The Bridgewater Case

by R. C. Martin

  “Fair point,” I agree with a slight smirk, draping my jacket over the back of my chair. “What do you have?”

  Her shoulders rise and fall with her sigh before she steps toward me, holding out a stack of files. “I managed to get through the boxes we have for Flash Packing. These are what I would consider useful. I left notes, for whenever you’re able to get around to them.”

  As she speaks, I notice there’s something about her countenance that’s off. I tug my eyebrows together, wondering how much of that is my fault. I’ve practically ignored the fact that we kissed, my head focused solely on work.

  God, I’m a prick.

  Jerking my head to my right, I ask, “Could you put those on the table over there? I’ll look into it later.”

  “Yeah, sure.” She walks over to the table, standing out of sight of the glass wall at the front of my office. I start to follow after her, but then her shoulders rise and fall with another sigh before she spins around. “Did I do something? Something to upset you? I mean, I just thought—”

  She’s only partway through her sentence, and I already know where she’s going with her queries. I’ve been so caught up in my own shit, I haven’t taken the time to gauge where her head has been. Now I know. Intent on silencing her thoughts, I eradicate the space between us, taking her waist in both of my hands as I force her back a few steps. Then I do what I should have done days ago, and I press my lips against hers. Her hands fly up and grasp hold of my biceps in an attempt to keep her balance. My hands flex around her waist in response.

  “Not the greatest multitasker, babe,” I mumble, my mouth still pressed against hers. “Been a busy couple weeks.”

  She nods ever so slightly, her breaths coming in shallow spirts against my lips.

  “I meant what I said. I plan on exploring this.”

  “’Kay,” she whispers.

  “For obvious reasons, I’d rather we not do it like this here.”

  “Understood,” she mumbles, her body leaning against mine contrarily.

  I kiss her again, tasting her lips before lifting my head to look down at her. It takes her a second to open her eyes, and a crooked smile pulls at the corner of my mouth when she does.

  “You free Friday?”

  “Um, yes. Yes, I’m free.”

  “Good. Me too. We’ll go out.”

  “Like—like a date?”

  “Yeah. Like a date.”

  “’Kay,” she whispers through a grin.

  “We’re all right, now?”

  She nods her affirmation, and I deliver one more kiss before letting her go and returning to my desk.

  “Thank you for the files. I’ll get to them tomorrow.”

  “Mmhmm. Yeah. Tomorrow is good.”

  I look over at her and find her anxiously running her fingers through her hair and smoothing out the front of her sweater.

  “Sigourney?” I mutter, fighting a grin.

  She freezes, her gaze colliding with mine as she asks, “Yes?”

  Thinking before I speak, I confess, “I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but I could really use a sandwich.”

  Laughing softly, she starts to take her leave as she assures me, “I can handle that.”

  When she comes back a half an hour later with a to-go box from The Wild Rover, a club sandwich and fries inside, and a sexy as fuck knowing smirk on her face, I’m sure Friday can’t get here soon enough.

  IT’S NOT UNUSUAL for people to be nervous when asked to come to the firm for the sake of a deposition. Not everyone feels comfortable being questioned by the likes of me, and I’m sensitive to that reality. However, Wayne Holden, Royce Bridgewater’s former manager, is anxious to the point of suspicion. I want to believe he’s giving us all the facts, as his answers are similar to what Janet led me to believe I should expect, but he’s so goddamn edgy. His eyes keep bouncing back to Sigourney, whom I delegated the responsibility of recording the session. I try to keep his attention the best that I can, feeling uncomfortable with his interest in her, but it isn’t easy.

  I escort him from the conference room when we’re finished, leaving Sigourney to pack up the recording supplies. I don’t miss the way he looks over his shoulder at her, causing my brow to furrow in a scowl. I’ve got him beat by at least six inches; and while he’s got a seemingly strong, bulky frame, I wouldn’t be afraid to make a move if he did anything untoward right now. In an attempt to keep things professional, I thank him for his time and tell him I’ll be in touch if I need anything else. I then promptly return to the conference room.

  “Are you all right?” I ask Sigourney, stepping over the threshold.

  She lifts her attention away from her task and gives me her eyes. I don’t see any sort of unease in her gaze, but I wait for her to tell me as much, anyway.

  “He was weird, wasn’t he?”

  “He was,” I affirm, dipping my chin in agreement. “Did he make you feel uncomfortable?”

  She straightens, a sweet smile curling the corners of her mouth as she shakes her head at me. “No. I’m okay. More than anything, I’m curious. It seemed like he was hiding something.”

  “I concur. Nonetheless, his deposition will serve to strengthen our case.”

  “That’s what matters,” she shrugs.

  Shifting the topic of conversation, I remind her, “I have client visits to make for the rest of the afternoon. I might not return before you leave for the day.” As she nods her understanding, I go on. “I’ll pick you up tonight at seven. Casual dress will be fine.”

  She tries her best to contain her grin, but as always, her excitement shines in her eyes.

  “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  I don’t say another word as I leave her to finish cleaning up the room. I gather what I need for the rest of my day and then make my way down to the parking garage. As soon as I pull out into the street, my phone starts ringing. My Bluetooth picks up the signal from my device, allowing my caller ID to display on the dash. When I see Hale is calling, I pick up straightaway.

  “Hello?”

  “Wow. I can’t believe I actually caught you,” he says in place of a greeting.

  “You’re one to talk. I’m headed to a client appointment now.”

  Chuckling, he admits, “Yeah, I’m in between surgeries. I’m calling it quits after the next one. Wanted to see if I could cash in that raincheck. We could hit the brew fest tonight. I’m off in the morning, Maya’s not sick, and I still owe you that fucking drink.”

  “Can’t tonight.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re burning the midnight oil on a Friday.”

  I know even before I admit the truth that my friend is about to give me shit, but I tell him anyway. “I’ve got a date.”

  He barks out a laugh and asks, “Are you fucking with me right now?”

  “Nope,” I reply with a headshake I know he can’t see.

  “Do you even remember what it means to take a woman out on a date? You know you have to do more than buy her a few drinks before taking her home for a fuck, right? You actually have to talk and shit.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” I say through a grin. “I know how to take a woman out. Just haven’t found one worth the effort in a while.”

  “Hold up, hold up—where did you meet this girl?”

  I rub the back of my knuckles along the underside of my jaw, hesitating to give him an answer. He knows my rules. Worse, he has the unpleasant misfortune of knowing my father.

  “Shit.” I know as soon as he mutters the word that he’s onto me. “You work with her,” he states, confirming my suspicions.

  “Yes.”

  He sighs, and I can imagine him shaking his head as he processes the news. “Be careful, brother.”

  “I’m not sleeping with her. At least not yet. I’m just—exploring the option.”

  “She must really be something.”

  “That’s what I aim to discover.”

  “Well, good luck
, man. I mean it. It’s about time you got back into the dating game.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s almost as bad as my mother. Since Maya waltzed into his life and turned his world upside down, he’s been on my case about finding a woman to call mine. I know he plans on proposing soon, as they’ve been together for a couple of years, but I’m not so sure marriage is my thing. It’s just a contract between two people—and contracts are broken every damn day.

  Hale and I chat until I arrive at my destination, and then we say our goodbyes. One of these days, we’ll get around to having that drink. Tonight, however, I’ve got other plans—and as much as I appreciate my best friend, Sigourney is a hell of a lot sexier.

  WHILE I WANT to tell Ava what I’m up to tonight, I manage to leave the office having not let a single word about it slip past my lips. I’ve been anxiously looking forward to my date with Dane since he told me we’d be going, and my stomach is already a fluttering mess as I walk to my car. Remembering that he told me to dress casually, I mentally sort through the options I have in my closet.

  I’m distracted from my thoughts when I reach my Chevy and see a note left under my windshield wiper. I open the driver’s side door and discard my things in the passenger seat before leaning over to extract the note. It’s nothing more than a ripped piece of paper folded in half, and I have no idea where it could have come from. When I open it and read what’s inside, my stomach stops fluttering and drops.

  YOU’RE DONE, SWEETHEART. TELL YOUR BOSS TO DROP THE BRIDGEWATER CASE IMMEDIATELY.

  I read the message three times, my mind racing faster and faster as the threat behind the words sinks in. I look around, feeling a bit creeped out, and quickly slip into my driver’s seat. I then shut and lock the doors behind me. A part of me is nervous. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and I don’t understand why it’s happening now. Except, admittedly, part of me wonders if this is a joke—a really, really, mean spirited joke.

  It isn’t until I read it for the fifth time that I let out a sigh, sinking back against my seat as a theory comes to mind. I don’t know very many people in this town. Other than Otto and the people I work with, I haven’t exactly rubbed shoulders with anyone else. Furthermore, there’s only one person who has ever called me sweetheart around here—the same person who has been jealous about my part in this case since the very beginning.

  Chandler.

  I can’t come up with reasons as to why in the hell he’d do something like this—it’s childish, ridiculous, and such a waste of time. Even still, I wouldn’t put it past him. Crumbling up the note, I start my engine and roll my window down before tossing out the paper. I’m not usually a fan of littering, but I can’t help it. As if it wasn’t horrible enough to hear him bad mouthing me a couple of days ago, this takes the cake.

  For the duration of my ride home, I contemplate whether or not I intend to tell Dane about this. In the end, I decide I’m not going to. I plan to do Chandler one better. Not only am I not going to tell Dane about the note, but I’m going to work twice as hard as I have been, without a single ounce of remorse every time my efforts result in me stepping on his toes. He’s jealous, which is his own fault, and I don’t have time to play games. I’m too old for that shit.

  Once I’ve arrived at my apartment complex, I take a few deep, calming breaths before heading inside. I have a date tonight, and I want to have a good time. The only way I’ll manage that is if I put Chandler and his nonsense behind me. Stepping out of my car, I go back to mentally sorting through my closet for an outfit to slip into after I freshen up a bit. I’m not sure where Dane is taking me tonight, but I’m excited to find out.

  When I enter the front door of my building and turn the corner to climb the stairs, I see Otto already halfway up the flight. My feet protest a little as I hurry to catch up with him, but it’s worth it when I see his face brighten with a smile as I take his elbow to help him.

  “Well, hello there, Sally. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Hi, Otto,” I speak on a chuckle.

  “Just getting home from work?”

  “I am.”

  “Any plans for tonight?”

  “Actually, yes. I have a date.”

  “Oh. I hope the fella is a good one. Don’t let him try any of those tricks on you.”

  Laughing as we reach the landing, I let him go as I ask, “What do you know about the tricks men play?”

  He winks at me and replies, “I was once a young man myself. Played a few tricks on my Donna. Lucky for me, she stuck around anyhow—all the way until the day she died.”

  My heart melts, as it so often does when I chat with Otto. He’s told me about his late wife once before. She passed five years ago. Even still, he always talks about her with so much love and adoration.

  “Sounds like maybe I should let him play a trick or two—it worked out for Donna.”

  He chuckles, continuing his slow trek to his door as he says, “They don’t make ‘em like me anymore, honey. You just be careful now, you hear?”

  “I will. I promise. Have a good night, Otto.”

  “You, too,” he says with a wave.

  With about forty-five minutes to get ready, I hurry inside of my apartment, locking myself in before heading straight for my closet. It takes me twenty minutes to pick out an outfit, but I think I’ve made a good choice. I’ve decided to wear my salmon-hued skinny jeans with a form fitting, long-sleeved, gray t-shirt, which ruches along the sides. I take out my suede, gray, botties and my pale-pink, floral print scarf, picking a set of earrings to match.

  After a quick change, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and freshen up my face. It doesn’t take me long, as all I do is throw on another coat of mascara and lip gloss. With my loose curls having fallen for the day, I pull my hair up into a long ponytail. I then hurry to my room to take a good look at myself in the full-length mirror, which hangs on my closet door. I turn this way and that, making sure everything fits the way I want, and then blow out a heavy sigh.

  I’m nervous.

  I haven’t been on a date in ages. I haven’t been on a date with my boss ever. What I could really use is a pep-talk from my sister, but she doesn’t know I’ve had my tongue in my boss’s mouth, and his in mine. When I’m ready to fess up, she’s going to demand a full explanation, and I’m sure I don’t have enough time to call her before Dane arrives.

  As if right on cue, a knock sounds at my door. Even though I’m expecting him, it still causes me to gasp. I figured he’d text me when he was outside, not walk all the way to my unit. I’m so caught off guard, I don’t grab any of my things before I go to greet him. I check the peephole to ensure I’m not opening the door to a stranger, and the sight of him on the other side makes my breath catch in my throat. When I swing open the barrier that separates us to get a proper look at him, I have to bite down on my bottom lip to keep my jaw from falling open.

  He’s wearing a pair of fitted blue jeans and a crew neck, long-sleeved shirt, with tiny navy and white stripes across his chest. His sports jacket is also navy, with gray patches at the elbows—the same gray as his semi-casual shoes. One would imagine that after meeting the man practically naked, it wouldn’t get any better—but she would be wrong.

  “Hi,” he murmurs, taking a step toward me.

  With the tips of his fingers still tucked into his jean’s pockets, he leans down as if he’s going to kiss me. I free my lower lip, trying to stifle my delighted sigh when his mouth touches mine.

  “You ready to get out of here?” he asks, still bent close enough that I can feel his breath on my face.

  “Almost. I just need to grab my jacket and my purse. Do you—uh, do you want to come in for a sec?”

  He kisses me again before straightening, then jerks his chin, signaling for me to do what I need to. As I hurry to my bedroom, I hear the door close behind me, but that’s not why I’m grinning like a fool.

  Dane likes sweet kisses. A girl could get used to that…

 
; I WATCH HER walk toward the back of her apartment, until she disappears out of sight, my eyes glued to her ass—which is molded perfectly in those skin tight jeans. As I reach down to adjust myself in my own jeans, I look around her space.

  It’s tiny, and a little sparse, but somehow it suits her. The kitchen, directly to my right, is no more than a fridge, a sink, and an oven against the far wall. A small breakfast bar, doubling as just about the only counter space, separates the kitchen area from the entryway I now occupy. If you can call it that. Straight ahead of me is her sitting room. There’s an overstuffed love seat and one of those big, round, pillow looking ottomans, along with a coffee table—but no television.

  I’m distracted from my observations when I hear her returning, now wearing a jean jacket, her purse hooked over her arm. She stops just out of reach, announcing that she’s ready, and I can’t help myself. I stretch out my arm, hooking it around her waist before pulling her into my side. She comes willingly, her gaze focused up at me, giving me the opening I was hoping for. I kiss her again, just because I can, and decide there will be more where that came from as the night progresses.

  It feels good, better than it should, this freedom; the freedom to touch her without the watchful eyes of anyone at the office. I’m aware of my greed, of my desire to disregard all restraint, and I don’t give a shit. Tonight, Sigourney isn’t my secretary—she’s my date.

  “Three,” she breathes as I pull away.

  “Hmm?”

  “That’s how many times you’ve kissed me since I opened the door.”

  Shrugging, I simply reply, “I like your lips.”

  “Good to know,” she says, speaking through a grin.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Let’s.”

  We step into the hallway, and she locks up before I lead her to my Benz. I open her door, allowing her to climb in, and then jog around to the driver’s seat. As I pull out of the parking lot, I estimate that it’ll take us about twenty minutes to reach our destination.