by R. C. Martin
Anyway, how’s work? I’m assuming you’ve got a full case load. I’m not the only one who’s been quiet/busy. I hope you’re kicking ass and taking names over there! Oh, and Pryce’s last night at the restaurant is coming up this weekend, isn’t it? I can’t believe it. I’m so excited for him—for both of you guys. I know you’re a little stressed about how this whole thing will go; opening a restaurant is going to be intense for the both of you, but it’s going to be amazing. And when I come for the grand opening, I expect to be at the chef’s table with the woman who encouraged her man to take the leap.
Seriously. You’re like the dream whisperer or something.
Anyway. We need a phone date soon. This is getting ridiculous. Stop being busy. I will if you will.
xoxo
Sticks
I don’t have time to read over what I’ve written before my alarm clock sounds, so I save the draft and begin getting ready for work. October has brought with it a chill that has me pulling out my sweaters. This morning, I decide to wear my olive green, ankle cut, dress slacks with a multi-colored floral print button-up underneath a solid, cream sweater. I pull out my nude heels to complete the outfit and then jump in the shower. When I’m finished, I blow-dry my hair, adding a little curl—as I prefer—and then get dressed. After applying a hint of makeup, keeping it light and natural, I’m more than ready for coffee. With my jacket and purse in hand, I’m out the door and headed for The Grind to pick up my usual.
I WAKE WITH a start, my alarm clock pulling me from sleep, and I silence it with a groan. My body protests as I sit up, feeling as though I went to bed only a couple of hours ago. Looking around the sparsely decorated room of my office flat, I remember that I really did go to bed only a couple of hours ago.
The last two weeks have been busy. Generally, I consider that to be a good thing. Stacking up billable hours is never something I should complain about. However, the timing is complete shit. Not to mention, the nature of my busy schedule isn’t exactly ideal.
I lost in court last week, which always has a way of putting me in a foul mood. For obvious reasons, my client was upset, but the plaintiff’s facts spoke louder than any argument I could bring to the judge. My hands were tied. Smoothing over that shit show took a great deal of time and effort, but I managed to talk them out of dropping our firm and hiring another.
This week has come with its own set of challenges. My sessions in court the last couple of days have been hell. I don’t like to be surprised in the middle of a trial, but that’s exactly what happened to me yesterday afternoon. It wouldn’t have happened at all, had my associates taken the time to do their job the way I expect them to; however, being the man in the courtroom, it was my responsibility to make sure I was fully prepared. That said, I was up all night preparing for today’s session. I won’t be left with my dick swinging in the wind again.
Rubbing my face with my hands, I think about starting a pot of coffee. I’m going to need it today. I could drink a cup or two before heading downstairs—before Sigourney brings me my usual from The Grind. I drop my hands into my lap, watching as my cock hardens at the thought of her.
It might make me sound like a pussy to admit it, but a day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about kissing those fucking lips. In all honesty, I’ve caught myself in the shower with my dick in my hand thinking about doing a whole lot more. Above any of the other shit that’s been thrown at me in the last two and a half weeks, my inability to make time to revisit whatever we started is at the top of my list of things that irk me.
Making time for women has always been something I’ve lacked the genuine motivation to accomplish. I’ll go out every once in a while to pick someone up for the night, but I haven’t been committed to anyone in years. More times than not, the women I’ve been introduced to, through friends or my mother, have all been interested in little more than my status and what it could get them. Either that, or they were too fucking high maintenance.
In the back of my mind, I wondered if it would be easier to date someone in my profession; someone who understood how important my work is to me; someone who understood my schedule and the extra hours that often times crop up. Of course, dating someone at the office was never an option I was willing to entertain. At least, not until recently.
I’m still not certain kissing Sigourney was a smart move—but it’s done. I know what she tastes like. I know what it feels like to have her soft body pressed against mine. I know what it sounds like to hear her moan. This whole thing started because I couldn’t control myself. Now, knowing what I know, I’ve given up on the notion that I can stay away from her. Yet, even still, work has gotten in the way, as it usually does. Only, for the first time in a long time, I wish I could do something about it.
Forcing myself to get out of bed, I grab my phone and drag my feet to the kitchen, where I put on a pot of coffee. As I wait for it to brew, I pull up my calendar and look over what’s on my docket for the day. When I see Janet’s name on my schedule, my thoughts race back toward Sigourney. She’s now an integral part of this case. Without an ounce of disrespect or conniving intentions, she’s proven she wants in on it more then my associates. As things have been going lately, I can’t say I mind. I could use the help, and Lydia and Chandler are proving to be less than mediocre.
Again, my thoughts get wrapped up in the memory of Sigourney. Again, I grow hard in my boxer briefs. Aware that this is clearly an issue which needs to be dealt with, I abandon my brewing coffee and head for the shower.
IT’S MID-MORNING when Janet arrives for her appointment. After I’m called to the reception lobby to greet her, I don’t waste a second before I get up from my desk. One peek into Dane’s office and I see that he’s on the phone—his headset on as he paces; speaking to a client, I assume. I try not to remember how busy he was when I first arrived, and how little attention he paid me as I dropped off his coffee. I try to remind myself that court has been putting him in a mood, and it has nothing to do with me. I try to remember that I’m a professional and I can handle his rejection—if that is, indeed, what it is. I’m still not sure.
Shaking my head clear, I walk toward his door, tapping lightly on the glass. He looks my way, and I mouth Janet. The nod he gives me in response lets me know he understood me, and then I quickly make my way to the front. It’s been a few weeks since Janet has been in the office, and I’m excited to see her. Honestly, knowing that she would be in today has kept my spirits as high as they can go this morning. We’ve been working diligently to help make her case strong, and I believe she’ll be pleased with our findings.
When I spot her sitting in one of the armchairs in the waiting area, I notice she appears no more put together than she did the last time she was here. Her clothes are too big, and her frizzy curls are pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She looks tired, like she hasn’t slept in weeks, and I instantly remember why this case is so important. She’s struggling to take care of her three boys, and I’m sure her life is harder now than ever before. When she lost her husband, she lost the father of her children and the income that helped put food in their mouths.
“Hi, Janet,” I greet as I stop a few steps away from her.
“Sally. Hi,” she replies, standing as she offers me a forced smile.
“How are you?”
“Hoping for some good news today.”
I offer her a nod and a friendly smile of my own before I wave my hand for her to follow me. “Dane is just finishing a phone call, but he should be in to speak with you in a few minutes,” I assure her as I lead her to one of the smaller conference rooms. “I know he’s got some new questions for you, but I think you’ll be happy to learn that we’ve found some helpful evidence. We just need a bit more to help tie some loose ends together.”
“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Can I get you any water or coffee?” I ask as she rounds the table, pulling out a chair so that she’s si
tting with her back toward the window.
“No. I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m just outside this door.”
She offers me a nod and another smile—this one a little more genuine than the last. I wave awkwardly, wishing I could stay and talk with her but knowing I should return to my desk. I’m relieved when I step out of the room at the same time I see Dane emerging from his office. He’s got a file in one of his hands, and his arms are stretched out as he shrugs on his suit jacket. The collar is popped on just one side, and when he stops to speak with me, I can’t resist the urge to reach up and straighten it for him.
I barely touch him, and yet the heat that radiates off of his body makes my stomach flutter. I yank my hands away, sucking in a calming breath in an attempt to keep my emotions in check as I peer up at him.
“Thank you,” he says kindly, his voice soft and rumbly at the same time.
My anxiety creeping up on me, I lift a hand to sweep a bit of hair behind my ear as I inform him, “She’s ready for you. Also, don’t forget that you have court in an hour.”
He dips his chin in curt nod and then turns away from me abruptly. My shoulders slump as I watch him go. With that armor he wears, I’m afraid I’ll never know what’s in his head—not unless I find the courage to ask.
FOR THE FIRST twenty minutes, I bring Janet up to speed on our findings thus far. She asks questions when she doesn’t understand, and I appreciate that about her. She not only wants to know that I’m doing my part, but also to comprehend what that means. Soon after I’m finished answering her questions, I have a few of my own.
“You said your husband had previous experience working on the rigs whenever he was on the road.”
“Yes. Roy’s always been good with cars. His dad was a mechanic. He was practically born under a hood,” she tells me, a small laugh lighting up her tone for the first time since I walked into the room. “One time, when he was first starting out as a driver, something went wrong and he was stranded for hours. He vowed that would never happen to him again. He learned everything he could about those big monsters. More than a dozen times over the years, he’s managed to get himself out of a pinch—especially in the last nine years.
“As soon as he became a father, it was even more important to him that he get where he was going and then come back to us as fast as he could. That was Roy. He knew what he was doing.”
“Can you do me a favor? Can you write down the previous places where he was employed as a driver? And if you remember, his supervisor’s names as well,” I ask, sliding a blank sheet of paper and a pen in her direction.
“Yeah, okay,” she murmurs, taking my offering. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to remember his supervisors. Except for one—at Flash Packing. Wayne. He’s a family friend. He’s the one who helped me get in touch with my previous lawyer. They were buddies. Wayne was always looking out for him. He had been trying to get Roy to apply for a desk job for a couple of years.”
“Do you think he’d be willing to testify as a character witness?”
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. If anyone knew about Royce’s history at the company the most, it’d be him. I have his cell number, if you want me to write it down.”
“That’d be helpful, thank you.”
The second our meeting has concluded, I hurry to my office to grab my briefcase. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I carry the Bridgewater file with me, dropping it on Sigourney’s desk. She spins at the sound, those eyes locking with mine, and I don’t give her a chance to speak a word before I start doling out instructions.
“Have Lydia or Chandler start calling around. There’s a list in this folder—previous companies that Royce drove for. I need to know who his supervisors were. We’ll be calling them in as character references.”
Shaking her head, she insists, “I can—”
With no time to hear her out, I interrupt her. “No. I need you to finish going through Flash Packing’s records. We’re getting close to something, but we need to finish sorting through all the shit that’s covering it.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back this afternoon,” I mutter, leaving without another word.
I clench my jaw, irritated that I don’t have another second to spare when I hear her soft reply.
“Good luck.”
I’M A BIT disappointed when Dane’s meeting with Janet runs long. They both leave right away, which means I have to wait until Dane returns to the office before I can be brought up to speed. It’s during moments like this one where I feel trapped in my role as secretary. If I was an associate working on the case, I could have been in the room.
I don’t allow myself to gripe about my position for longer than a second. If anything, I’m lucky. I’ve been granted more access to this case than I deserve, and I won’t take it for granted.
Removing the sheet of paper with the list Dane referenced from the file he left on my desk, I go on a hunt for Lydia and Chandler. It’s not yet lunch time, so I assume I’ll find them at their desks. When I arrive on the forty-eighth floor, I go practically unnoticed. There are still so many people here I don’t know, and I’m beginning to wonder if that’ll ever change.
When I hear my name up ahead, the voice unmistakably Chandler’s, I slow my pace a bit. He can’t see me with the way the cubicles are set up, and I’m sure he’s not expecting me. As I listen a little closer, what I hear has me stopping in my tracks.
“…because of Sally,” he says.
“What can she do? Honestly, Chan,” Lydia replies.
“You’ve got to be fucking blind if you don’t notice how she wormed her way into the Bridgewater case. It’s complete and utter bullshit. We should be the ones in on that.”
“I thought you didn’t care about pro bono cases,” she says cheekily.
“I do when they turn into a big deal. Doesn’t matter, now. He’s practically frozen us out.”
“That’s not true.”
“Bitch work, Lydia. He’s got us doing bitch work—the work a first year should be doing. You know what? No. The work Sally should be doing.”
“Okay, you’re right. She is a bit of a problem, but we just have to work harder to make Dane see us.”
“You mean we have to work harder to tear his attention away from her ass?”
“You like her ass?” she mutters, sounding a little jealous.
“Baby, fuck, it’s not about that.”
My eyes widen at his use of the term baby.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
There’s a pause, and then he says something in reply, but I can’t hear it. What I do hear is Lydia’s giggle. My jaw now slack, leaving my mouth open in shock, I decide I’ve heard quite enough. I know I’m supposed to put them to work—because Dane said so—but after all I’ve just heard, they are the last two people I want to see right now.
I return to the elevator bay immediately, pressing the call button repeatedly, hoping I can get upstairs before either of them finds out I was anywhere near that conversation. I’m well aware that I’ve been here for a month—a pretty intense month, at that—but I never suspected the two of them were sleeping together. At least, I assume that’s what they’re doing. It certainly sounded like it.
I shake the thought out of my head as I step into the lift car, not wishing to imagine what that’s like. Unfortunately, I can’t rid my mind of the first part of their conversation. I understand not everyone is meant to be friends, but I take offense to what they said. Chandler made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t respect me, the work I do, or how I do it. To think he’s under the impression that I wormed my way into something, when all I was really doing was picking up his slack, it’s unfair.
By the time I’ve arrived on my floor, I’m cognizant of the fact that if I don’t get this list to him, he’ll only think worse of me. Dane left with an expectation, an expectation that this would get done in a timely manner, and I must respect his authori
ty. Refusing to go back downstairs, I decide to send Chandler and Lydia the information in an email. As immature as it might be, I don’t want to face them right now—especially not if they’re going to fake nice to my face.
After returning to my desk, constructing and shooting off an email, I pull out my phone and send a text to Ellery. I’m sure she’ll be too busy to respond in the middle of her workday, but it’ll still make me feel better. It usually does.
Today sucks.
Oh, and I’m sorry I haven’t written/called in a while. I will tonight. xoxo
I KILL THE engine and let out a long sigh, resting my head against the back of my seat. Today was a success in court. We’re not completely out of the woods yet, but I’m happy with the way the session went. Tomorrow is our last chance to make an impact, and now there’s hope that we can win. Unfortunately, that means more work ahead for me. I’ve got case notes I need to study, and I already feel beat to shit. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I allow myself just a moment’s reprieve.
When my minute is up, I get my ass out of the Benz and take the long ride up to the office. Checking the time as I step out of the elevator, I note that it’s almost three. I didn’t get a chance to pick up lunch, and now I’m wondering if I could send Sigourney out to fetch me something. She’s on the phone when I walk by her desk. I offer a silent nod hello when her eyes catch mine, and then proceed into my office. I haven’t even had a chance to sit down before she’s walking into the room.
“Hi. Sorry to just barge in on you like this, but you’ve been so busy all day. I figured if I didn’t catch you right away, I might not catch you at all.”