by Monroe, Max
I’ve checked off ninety percent of my to-do list, and the office has been running pretty smoothly.
I’m about to settle into a rhythm when the phone rings again.
“Caplin Hawkins Law,” I greet, a chipper bounce in my voice.
“May I speak with Caplin, please?” a waif of a voice asks, her a’s just soft enough to be seductive.
Immediately, I’m on alert. “May I ask who’s calling?”
“Lisette Ballas,” she says. “He’s expecting me.”
Skeptical, I push further. “And what’s this call in regard to?”
“That’s private.”
“I assure you, ma’am, you have no need to worry about confidentiality here.”
“It’s social.”
I just bet it is…
“Listen, Mr. Hawkins isn’t taking any unscheduled calls today—”
“Tell him I’ll let him fuck me in the ass. I bet he’ll take the call then.”
Oh my God, what is wrong with these women?
“No. For the love of God, no,” I say, and just before ending the call, add, “And please send your ass my condolences, ma’am.”
I hang up the phone in a huff, my good mood officially soured. Just when I thought the day was going well…
I let my guard down, I get traumatized.
I swear, working for Cap has more ups and downs than a fucking roller coaster ride.
Breathing deeply, I take a swig of water and get back to work. It’s the only thing I can do to erase that woman’s proposition from my mind.
The phone rings again, and hesitantly, I answer it.
“Caplin Hawkins Law.”
“I’d like to speak with Caplin, please,” the purring female voice says, and I shut my eyes tight.
Oh, here we go again…
“Is he expecting your call?”
“No, but—”
I roll my eyes and square my shoulders. I’m d-o-n-e, done with the hussies. No. More.
“You know what? He doesn’t want to hear about your pussy or your tits or your hot and ready mouth. This is a place of business, for God’s sake! Pursue his dick on your own time!”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, sister. I know he’s hot and charming and probably really good in bed, but you need to chill out with your desperation. It’s degrading and, quite frankly, just plain disturbing for me. If he wants to take you out to eat or take you somewhere and eat you out, he’ll let you know!”
“My God, what in the world kind of trailer trash staff has my son hired?” the woman questions, her voice rising with irritation.
“I’ll tell you what kind of staff I am—”
Wait…did she just say son?
“The absolute filth you just subjected me to… You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Oh my God. She said son. She did. Which would make her Cap’s mom, and likely, my least likely fan on the planet.
My cheeks heat and my stomach clenches as I clear my throat, stand up from the desk, and start to pace despite the tug of the phone cord.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hawkins. I thought you were—”
She cuts my apology off at the knees. “I don’t care who you thought I was, young lady. It seems like the one who doesn’t know this is a place of business is you!”
I close my eyes and bite my fist before proverbially crumbling downward into a pile of disgrace and humiliation. I am a fetal baby in the womb of Caplin Hawkins Law.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, trying to find some modicum of positive twist on the situation. “So sorry about that, but it’s lovely to speak with you. Cap speaks highly of you.”
“Cap?” she says, the distaste so ripe in her tone, I can just about smell it. “Where were you raised, dear? A gutter?”
I wince, bouncing both of my knees up and down manically. “Southern California.”
“Hmm,” she harrumphs. “That explains some of it.”
Hey, geez. What’s this lady got against SoCal? The climate is perfect, and a lot of the people are rich. It’s not exactly like I said I’m from hell’s basement.
“Just one moment,” I say for lack of a better direction. “I’ll put you through to your son.”
“It’s about time.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stick out my tongue, mocking, “It’s about time,” in a really snooty voice.
Cap clears his throat behind me, and I jump. Goddamn, when am I going to learn that he’s, like, always behind me?
“That for me?” he asks with a gesture of his chin when I look up at him.
“Yes,” I say cautiously, rolling my lips in on each other and sucking on them. “It’s your mother.” He steps forward to pick up the phone, but I stop him with a hand to his arm. “Just…I may have said a few harmlessly inappropriate things to her when I answered the call, thinking she was one of your floozies.” I shrug. Giggle nervously. “Heh. Whoopsie.”
He smirks and picks up the phone swiftly. “Hello, Mother.”
Mother? Gah, that’s…formal.
“Oh yeah, don’t worry about her,” he says and winks while holding my eyes. “She mixed some pills with liquor last night, and she’s still coming down from the effects.”
What?
I slap his leg repeatedly, but he just ducks and jukes to avoid me before shooing me out of my chair so he can sit down.
I’m boiling alive with the misinformation when he tucks the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, grabs both of my hands, and clamps them between his. “I know,” he says, his voice going up an octave at the end to get my attention. “I knew you’d relate to the experience.”
My eyebrows shoot up as I freeze, and he bites his lip to keep from laughing.
Still, though, he holds on to my hands.
“Well, sure. A bloody mary and red ginseng. I’ll tell her.” I blink at the information as he finally lets my hands go and gets up from my chair. His mother has apparently gone from hating me to giving me her preferred hangover cure in the matter of a minute. “Listen, Victoria—”
Now she’s Victoria?
“I’m pretty swamped today, so I’ll have to get back to you.” I clamp my hands together and settle in to eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation. “Yes, I’ll be at Dad’s birthday party.”
He rolls his eyes, and I smirk a little.
“I know. His sixty-fifth. Very important. I got the formal invitation in the mail… Yes, I’ll make sure Lena got the invitation too.” He rolls his eyes at me before pointing at the computer, and I widen my eyes. I have literally no idea what he wants me to do.
Still, in the name of being prepared, I jump into action, pull up a doc on the screen, and get ready to type.
He shakes his head before scooting me out of the way and pulling up my email. He clicks a few times to start a draft, and when I look at the space in the recipient window, he’s added the address [email protected].
“Okay, talk later. Bye now.”
I watch avidly as he hangs up the phone and starts typing an email to Lena. Whoever she is.
I try not to think about it too much, but I have to admit, the idea that he has some sort of regular woman in his life bothers me a little.
Which is totally Gwen Stefani-level b-a-n-a-n-a-s.
I don’t want to touch a relationship with Caplin Hawkins with a ten-foot pole. Wouldn’t. He has heartbreak written on his forehead, his chin, his veiny forearms, and both sides of his chiseled chest.
“Send that out, please,” he says as he shoves away from the computer, stands up from my seat, and steps back to his door. “And don’t worry about my mom. Obviously. She’s…different.”
My eyebrows go up, and he laughs. “Okay. She’s stuck-up. And petty. And oppressively superior. If you really want to piss her off, call her Vicky.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s tacky, apparently.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about Vicky. Send email to Lena. Got it.”
I hold his eyes and he holds mine, and
after a short moment, I have to look away. His inspection is too intense, and my feelings are too out of whack.
“Lena is my little sister, and Jovial Grinds is her coffee shop—aka a high school graduation present from my father,” he explains without prompting. I’m not sure what brought it about, but it’s a little freaky that he seems to have a direct line to my thoughts. “She’s a little more willing than I to take trust-fund money. And her relationship with Victoria is rocky at best. She won’t even know about the invitation unless I tell her about it because she’ll throw it out as soon as she sees my mom’s name on the return address.”
“Wow. That’s…intense.”
“Yeah. Having Vicky as your female guidepost is intense,” he says with a laugh. “Trust me, it’s no wonder they don’t get along.”
I nod. “I guess. But, Cap, I said some really messed-up shit—”
He shakes his head before I can finish. “Trust me, you don’t have to worry about it. She’ll forget.”
I nod again, even though I’m not really sure I believe him entirely.
“Listen…I’m gonna do something about the women, too. I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad because Liz didn’t say anything. I knew they called occasionally, but nothing like this.”
Oh, thank fuck for that. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“That’s good to hear. I mean, I know it’s fun and games, and I can appreciate a joke with the best of them, but Cap…this really is my internship now. I’m missing actual lectures to be here, and at the end of it all, I have to learn how to be a lawyer. More than that, with your background and expertise, I’m actually hoping I can get a leg up on being a good one.”
“I promise,” he says. “I’ll make good on my word. I’ll teach you what you need to know and then some. Just…be patient with the rest, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree without hesitation.
It’s like there’s something in the water at Caplin Hawkins Law that makes me completely incapable of staying mad at Cap and completely willing to trust him blindly.
Maybe I should rethink my “drink lots of water” goals?
I mean, who needs to be hydrated, right?
Cap
As I settle into my chair at the third assembly of biweekly poker night in Thatch’s apartment’s smoke room, Quince claps Trent on the back and Thatch takes his seat at the table across from me. The gang’s all here tonight, and even an evil, sentiment-hating, mostly unemotional-bot like me has to admit it feels good.
I’m obviously closer with some of these guys than others—or I was before we started these shindigs—but this is a group that meshes naturally.
I’m also happy to report the apartment is free of women, and I know this because I did a walk-through inspection myself.
Thatch found it annoying, but I enjoyed it immensely.
Besides wanting to have the guys to myself, my scheme for the Billionaire Book Club is highly dependent on the women staying away.
Females are, by and large, related to bloodhounds.
They sniff out trouble and tricks and all sorts of things with an ease a man could only dream of. No doubt, at the first hint of my acting—brilliant or not—these bozos’ wives would be hip to my game.
My phone buzzes in the breast pocket of my suit jacket and, seeing as the guys are still busy swinging their dicks together, I take it out and check the cause.
A message bubble beckons from Liz.
Liz: So, I got your gift.
I smile and move my thumbs over the virtual keyboard.
Me: Good to hear. And don’t worry, you don’t have to say thank you.
Liz: Oh, trust me, I’m not. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK MY NEWBORN SON IS GOING TO DO WITH A PLAYBOY SUBSCRIPTION, CAP?
Me: I know you’re excited, but you don’t have to yell. Some of the articles are really poignant. They’ll make great bedtime stories. I really think little Christopher will love them.
Liz: NO.
Me: No? As in, no? Or no as in yes?
Liz: You’re the most annoying human being ever born.
I roll my eyes and snort to myself.
Me: Right, Liz. Right. Do you know how many humans have been born in the history of the earth? Statistically, I’d have a really hard time being the “most” anything. Though, I am a front-runner in both charm and looks.
Liz: I don’t know why I bother texting you.
Me: Well, it is an inconvenience, but I wasn’t going to mention it. I’m very polite like that, Liz. It’s very immature of you to try to make me act otherwise.
Her response chimes back in at a record pace, and I laugh to myself as I read it.
Liz: I quit.
Me: God, you must not be sleeping at all. Poor thing. We’ll talk when you’ve had more rest.
Liz: I’m rested. It’s not that.
Me: Delusional, too. Wow, sweetie. Tell Bill to get off his ass and give you a break. Now, I have to go because I have a very important meeting, but there’s another gift coming next week.
Liz: I’m hiring a hit man.
Me: La-la-la. Gah, Liz. I’m a lawyer. You can’t tell me stuff like that and expect me to defend you.
Liz: You won’t be around to defend anyone.
“Can you get off your phone, for fuck’s sake? You’re the reason we’re not playing cards. I’m not waiting for you to reinvent phone sex,” Trent grumbles, making me look up from my phone.
The table is full, everyone in their seats, and all their eyes on me.
I love the attention so much, I decide Liz’s statement was really more rhetorical anyway and tuck my phone back into the pocket of my jacket.
“Don’t worry, Turn. All my attention is now devoted to you.” I blow him a kiss, and he shakes his head.
“Not really the point, but okay.”
“Enough of this small talk bullshit,” Thatch interjects, lighting his cigar and putting it in his mouth. “I wanna get a status report. How close to swept off her feet is your new lady?”
I sigh, tilting my head to the side before shrugging. “We’ve had some setbacks, guys. Primarily in the form of women sending explicit pictures via fax.”
Trent drops his head into his hands and shakes it. “Again, I ask. How are you not disbarred at this point?”
“Because receiving consensual pictures is in no way illegal, Turn,” I say, wagging a tsking finger at him. “But it doesn’t matter. The why of the setback isn’t important. The how to fix it is.”
“I think the why is actually pretty relevant to the how,” Wes says, shrugging a shoulder when I shoot him a glare. “Just trying to be supportive of this shitshow you have going here, Cap.”
“True,” Kline says. “You can’t figure out how to apologize without knowing what you’re apologizing for.”
“I always apologize with a bouquet of flowers from my dick,” Thatcher chimes in helpfully. “Flowers from me are great, but flowers from my dick and Cass really goes crazy.”
“Why? Why do we have to hear this information?” Wes whines, and Thatch rolls his eyes.
“Because it’s fucking helpful, Whitney.”
“No,” Theo interjects. “I’m pretty sure, with every woman in the universe other than your wife, T, it is not helpful.”
Thatch shrugs and Kline chuckles, and I jump in to regain control of the group.
“Listen, guys, it doesn’t matter. I’ve put a stop to the women contacting the office and will continue to frown upon it when they pop up. I’ve done all I can do.”
“I’m not sure that—” Harrison starts to say, and I reach over and cover his mouth with a hand.
“Right now, we need to call this book club into session, and I need to acquire some skills from our hero. So, let’s all open up to page 222, scroll to the second paragraph, and follow along with his apology, shall we?”
Thatch does as he’s asked, while everyone else grumbles. I glare at each and every one of them until we’ve all opened up to the page in Can’t Handle This where Ant
hony is apologizing to Amelia for not calling her when he said he would.
“I know I broke a promise,” Anthony replies. “But calling you a month ago would have been doing the same.”
“What do you mean?” Amelia asks. “You’re not even making sense.”
“Because I wasn’t ready, Amelia. Back then, I was a man with nothing to lose. But today, after spending this time with you, I know the truth. You’re everything. Everything I never want to lose. And I made a promise to myself to always treat you that way.”
Thatch sniffles, and Wes rolls his eyes. “This is really the shit women want to read?”
“Don’t you fluffing mock it!” Thatch yells, waving an angry finger. Kline puts a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “I’m in my feels, and I won’t be belittled by your macho bullshit!”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. Fucking hell. Obviously, the day I decided to include these guys, I must have been on drugs—even though I’ve never done drugs in my life.
“Let’s focus here. What do you think makes this approach work?” I ask, looking around at each guy sitting at the table.
“It’s a classic structure,” Milo says. “Owning up to your shit, explaining it, and then complimenting her in a way she can’t refuse.”
“What are you?” Harrison asks with a laugh. “Some kind of apology expert?”
Milo snorts. “Yeah. And you should be too. Apologizing should be a man’s number one skill.”
“I would have thought it would be not fucking up in the first place,” Theo says, and I’m just about to agree with him when the rest of the group dissolves in laughter.
“Oh God,” Wes says, clutching his side. “Now that’s funny.”
Theo scowls, but Trent wades into the breach to explain. “We’re guys. They’re women. Our brains do not work in the same way. It is a guarantee that you’re going to fuck up. Like, pretty much as sure as the sun rising every day.”