hang-ups. Most notably being that he’s out to get my friend. She may not care, but I do.

  “Well, I have to go deliver these files to Cameron,” she says, holding onto the files she had gathered while I was in his office.

  “Uh huh,” I tell her, with a teasing grin. “You mean you have to go deliver yourself to him.”

  She giggles and says, “Maybe,” as she leaves.

  I reach into the small bag with a shoulder strap that I carry with me and retrieve my vape pen. I’m not supposed to do this at work. But I’ve had quite the day. First I get to see the man I’ve been crushing on, fantasizing about, since I met him. Then I find out he has it out for my only friend here at the firm. I think I deserve a little hit.

  But as soon as I take one, I hear someone clearing their throat at the entrance to the file room. I jump and then shove the vape pen into my pocket.

  Turning my head, I see that it’s him. Damien.

  I had a feeling it was.

  I don’t know if he saw what I had been doing or not. But he doesn’t look too happy.

  I remind myself that it doesn’t matter b
ecause I’m not too happy with him either. One look as his muscular build and tall stature is enough to make me wet, and embarrassed, remembering how I touch myself thinking at him when I’m at home alone. I have to keep my wits about me.

  “I came to talk to you,” he says.

  “Well that much is clear,” I can’t help but snap back at him.

  At first he looks a little wounded but then he looks defiant.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, shutting the door to the filing room behind him.

  I can’t help but feel a little excited. Why did he close the door? What does he want to do to me?

  “Nothing,” I respond.

  “I want your phone number,” he says.

  As he says it, he reaches out and grabs my ass. I straighten up, my head and my heart at war with each other. Logically I think I should slap him or scream. But emotionally I want him to keep doing it.

  “My phone number?”

  “Yes,” he says, looking as surprised as I am that that’s what he’s asking for. “Your phone number.”

  He puts his hand back on my ass.

  “You can’t have it,” I tell him.

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t like Ruby.”

  “What?”

  He looks at me like I’m insane. And maybe I am.

  “You want her canned.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes you do. I heard you.”

  “She’s not my favorite person in the world and I want her out of my private information but I don’t want her canned. Who Cameron decides to employ— or fuck— is none of my business.”

  When he says “fuck” he looks me straight in the eyes. My panties get even wetter than they were.

  But I’m determined not to give into him. I’m no pushover. And I don’t trust him. Even though I want him.

  He leans in, bends down and kisses me. I kiss him back, despite telling myself not to. His grip on my ass gets stronger.

  I want to kiss him forever. But I know he’ll respect me more— and I’ll respect myself more— if I don’t.

  I break free from his tongue, which requires all the will power in the world.

  “It’s the end of the day and I need to go home now,” I tell him, as if to remind him how much younger than him I am. “My dad will wonder where I am.”

  And just like that, I walk away from him, telling myself to forget all about him, but knowing that I’m not going to be able to.

  Chapter 9 – Damien

  ONE WEEK LATER

  My heart sinks as I pull into the home for developmental disabilities where my mom resides. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen her so I’m making myself visit but I don’t fucking feel up to it.

  It’s also been over a week since I’ve seen Katie and I know my bad mood is tied to that fact. I can’t believe she wouldn’t give me her number just because I’m not particularly fond of her friend who hacked me.

  What a little brat.

  She enjoys defying me.

  I shouldn’t even be this into her. I know that she smokes pot— it was obvious that she was even doing it at the office— and that’s usually not my type at all. My upbringing was so chaotic that I had to teach myself strict discipline and mental clarity in order to not turn out like my poor mother. There’s no place for weed or other drugs in that scenario and there’s usually no place for women who do them.

  But that hasn’t stopped me from fantasizing about Katie.

  I know she liked how I kissed her and grabbed her ass but she wouldn’t let me do anything further. She wouldn’t even let me get her number when I rarely want womens’ numbers. What I usually want is for them to stop calling me but I want to call Katie so I can see her, and kiss her more and fuck her, but she won’t even let me.

  She needs to be punished.

  My cock gets hard just thinking about it so I try to focus on something else, since this isn’t the time or place. As I walk through the sterile, bright front doors of the home I try to take a tally of my business holdings and inventory.

  My plastics company is doing well. The real estate holdings are good. It’s just this damn toy company and its lawsuit driving me nuts. I hope Asher and Ron can fix the problem for me.

  My mind is soon inundated with numbers and details of my businesses, which are secure, concrete things I can always hold onto during times of emotional turbulence.

  I didn’t get to where I am in life— billionaire CEO of several different companies— by letting distractions get in my way. I can’t believe how hung up I’ve been on this little, bratty girl.

  No one has ever fucked with my head this way— for a long time, anyway. I haven’t let them. I’ve learned my lesson in the past.

  “Damien!” My mom calls out, as soon as she sees me walk into what they call the “community living” center. She had been playing dominos with another woman.

  I’m glad she’s lucid and recognizes me.

  “Hi, Mom,” I tell her, giving her a hug. “Sorry it’s been a while.”

  “It’s fine,” she tells me, patting the empty seat next to her. “Sit down and talk to me for a while. It’s always so nice to see you.”

  “How have you been doing, Mom?”

  “Just fine. I’ve been working on the books. They like when I do that for them.”

  She closes her eyes and starts counting out loud.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

  Then she squints up at the ceiling.

  “Two hundred and nine, five hundred and sixty, eight hundred and four. Eight hundred and four and then what? Damien, why can’t I remember all the numbers?”

  “It’s fine, Mom,” I tell her, squeezing her hands. “You can take a break from that work for right now. I’m sure you mind must be tired.”

  “I do work hard all day,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You’re such a nice and caring son to look out for me.”

  I’m just glad she stopped counting. Sometimes when she’s in that state she can continue for hours.

  I feel so bad that she thinks I take such good care of her when really I’m too fucking busy with my own life to stop by more than once a week lately.

  “Hello, Mr. Hudson,” says her doctor, as he approaches me. I hadn’t seen him come in.

  “Hi, Dr. Madison,” I say, standing up to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming out here to say hello to me.”

  “Of course,” he says. “I enjoy visiting patients in the community living center and seeing how they’re doing. And it’s nice to see you here when I do. Your mom is always in great spirits after your visit.”

  This only makes me feel even more fucking guilty. I guess he can tell by the look on my face because he adds, “Of course, there’s only so much any of us can do to affect her moods one way or the other.”

  I know this. He’s told me this. But somehow, I still always feel responsible. As if I should be doing more. Ever since everything happened all those years ago, I’ve felt I’ve needed to make up the past to my mother.

  “Has she been having good days?” I ask the doctor.

  “Mostly, yes,” he says. “The numbers and the counting come and go but it rarely pre-occupies all her time like it used to. The new meds are helpful for that. As are your consistent visits, and of course the activities you bring her to do.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Madison. That’s good to know.”

  He nods and pats my mom’s shoulder and says, “You have a good day, Ms. Hudson,” before walking off.

  I know that he’s probably just telling me I make a difference to make me feel better. But it does make me feel better all the same.

  Speaking of activities, I pull a wooden box out of my pocket and set it on the table in front of my mom.

  “Look, Mom,” I tell her, as I open the box. “I made this game for you.”

  “Wow!” she says, as she spills the contents of the box out onto to the table. They are wooden pallets with holes in them, not incredibly dif
ferent from the Dominos she loves to play with in her spare time— the ones she was playing with when I came in— except smaller and collapsible, so that she can carry this box with her wherever she wants to go.

  “Each hole that is drilled into the block can represent an increment of ten, or one hundred, or one thousand,” I tell her. “Any number you want, really. You can stack them, or arrange them, to build larger combinations, or multiples. Like this, for example.”

  I stack up ten blocks on top of each other.

  “See? This entire stack here could represent one thousand. Or one million. Or ten. It’s up to you.”

  “Cool,” she says, sounding like a small child, which she sometimes has the tendency to do.

  She flicks them with her finger and laughs with glee as they all fall down. Then she begins stacking them up again, her face scrunched up in a mixture of concentration and joy.

  The toys and games my company makes are usually made for kids but they work well for anyone with disabilities or mental issues. I’m always inspired to make new ones that my mom would like, and I get letters from parents and caregivers all over the world, telling me how much my products have helped.

  “Each one is the number fifty-six,” she tells me, pointing at the stack of ten blocks she’s built. She stacks ten more beside them. “Now they equal one thousand, one hundred and twenty.”

  “Good job, Mom,” I tell her.

  I’m proud of her but I fear that the toy I’ve made is too easy for her. I’ll have to try another model, with irregularly spaced holes or that have high numbers written on them.

  My mom’s mind is always really sharp when it comes to numbers, no matter what else may or may not be going on in there. I try to make challenging toys and games that keep her mind occupied so that she doesn’t get upset when I’m not around.

  This one might be too simple but at least it’s a start to a new idea—the first one I’ve had in a while since this whole patent lawsuit started. Worrying about what would happen with the lawsuit— and how my truly meager toymaking company could afford to pay for me— was stifling my creativity and ingenuity.

  But ever since I met Katie, I’ve felt more alive, more productive. I’ve finally been able to work out this new idea.