Grind

by Sawyer Bennett

  So I continue to poke.

  "Macy did tell me that her parents wouldn't help her with this lawsuit," I say absently as I glance over the menu. I try to sound disinterested, and it seems to work.

  Mac's tone gets a little frosty. "Not just wouldn't, but couldn't help her."

  "What do you mean by that?" I ask as I close the menu and lay it before me on the table.

  "Macy and her parents don't have a normal relationship. They know nothing about her, so there's no way they could even attest to her character."

  "How can parents not know anything about their child?"

  Mac snorts but before she can answer me, the waiter comes up to take our order. Mac goes for the lobster roll, and I opt for grilled chicken. Once he's gone, I look at her in question.

  With a sigh, Mac says, "They don't know their child because she was raised by a nanny. When she got older, she was off to boarding school. They didn't even have her come home for the holidays. Macy moved straight from her dorm after graduating high school to the dorm at Columbia where we became roommates."

  What the fuck?

  "Does she have any relationship with them at all?" I ask, astounded by this glacially cold picture that Mac is painting for me. I guess I always sort of assumed Macy was showered with as much love as she was with riches growing up. I assumed that's sort of what made her such an independent woman... amazing self-esteem and all that could only come from a healthy, loving childhood.

  "Not really," Macy says as she grabs a roll from the breadbasket. "She'll meet them periodically, at their request, of course. And it's just for show. Their show, I mean. But otherwise, she really doesn't want much to do with them, and I can't say as I blame her."

  Aha.

  Now there... I can hear the disdain and loathing for these people in Mac's voice. They are at the center of Macy's deep secret.

  I try to conjure up everything I know about Macy's parents. I've never met them before, but I do happen to know something about the Carringtons.

  Her father, Travis, is wealthy beyond sin. He's the president, chairman, and CEO of Quarter Mine, Inc, one of the largest holding companies in the world, but also claims the title of largest in the United States. Quarter Mine holds majority shares in many Fortune 500 companies, including the nation's largest insurance company. I believe I read recently that his net worth is around $62 billion.

  Yes, billion.

  Travis Carrington is frequently in the news along with his socialite wife, Patricia. They rub elbows with the president, are constantly praised for their philanthropic work, and I think I even read they travel to Latin America every year to administer relief to the poor.

  But even I'm jaundiced enough to believe that's probably a fucking publicity stunt.

  I also happen to know that Macy graduated from Columbia along with Mac, earning a degree in political science. I only know this because she and I got into an argument one night at a party Mac and Matt threw, and she tried to slap me upside the head with her degree.

  I sneered at her condescendingly and told her that her degree didn't mean shit.

  At least, I think those were my exact words.

  At any rate, the only other thing I know is that Macy has a trust fund she lives off and that she hasn't worked at a real job in her entire life. I know this because Mac told me just the other day when I brought her the trust assignment Macy wanted after I reviewed it.

  It was a well-drafted legal writing, and I had only a few changes. But it did peak my curiosity, so I asked Mac a little bit more about the situation. She told me that Macy volunteers almost full time at a place called The Faith Mission and has been doing so since she graduated from college.

  "What's The Faith Mission?" I had asked.

  "It's a nonprofit that provides a variety of services for people. They have a homeless shelter, drug outreach programs, halfway houses, domestic abuse shelters, etc., and it's all faith based. Macy works with women trying to transition into the workforce."

  "I don't understand what that means," I said honestly.

  Mac gave me a patient smile before enlightening me. "Say, for example, a woman leaves her abusive husband but she has no high school diploma and no work experience. Virtually unemployable. Macy works to get her education and experience through her contacts all around the city. Another example... she helps women just getting out of prison and trying to get a job. Sometimes, it's something as simple as taking them out shopping for work attire."

  And with just a simple utterance, Mac managed to completely skew my perception of Macy Carrington.

  Which brings me back to the present and my efforts to learn more about my new future fuck buddy.

  "But still..." I focus back on Macy's parents. "I'm sure this lawsuit is an embarrassment to them. Why wouldn't they step in and help?"

  I almost have the urge to rear back from the table by the hateful look that comes over Mac's face. She speaks with such loathing that my skin prickles. "Her parents would rather push Macy under the carpet and ignore her. They have a habit of ignoring things that they don't like or agree with."

  A feeling... that I'm guessing may be nausea... wells up inside of me. Without needing to know another further detail, I'm convinced something bad has happened to Macy in the past and her parents turned their backs on her in her time of need.

  And suddenly... I'm not so curious anymore.

  I'm not sure I really want to know anything else about Macy and the secrets she harbors, because I'm the type of man that takes things like that personally, particularly if it's someone I care about. And while I'm not sure I care much more about Macy other than trying to get inside her pants, I'm not stupid enough to think that feelings won't get involved at some point. Which means care will come into the picture.

  Deciding to leave Macy's secrets alone for now, I say, "Well, it sounds like to me her parents are assholes. She seems better off without them."

  "Wait a minute," Mac exclaims. "What the hell is going on here?"

  I blink at her in surprise, trying to school my features so no guilt starts seeping out. "What do you mean?"

  "We've sat here for fifteen minutes talking about Macy and you've yet to say one caustic thing about her. That in and of itself is very strange to me, but now you're actually sticking up for her?"

  I try for an affable laugh and hope it sounds genuine. "Maybe I've decided that Macy isn't as bad as I once thought."

  Mac cocks a beautiful eyebrow at me. She just waits for me to let her in on the joke.

  "I'm serious," I maintain to her. "After you told me about her volunteer work... I don't know... I'm just giving her a little bit more credit than I did before."

  Mac's suspicious eyes round out again, and she gets a sappy smile on her face. I reach for my water and take a sip... needing something to parch the lies that have been blazing hell as they fall out of my mouth.

  "That's sweet," Mac says all syrupy-like. "You know... I always thought that you and Macy would make a good couple, but you two could never seem to stop hurling insults at each other long enough to get to know one another."

  I inhale sharply, taking about a tablespoon of water down into my lungs, and then immediately start choking. As I cough and wheeze, trying to expel the water and suck back down precious oxygen, Mac looks at me with worry.

  Finally, I'm able to get myself under control and wipe my mouth with my napkin.

  "Are you okay?" she asks cautiously.

  "Yeah," I mutter and give another slight cough. "Just drank a little too fast, is all."

  She nods and shrugs her shoulders. "At any rate, maybe you should ask Macy out or something."

  "Mac," I say with a warning tone, because this conversation is headed for disaster. "Don't even go there, okay?"

  "Fine," she snaps at me.

  I continue to stare at her, conveying in my look that this is a subject that she truly needs to leave alone. Because if she continues with it, my lies are going to be exposed quicker than I'd like.


  "I said fine," she grumbles. "You'll never hear me say another word about you and Macy again."

  I give her a grateful smile, but I know that Mac just uttered a lie of her own, but she just doesn't know it yet. Because when she finds out about Macy and me, she's going to have plenty to say about it.

  Chapter 5

  I'm lying on my couch. Plush, deep cushions in a dark brown, buttery soft leather cradle me. The sounds of a driving rain pelts at my windows, and a low rumble of thunder bubbles in the distance. I toss a tennis ball up a few feet, watching as it descends back toward me where my nimble fingers grab and latch onto it.

  I throw it over and over again, while I think.

  This is a habit I developed my first year practicing law--a little trick a mentoring partner told me. Find something repetitive that doesn't require thought, and just do it. Let your mind float. Let it wander, and then you will get the clarity you need.

  Of course... I'm thinking about Macy.

  Which I've done a lot this past week since our fuck-fest in my office.

  While it's true that the majority of my thoughts center around us having sex, because hey, I'm a dude--it's not what I'm thinking about now. I'm actually thinking about her case and the best way to get it disposed of because let's face it... the sooner I get it handled and off my plate, the sooner I can get back into Macy's panties.

  Well, she apparently doesn't wear panties, but you get my drift.

  I sift through all the details of the other alienation-of-affection case I had handled. That suit was filed down in North Carolina, and my best buddy, Reeve Holloway, had asked me to assist him with the case. We had gone to law school together and have remained tight ever since. After I ruined my friendship with Matt, I naturally became closer to Reeve, because fuck... I think every guy needs that one other guy that you can shoot the shit with.

  In that case, a prominent plastic surgeon in Raleigh had been diddling his nurse behind his wife's back, so said irate wife sued the nurse for alienation of affection and Reeve's firm dumped the case on him. He had just moved down to the area from New York where he worked in a foreign acquisitions firm, so his litigation skills were a bit rusty. I was more than happy to help him out.

  But that case was very different from this one. It was a lot tougher. The nurse knew the doctor was married and there were email transcripts the wife had after hacking her husband's account. Tons and tons of love letters via email between the two, with the nurse urging the husband to leave his wife.

  It was a pretty slam-dunk case, but the only saving grace for Reeve was that the wife wasn't such a saint herself. We found tons of gory stuff on her, including membership at a swinger's club that she would attend by herself when her husband was off bopping the nurse.

  All salacious and the stuff litigation dreams are made of, but it rapidly settled when we presented our dirt on the wife.

  I throw the ball up once more, catch it, and then sit up from the couch. I need to get some dirt on this Brian Merrill and his wife.

  Reaching over to the coffee table, I grab my phone and dial Reeve. He answers on the second ring.

  "Hey man," he says as soon as the line connects. "How's life in The Big Apple?"

  Chuckling, I say, "Just as bustling as when you left. Are you ready to come back yet?"

  "Maybe," he says affably. "It's hotter than Hades down here in the summer, but I'm sure I'll be loving it come wintertime when you're buried under snow."

  "Heard that," I concur. "So listen... I've got another alienation-of-affection case. Filed in Utah. I need the contact info for that investigator you hired to get the dirt on the plaintiff."

  "Sure thing," Reeve says. "It's on my computer at the office, so I'll email it to you tomorrow as soon as I get in."

  "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

  "So what's this case about?" Reeve asks with interest as I lean back and prop my feet up on the coffee table. Wouldn't hurt to get his take on things.

  "My partner, Mac, asked me to handle this case. Her best friend, Macy, is the one that got sued."

  "Eeesh," Reeve says in sympathy, because he also knows the perils of doing legal work for close friends and family. "Tread carefully, my friend, because you know these cases get dirty."

  I huff out a breath of annoyance. "Yeah, I know. I really didn't want to take this case, but she called in a marker. Had no choice."

  "What's your defense? Did Macy know the dude was married?" he intuitively asks.

  "Yeah, she knew."

  "Evil, witchy woman." Reeve snickers, and it pisses me off.

  "She's not like that," I snap, and then I immediately wince hard for coming so quickly to Macy's defense. So I temper my voice when I add on, "It was just a one-night stand. She hasn't talked to the guy since--most certainly never did anything to encourage him to leave his wife."

  "I don't understand," Reeve says perplexed. "Where's the claim then? I mean... Macy would have had to do something to break the marriage up."

  "That's why I want the investigator. If what Macy tells me is true, then I don't see the claim. We might even be able to get it dismissed on summary judgment, but if that doesn't work, I want something else in my arsenal. This just smells too funky to me."

  "Think it's a scam?" he asks wisely.

  "Yeah, probably," I tell him. "Macy's wealthy. Like insanely wealthy, so the wife may be looking to score a quick buck."

  "If that's the case, then there will be dirt on her. People that try to scam never fly under the radar," he says with confidence. "I'll email the investigator's contact information to you in the morning and just call me if you need any other help."

  Reeve and I continue to talk for a while. He brings me up to speed on the new firm he's working at, Battle, Carnes, and Pearson. It's a huge insurance defense firm, and an exact replica of the type of firm I worked at before becoming Mac's partner. It was work I hated, and I'm betting Reeve will hate working there too. He's got too much heart and empathy for people to survive in the brutal world of billable hours and corporate sharks. But I don't discourage him. He's going to have to figure that out for himself.

  After we hang up, I make myself a late dinner of frozen pizza and a beer, then I content myself to watch some Saturday Night Live I've had saved up on my DVR. Comedy is a surefire way to get my mind off Macy because there isn't anything funny about the obsessive way I keep thinking about her.

  I'm attracted to her like no other woman I've ever met, and I'm beyond intrigued by what makes her tick. She's like a fucking puzzle, where I have the outside edges all complete and now I'm just trying to fit all the jagged pieces on the inside together.

  Time consuming

  Frustrating.

  But rewarding at the end.

  SNL keeps me nicely occupied for a while, and I could proudly say that I would have made it the rest of the night without barely thinking of Macy, except that becomes next to impossible when my phone dings and I see it's a text from her.

  It simply says, What do you think?

  I stare at those four little words, and I have no clue what she's asking me about. Is she being witty? Or was there a hidden meaning within that question?

  Before I can even rationally come up with a semi-cool response, another ding and she's sent me a picture.

  Of a dildo.

  An enormous, purple dildo that but for the coloring, looks remarkably lifelike, complete with thick veins crisscrossing the shaft.

  That's quite purple, I text back.

  I imagine her laughing when she gets my response. I have no clue if she will, because I don't know what humors her, but because I think Macy might be a very sad woman, I really hope she laughs.

  And because I have an appreciative sense of humor, I do, in fact, laugh when she texts, I named it Saint Cal.

  You know I'm not really a saint, I respond, enjoying the hell out of this banter. It's probably not appropriate, but I can't seem to help myself.

  I wait for her response, but nothing comes. I stare
at my phone for an awkward thirty seconds, and then I try to immerse myself back into SNL, cutting quick glances every once in a while. After about five minutes, I actually forget about Macy, only to have my phone ding in my hand again.

  Want me to send you a picture of me using it?

  Fuck.

  Fuck me.

  Fuck me standing about ten different ways.

  I want to tell her yes. I want it right now, and I'm going to use it to spank my now-hard dick. Squeezing my eyes shut briefly, I take a deep breath, and after I exhale it slowly, I open my eyes and text her back. No. It would be too torturous.

  I have no clue if this will piss her off or egg her on. Knowing how bad and mischievous Macy can be, I expect her to send the picture anyway. I briefly think of blocking her phone number or dropping my phone in the toilet. Anything to prevent me from seeing it, because I'm actually afraid that if I do, I might head over to her apartment and take matters into my own hand.

  Instead, I nearly drop the phone from my hand when it starts ringing.

  Caller ID: Macy Carrington.

  I hesitantly answer, "Hey."

  "I didn't mean to tease you with Saint Cal," she says sweetly. And she means it. Her voice is slightly mischievous but completely apologetic.

  "I'm really not a saint," I reiterate, and I don't tell her this because it annoys me when she calls me that. I tell her because I want her to know that I'm not perfect. I want her to know that even I have things I'm ashamed of and therefore, I might possibly understand her a bit more than she gives me credit for.

  "You're not?" she asks in mock surprise. "I thought I saw a halo of golden light around your head when you made me come each time."

  Fuck... cock gets harder.

  I love her blunt words. I love her dirty thoughts and sexual taunts. Not many women can carry it, but Macy owns it.

  But I need to steer her into safe conversation. "Trust me... I've done things that make me fall squarely in the category of 'I'm going straight to hell'."

  "Like what?" she asks curiously, and I can still hear the smile in her voice.

  "I slept with Matt's ex-wife when they were still married," I tell her bluntly, and there's no doubt she didn't know that little tidbit of information because she gasps audibly.

  I always wondered if maybe Mac had told her, but clearly, she kept that secret from her bestie. But I had no qualms sharing that with her. I want to know more about her, so it's only natural she should know more about me.