by Dakota Gray
After twenty minutes, I give up and head to my car, my foul mood a shadow. My phone buzzes. It's Tarek.
T: Where R U?
D: Headed home 2 bed.
T: Fucking Grandma. Night.
T: U?
D: Homebound.
T: Fucking Grandma.
T: N brought R. They are dry humping in public.
I laugh. I can't do anything else. Nate is the last person anyone would, hell, could see settling down. In comparison to him I'm a downright Boy Scout/Saint. He found a woman willing to marry him.
My laugh dies away. I inspect the emotion that's digging into me. Smells and tastes like jealousy. That's new and unsettling.
What can I do about it? Nothing but wallow and that's not an option. I had hoped to find someone and then fuck their brains out. That's also not an option anymore. Like always I'm going to have to pour my frustration into work. It's a constant. Work never lets me down. It's a cold comfort. I embrace it.
*****
My intercom buzzes. “Mr. Lance wants to see you.”
I say with every bit of calm I have left, “Thank you, Gwen.”
“Thank you? I'm scared now.”
I end the call and grin. Since the Merch win, I've waited two thousand and eighty minutes to hear those words. Yeah, I've spent the same amount stewing in an epic level of what the fuck is my life? In two thousand and eighty minutes, I've yet to come up with an answer.
Doesn't matter now. Preston wants me in his office to have the talk. My nerves jack up to a ten, and I let that roll over me. I knew this was inevitable though. It's why I'm at Lance and Chase.
Not to mention Darren actually called that morning to personally thank me again for getting his ass out of a fix. Gwen stood by with a grin as I took the accolades. Mostly because I told her I'd pay for lunch if Darren had a moment of humanity. I'm paying for dinner after this because she deserves it for putting up with me.
I roll down my sleeves and slip into my jacket. I'm ready. Been born ready. I step out of my office and there's no Gwen at her desk. I think nothing of it. Lexus-Nexus has been running slow—I'm impatient when working—so I've had her on the run to pull up files and library books for two days. She's been returning them as often as she can.
But when I see three members of the Sec near the elevator and they barely greet me, I know something is up.
I enter the elevator and chew on what it could be. Their reaction can't have anything to do with Preston. It can't. As the door closes I try to remember if they looked at my crotch or not.
Sheila got more than a handful at the club. She could have relayed that to the Sec. Two days is long enough for the grapevine to buzz.
I sigh. The elevator doors open to the fourth floor. Sheila, as always, is guarding Preston's inner sanctum. Her mouth pinches when she sees me, the only sign she’s still pissed about what happened in the club.
A moment later she says, “You can go right in, Alexander.”
I nod in acknowledgment. I hold my breath when I don't see the two other senior partners in the office. They rarely leave their departments—employment and family law. Corporate and civil are another branch on the other side of town and has its own hierarchy.
It's just him and me.
My first thought? Fuck. Second thought? Fuck me.
Preston usually gives me warm, genial smiles as though I'm his favorite child and that's the only way he can let me know. It works because he's in his mid-to-late sixties with curly, graying hair.
Yet we both know he's a shark under that grandpa skin. When I came to him six years ago the understanding was that I'd be on the fast track to senior partner. He'd get the Alexander who was supposed to continue the legacy of Alexander and Associates. My billable hours are impressive. I don't just bring in new clients, I retain the heavy hitters.
That’s why his current expression is troubling at best. His brows are slashed down and his shoulders are tense.
“Afternoon, Preston.”
“Have a seat.” He rests his clasped hands on a folder. The spine is color-coded and has both numbers and letters. It's a murder file.
I settle in across from him. “What's going on?”
“I've always liked that you cut to the chase and don’t pussyfoot around. I'll do the same for you. Greg and Daniel are on the fence about you. They prefer someone more...seasoned.”
That's a valid concern. Most senior partners are well over fifty, and that means long, successful careers. And money to buy into a firm without going bankrupt.
“I see.” That's the kind of non-answer I tell my clients to give.
He spreads his hands. “I know this isn't what you want to hear.”
I'm doing my best to hold onto my outward calm. I'm sitting here not talking about my impossible win from a few days ago. I'm not talking about the loyalty I've had to the firm for six years. The fact I let them poach me from right under my father. Had I been a little less stubborn, Alexander and Associates would be more than healthy competition but an actual threat to Lance and Chance's bottom line.
Why?
1. I didn't get our agreement in writing with defined terms and a time limit—newbie move.
Lesson goddamn learned.
2. I made a decision when I was...emotional, weak. My father and I just had it out and I was...emotional, weak.
Anger, disgust, and fucking exhaustion rush into me. I flip through the emotions and file them away for later because they won't do me any good now or ever.
I gesture to his desk. “And the folder?”
“This is a favor. Pro bono case. Twenty-year-old kid caught over a dead body.”
We have a department that deals with those cases. Our number gets pulled and we handle pro bono cases a few times a year, in partnership with the local courthouse to help low-income residents who need legal representation for various reasons.
This is something different. “Who is he to you?”
“My nephew.”
Nothing else needs to be said. He's the one partner in my corner, and that makes me his bitch if I want it. I do this for him and he'll make the partnership happen.
I push out a breath and hold Preston's gaze. “Is your nephew in lockup?”
“I interceded. They were questioning him as a person of interest. I've had Sheila put together all the details.”
Given the kind of evidence the police might already have, an arrest can happen at any moment. “I'll be on this for the rest of the day.”
“Good.”
We stare at each other for another moment in complete understanding. Partnership is off the table until I can prove my loyalty, as though all these years I haven't.
My throat squeezes tight with anger. If I don't swallow it's going to choke me blind. To be fair, the low simmer of rage has very little to do with Preston and everything to do with how many times I've dealt with this situation. The bar is set. I exceed it. Still not fucking good enough. I have to squeeze a bit more blood out of me. Who gives a fuck if I'm on the brink of death—just another drop.
Again, and fucking again and again I'm reminded that I'm Duke Alexander. I can't be weak. I'll never be good enough. I need to leave the office before I flip over Preston's desk and tell him where he can shove his offer to be in my corner.
He adds, “Glad we had this talk.”
I don't reply. Can't trust whatever words might fall out of my mouth. I leave his office and the fourth floor. No one makes an attempt to speak to me as I stride back down to my office.
Gwen sits at her desk but I ignore her. She could have given me a heads up. Paralegals and legal secretaries gossip like it's an Olympic sport. She's likely known since this morning I was about to get fucked without lube.
I retrieve my car keys and briefcase. When I stalk back out, she looks at me, guilt clear on her face. If anyone wants to say shitty things about me, they'll likely be telling the truth. I am many unsavory things, but I am loyal. Sure, I would send her to Timbuktu to get me a mystic
al file if she's annoying me. Yet if Gwen needs me to back her, I will without question.
I can count on one hand—I inhale, deeply to control the sharp, ugly emotions wanting to knife their way out. Thinking like this won't get the job done.
“I'll be gone the rest of the day,” I tell her.
She flinches at my flat tone. “Duke, your mother called again.”
I scratch at my forehead. My mother, Madison Heather Alexander, calls a lot lately, wanting to commiserate, needing to talk. Her life had been my father, his business dinners and being the perfect wife to an attorney. I don't hate my mother, but I can't help her. I can't bring myself to speak the comforting platitudes for the man who donated half of my DNA. He was the one who gave me the rusty knife and told me to cut out anything but ambition and loyalty.
Don't confuse that statement as blame for any of my problems. I made myself in his image and didn't like the man who looked back. That's when things went to shit between us. I didn't know the man who died, and the one before that wasn't a man you'd say really loved his family without measure.
The last thing anyone needs is for my mother to cup my cheek and remind me how much I look like him, could still be him.
Definitely not right now.
“I will deal with that tomorrow. Today I have a case. Preston's nephew, but I'm sure you knew that.”
She breaks the stare, and I know I'm right.
“I have my cell if anything urgent comes up.”
With nothing more to say, I head out to meet my pro bono client. Maybe word has gotten out that I didn't get the partnership because I get out of the building without anyone speaking to me.
It could also be I probably have an expression that says I have murdered someone with my bare hands and all I need is one fucking word to do it again.
Either way, I'm left unmolested.
Until I'm out on the steps.
“Duke, slow down.”
Yup. You guessed it. A husky feminine voice. I'm starting to believe Kennedy has a homing signal that alerts her when I'm actually experiencing emotions.
I don't know but I'm tired of her timing at this point. I keep barreling my way to my car. It's three blocks from the office since by the time I left court that morning my usual place had no room left.
I hit the unlock button once it's in sight, but a tug at my suit jacket stops me. Yeah, she's followed me all three blocks.
“What do you want?” I get out before I see her.
Holy shit.
Now I did mention I've known her for years? We had sex on my desk? Yeah. In all that time I have never seen her in a dress. Why would she wear one? She spends her days literally running court documents to law firms and the courthouse. In a pinch, she can notarize. She makes a killing from proof of services alone. That kind of work only requires shirts, pants and shoes. Not black fuck-me-heels and a dark green dress that's wearing her.
Her hips and tits are to fucking die for and that's before I get to her hair and face.
“What did you do to yourself?” The words are out of my mouth before I can vet them.
The wind picks up a few strands of her red hair. She's glaring at me like she wants to pound me into dirt and I can't utter anything.
“Duke, you make it really hard to care about you, but I'll forgive you. The way you're looking at me lets me know I'm ready for my date tonight. It's a first date.”
That knocks me out of my stunned stupor. “Date? Who?” I wave my hand because that's a non-issue. “You can't go on a date dressed like that. That's a third-date, you-can-fuck-me dress.”
“I'm going to stop caring again.”
“You followed me for three blocks. You're not going anywhere. What date?”
She crosses her arms and that makes her tits fight for space at the long v-neckline.
I can't talk to her when she's dressed like this. “I have to go.”
She smiles because I'm sure she's aware I'm thrown off my game. “Colin in accounting.”
I couldn't have heard her correctly. “Colin? Mid-life crisis Colin?” She nods. “No. You can't do that to yourself.”
“I shouldn't date a man who can afford a tricked out sixty-seven Mustang?”
“Men who drive tricked out Mustangs have little dicks.”
“And your SUV that's never been off road isn't a reflection of your manhood?”
“Kennedy, I sometimes wonder if you like me to say obscene things to you. If you want, though, we can talk about my co—”
“You're not lacking in that department,” she pushes out and blushes. “So you can't assume Colin has a little prick.” She seems to realize the conversation we’re having and shakes her head. “I'm not getting into this with you. I have to go.”
I grasp her arm and pull her back. “When did he ask you out?”
Her gaze trails up to mine. “Yesterday. Something went haywire with my payment and I had to pick up a check. He's nice.”
“He's boring. Where is he taking you?”
“Trelio.”
That's a great place for married couples with kids. A little on the upscale side. Definitely not a place to take Kennedy when she has on a dress that is privileged to touch every curve she has. “What time is the date?”
“In an hour. I have some errands to run before I meet him there.”
“Nope.” I jerk my thumb toward my SUV. “Get in the car. I have to interview a client, but that can wait. I have to save you from this stupid idea.”
She splays her hands on her hips. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”
I lean forward, make sure she can see my pupils and how serious I am. “Colin.”
She laughs and it's just a sensual thing to watch her head tilt back and her eyes light up. “He's not bad. Have you ever really talked to him?”
More like trapped into conversations any time I had a billing issue. “I have, and you know where the conversation always ends up?”
“Duke—”
“On his two cats. Trixie and Vixen. He's named his cats Trixie and Vixen. You're not going on this date. If you want to eat somewhere nice, I'll take you.”
She drops her hands at her sides, and narrows her eyes. “And what if I want to go somewhere nice then have sex?”
I pause on that as every muscle in my body coils, ready to spring. “What are you saying?”
Her chin goes up, all bravado again. “I want to go on a date and have sex.”
I force myself to breathe steadily. “With?”
She worries her lip then takes a step back from me. “Colin.”
“Right.” I shift my thoughts so I'm being a good fucking guy. “Boring Colin.”
If she fucks Colin, he's going to propose marriage within a week. Don't get the wrong idea here. I'm not being territorial with her. If I can fuck anything with a pulse, so can she, and let's be honest, she's nice, funny and sexy as fuck. It would be a shame for her to be lonely.
But that's the thing. Our hook up may have been drunk and sloppy, but her pussy is good enough to make a grown man weep. She's armed and dangerous with that thing. Colin is not the guy you give that kind of weapon to. He'll shoot his face off.
“If you fuck him, he'll stalk you, or worse, try to be your boyfriend.”
She motions with her hand at the space between us. “This is why Preston had a hard time selling you to the other partners. I know you're a twisted asshole. I was well aware of that the moment you directed that smile of yours my way.”
Then why did you run?
I put my back against my SUV and shake off the mental question.
The thing to focus on is she knows what happened between me and Preston. Now I'm curious at the dirt she has. I wait another beat to see if Kennedy will spill what she knows. Nothing.
She glances down and pulls her hair to fall over one shoulder. “I have to go. I don't want to be late for my date.”
“With goddamn Colin.”
She laughs. “He's nice.”
“Nice men
call you a bitch if you reject them. I wouldn't set my standards too high if I were you.”
She’s quiet then she pins me with a stare. “And what are you, Duke?”
I shake my head at that question. “He'll have you in a matching sweater with Trixie and Vixen.”
This laugh makes her eyes sparkle. I shit you not. “He won't.” She glances at me and for the first time I notice the dusting of makeup along her eyelids. The dark shade has made her eyes appear bigger, more golden. “I know how much you want this partnership. So if you need to talk, call me.”
Back to that. I'd rather eat a bullet than chat about my feelings. “I don't have your number.”
She gives me an oh, please look. “I'm pretty sure you can get Gwen to dig it up.”
I scoff. “I'm pissed at her at the moment.”
The disappointment is back. I should be used to that emotion being directed at me. I roll my shoulders.
Kennedy sighs. “What was she supposed to do? At the end of the day—”
“We're a team. I thought that meant something.”
“She didn't want to get in the middle.”
“She's not Switzerland. She actually...” I stop.
I'm not going to tell Kennedy that Gwen thinks we flirt with each other. This conversation is complicated enough without adding that fuel to the fire. “Have fun at Trelio. Don't say I didn't warn you when he takes you back to his place and lets the cats watch.”
The corners of her mouth twitch. “I don't know why I bother.”
That's the question for the ages. She won't fuck me. We aren't friends. Yet here we are. “Why do you?”
“When you're not being a bag of morally corrupt dicks, I can like you.”
“Big dicks,” I correct her.
She only sighs before turning on her heel. The view is better today. The dress hugs that ass of hers and details every bounce of her step. It's not hard to remember how she looked that night—back curved, supple ass slapping against my pelvis, and the cheeks clapping together at every down stroke like an involuntary applause for a fuck well done.