by Jessica Ashe
“Sounds like fun.”
I probably sound sarcastic, but I’m not trying to be. I’d much rather spend the day at the park with Carly and Olivia than go to work where nothing but grief awaits me. I don’t need to work anymore. I have enough money to quit and live on my savings, and if I sold my company then Olivia would never have to worry either.
However, I have employees who are not in the same position. If I don’t work or if I sell the company, then they might lose their jobs. That’s about the only thing that keeps me going these days. That and Olivia.
“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” Carly says.
I look up and notice that, much to my disappointment, she’s talking to Olivia, who’s spilt milk and cereal all down her pajamas.
Carly takes her upstairs with no complaints from Olivia. Carly’s only been here two days, but Olivia is already comfortable around her.
I quickly eat my fried egg and bacon sandwich and pick the handwritten letter out of the pile. I used to ignore these letters as long as possible, but today I’m going to reply quickly and get it out of the way. Otherwise, it will only weigh on my mind.
How much does he want this time?
I open the letter and quickly skim through it. $15,000. More than last time. The most he’s asked for in one letter is $30,000. That came immediately after a great year for my company, so I paid him and barely noticed it. I can afford $15,000 without losing too much sleep. Doesn’t mean I want to pay him, though.
There’s no point torturing myself. I have to make the payments. He knows that and I know that.
I grab my checkbook from a drawer in my office and write out the check to Johan Contra. Johan includes a stamped addressed envelope with his letters. It’s nice to have a considerate blackmailer.
Carly comes back downstairs with Olivia looking adorable in a flowery dress that Marie bought her a few months back. Carly puts Olivia down in front of her current favorite doll, and heads back into the kitchen.
“Can you mail this when you’re out today?” I ask Carly, as I hand her the letter.
“Sure.” She takes the letter and my hand briefly brushes against hers. I haven’t got a thrill like that from touching a woman’s hand since I was thirteen. I need to get laid. That girl I met at the party ended up teasing and running, so I’ve been horny as hell. I’m sure that’s all this is. If I’d fucked that girl, then I wouldn’t be so eagerly eying up my daughter’s babysitter.
“Do you have rules on what Olivia can eat?” Carly asks. “I want to get her a small treat when we go shopping.”
“I’ve never thought about it much,” I admit. “Just use your best judgment. Before I forget…” I hand Carly $600 in cash. “I’ve ordered another credit card that will have you on it as an authorized user, but this should tide you over for a few days.”
“Uh, yeah, that will be more than enough. Thanks.”
“It’s me who should be thanking you. Olivia looks happier already.” We both look at Olivia as she plays with her dolls. Carly convinced Olivia to go to bed early last night, and it’s obvious she got a good night’s sleep and is better for it.
“She’s an awesome kid,” Carly replies, looking back at me and then frowning. “Isn’t that hot?”
Carly nods towards my hand which is resting on the pan I used to fry my eggs. “No, it’s… actually, yes. Yes, it’s hot.”
I quickly move my hand away from the pan, but it’s too late. My hand hurts like hell. Carly is already over by the sink running the cold water. I shove my hand under to feel the immediate relief.
“Stay there,” Carly says. “I’ll go get some antiseptic cream.” She disappears and finds a cream I didn’t even know I owned. After a few minutes holding my hand under the cold running water, Carly dries the wound and applies the cream to my hand.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’ll be fine.”
“It doesn’t look that bad, but it might blister.”
Olivia wanders into the kitchen to see what all the fuss is about. “Are you okay, Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetie. I’m fine. Carly has patched me up. And I’m now late for work.”
I kiss Olivia goodbye and resist the urge to do the same with Carly. Marie messaged me asking me how things were going, so I send her a quick reply on the way to the car just to put her mind at rest. Everything’s going smoothly… at home. Work is another matter altogether.
I make it until midday without texting Carly. I eventually text her under the flimsy pretense of mentioning that Olivia is scared of the swings at the park. Carly replies a few minutes later with a picture of Olivia on the swings looking like she’s having the time of her life.
What I wouldn’t give to be with them right now instead of stuck in this office. Okay, it’s a nice corner office in downtown LA, with a glorious view of the city. Many people work hard their entire lives with little chance of ending up in an office even half as good as this. But it’s not where I want to be anymore. I have a child, and this business keeps me away from her far more than I’d like. Mind you, being busy gives me an excuse to keep Carly around until Olivia starts school in a year.
A knock at the door distracts me from my Carly-oriented trance.
“Got a minute?” Grady asks.
“Sure.” I’m busy as hell, but I’ve barely got anything done all day.
“Have you read the letter?”
“What letter?” My mind immediately goes to the blackmail letter I received this morning, although Grady clearly isn’t talking about that.
“The revised letter of intent from Sandra at Pacific Technologies. She’s upped the offer by 10% but says it’s the last one.”
“She said that last time.”
“Sounds like she means it. What are you going to do?”
I scroll through my emails and pull up the letter of intent from Pacific Technologies. Sure enough, the offer has been upped by 10% and Sandra’s email makes it clear that there will not be another offer.
“They’ve increased the amount that’s contingent on future profits,” I point out, scanning the letter. “In fact, the entire additional 10% is contingent.”
“That’s good news. The company will easily hit those contingencies, and the delayed payments to us mean less tax payable for this financial year.”
“I take it you’re in favor?”
Grady nods, which doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. He wanted to sell his stake when the first offer came in six months ago and that offer was substantially lower than what’s on the table now.
“They’re offering far more than the company’s worth,” Grady says.
“It’s worth what someone will pay for it, so by definition, they’re not.”
“Well, Pacific Technologies is the only company who will pay this much for it.”
There’s no point arguing with Grady. He made up his mind a long time ago. More to the point, he’s right. No one knows this business better than me, but Grady is a close second. He’s been my Chief Financial Officer for six years, and was one of the first people I hired. If he says this offer is a good one, then it’s a good one.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to sell. Pacific Technologies wants to buy LCA, Inc. because we’re its biggest competitor in LA. The second they have control, they will gut the company by transferring the best clients and assets. They’ll take a few of the stronger employees, but what’s left of LCA will get wound up.
Hundreds of employees will lose their jobs, and they won’t all get new ones. I pay well—I always have done—but I can’t expect my blue collar employees to have months of savings available to tide them over while they look for jobs.
Grady wants me to make the decision based on the numbers, but I can’t detach people from it. My employees aren’t just numbers on a spreadsheet to me.
“You’d never need to work again if you sell,” Grady points out.
“Neither would you,” I remind him. I couldn’t afford large salaries when I first started out, and had to give
Grady a generous stock option plan to convince him to leave his safe job with a big accounting firm. If we sell, he’s going to be rich too.
“Damn right,” Grady admits. “And I’m not going to lie—I want to spend my days drinking on beaches and screwing the type of women who hang out on beaches. Don’t you?”
“Sure,” I lie. There’s nothing that appeals less than going back to that lifestyle. I spent my teenage years hanging out on beaches and screwing loads of women. The sex was crap, and the women were annoying. I have a daughter to look after now—she comes first. And when I do have casual sex, I like it to have an edge. Hence the sex parties.
“I’m going to call Sandra and pretend you’re working from home because Olivia is sick. That should buy us some more time to make the decision. I genuinely think this is their final offer, so don’t be quick to decline it.”
Grady heads out and I read through the letter a few more times. I’m not going to make the decision now. I text Carly instead and tell her I’ll be home early. I don’t want to be here when Carly and Olivia are waiting for me at home.
Chapter Seven
Carly
I’m being paid to write.
Marie came over earlier and asked to look after Olivia for a few hours. I’d already done most of the chores, so I opened up my laptop and sat down to write.
The words come easily now. Looking after Olivia is tiring—sometimes more so than waitressing—but it’s not as mentally exhausting. It’s hard to describe, but when I sit in front of my laptop, my brain is ready and raring to go. Maybe it’s not dreading the next day that helps. It doesn’t matter what the reason is. All I know is that my script is coming together and beginning to resemble an actual movie.
I hear the door open at six and assume it’s Marie, but the next voice I hear is Parker’s.
“Is Olivia still with my sister?”
“Yeah, she should be back soon, though. Shall I cook you dinner?”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. How about a ham and cheese omelet?”
“Sounds good.”
It feels weird sitting down while Parker buzzes around the kitchen doing the work. He’s paying me and cooking me dinner. If I put this in my script it would seem far-fetched.
Speaking of which… I reach out to close my laptop, but I’m too late.
“Are you writing a screenplay?” Parker asks, glancing over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I reply. There’s not much point in lying. Screenplays have a distinctive look about them, and Parker is close enough to the movie business that he’ll recognize one instantly.
“Film or television?”
“Film. It’s just a hobby, and I usually write in my own time. You don’t have to pay me for this afternoon if you don’t want to.”
“Huh? Oh, I don’t care about that. I’m just curious. What’s the film about?”
It was a basic romance about young girl—Amber—who falls in love with a guy who ends up being her law school professor. However, it’s rapidly changing into a story about a girl who discovers her sexual identity through submissive sex with a man she barely knows. I wonder where that inspiration came from? She still goes to law school, though.
Parker can get the edited version. “It’s about a girl who falls in love with her law school professor.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a cheesy romance. It’ll never get made into a film, but I need to practice writing full-length movies.” Voicing my doubts out loud make me feel queasy. I’m right—this film will never get made. No one hits the big time with their first script. Even writers who rocketed to stardom have hard drives full of awful first drafts and abandoned stories. Still, if I think like that then I’ll never finish this script, which means I’ll never write the next one, or the one after that.
“I tried writing a movie once,” Parker says, while he dices ham into tiny cubes with quick flicks of the wrist. He’s not as inexperienced a cook as he makes out, and he certainly knows how to handle a knife. “It’s a lot harder than it looks and I have no imagination. How are you getting on?”
“I’m getting the words on the page,” I reply. “That’s the first step. I need to take a step back and do some research before I keep writing. There are a few scenes in a law school classroom, but I have no idea what that’s like in real life. I’ve seen Legally Blonde, but that’s all I know.”
I did do a bit of research into law schools when I prepared my initial outline, but the law school forums I found were full of contradictions and overly angry, immature people. It’s scary to think that they’ll be licensed lawyers in a few years’ time.
“I might be able to help,” Parker replies. “How do you fancy sitting in on a lecture?”
Yep, law school is crazy, and the students are crazier.
Parker pulled a few strings and got me into a criminal law lecture at the local law school. I’ve no idea how he managed it, but Parker’s rich, and rich people all move in the same circles. I saw evidence of that at the sex party. He probably knows a generous alumnus of the school. It doesn’t really matter. I’m getting a great experience that’s going to help me write a more believable screenplay.
I walk into a large lecture hall. It’s an evening class on criminal procedure. All the students have their laptops out, so I have no qualms about using mine to take notes on what I observe. I take a seat at the back of the class and watch.
The first thing I learn is that most law students aren’t bothering to listen to the lecture. A few appear to be taking notes, but just as many are online shopping, reading the news, or talking to their friends on Gchat. The second thing I learn is that I can’t blame them. Criminal procedure is boring. Really boring. The class topic—Miranda warnings—sounded interesting at first, and I’m a sucker for crime dramas on television. Unfortunately, the professor dived so deep into the weeds, that I quickly lost all interest.
It doesn’t matter. I’m here to observe the atmosphere, not to learn what Law & Order gets wrong about police procedure. One aspect of the experience quickly jumps out as worthy of inclusion in my screenplay. The professor calls on students out of the blue to answer questions. They have to recite facts from the case, discuss the judge’s legal reasoning, and give their own analysis of the law. Some students are clearly well-prepared, while others are caught unaware in the middle of purchasing a new sweater.
The version of Amber I have in my head is definitely the type to be prepared. She’d also be nervous. Speaking in front of one hundred of your peers isn’t easy, but it’s an opportunity to show her progression. At first, she’d be terrified and speak with a stutter like a few of the students here do. However, as she explores her sexuality throughout the course of the movie and becomes more confident in and out of the bedroom, she will give more confident and assured answers in class. Plus, at some point she’s going to be fucking the professor, so that has to help her confidence.
One last thing I learn—some law students are complete dicks. They raise their hand at every opportunity and sound smug as hell when answering questions. I’ll remember to include that. Every protagonist needs a nemesis or ten.
“So, did you learn anything?” Parker asks.
“Yeah. Never go to law school.”
Parker laughs. “I could have told you that.”
“You’re too old for school,” Olivia says, just before shoving a slice of apple into her mouth. “School is for kids.”
“Adults can go to school too,” I reply.
Olivia looks thoughtful for a few moments, before replying “only if they’re teachers.”
Parker insisted on picking me up from class and taking me to dinner afterward. Olivia was a little grumpy, so she got to choose the restaurant. Hence, I’m now eating ‘white meat’ nuggets and salty fries. I don’t care—I’m starving and it’s been ages since I’ve eaten junk food.
Everything about this job seems too good to be true right now. Olivia is an absolute joy to look after, Parker is ridiculously nice,
and he pays me far too much. He’s even handsome. I rarely even think of this as work. It’s like we’re a family, except I go home at night to my apartment with Tami.
She’s still worried about me working in a ‘murder house,’ but she’s agreed that I only have to text her twice a day while I’m at work, and once when I get home if she’s not in. I’ve resisted the urge to talk her ear off about how brilliant this job is, but only just. I don’t feel under any financial pressure to complete my screenplay now, and the lack of pressure conversely makes it easier to finish. It’s a win-win all round. If I had a sex life, things would be close to perfect.
Maybe soon. I told Tami I wanted to go to another sex party, and there’s a chance—a small one—that I’ll see him again. Between him and Parker, I have crushes on two men who are both well out of my league.
“What did you think of the professor?” Parker asks.
“He was good,” I reply. “The subject matter was a little dull, but he did his best to liven it up with real-world examples.”
“He only teaches part time. He’s also a criminal defense attorney. That’s why his classes are in the evening.”
“You know Professor Moss?” I ask.
Of all the ways for Parker to get me into the law school, knowing one of the professors never crossed my mind.
Parker nods. “Walter and I are close. He helped me out a few years back.”
I swallow nervously, and shove a handful of fries into my mouth. A few years back. This shouldn’t bother me. Parker’s wife died three years ago, and I already know he was accused of the crime. That’s not a secret, and neither is the fact that he had a lawyer to represent him. He’d have been crazy not to. Even if you’re innocent, you still need a lawyer.
This minor revelation shouldn’t change anything, however, it does. Something in my head changes. It’s not just a story in the papers anymore. It really happened. He hired a lawyer. He went to court. He was almost charged with his wife’s murder.