by Lisa De Jong
A hand brushes around my hip. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it.”
I close my eyes in an attempt to regain my composure, but quickly reopen them. “I’m not one to back away from an engagement. At least not without calling first.”
He comes around to stand in front of me. “You sure came dressed for the part.”
“You don’t look half bad yourself,” I say back, biting down on my lower lip to squash my nerves. He wears the same shirt, tie, and pants as he did earlier, but the suit jacket has been replaced with a leather studded one.
“Would you like something to drink before we get started?” He leans in close so I can hear him over the music. The scent of cigars and expensive cologne tickles my senses. I hate to admit it, but I like it.
“Vodka water with a slice of lime, please.”
He smiles. “No cosmo or dirty martini?”
“Not my style.”
“I respect that.” He raises his hand, motioning a scantily clad cocktail waitress in our direction. He places my order then splays his hand against my lower back, leading me to an empty circular couch in the middle of the room.
“My clients usually don’t touch me unless they’re shaking my hand,” I remark as I lean back against the leather.
“I’m not like your other clients.” He sits a couple feet away, resting his arms along the top of the couch. His hand rests as close to my shoulder as possible without actually touching me.
Leaning forward, I attempt to put space between us only to feel his fingers curl against my back. I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath until his hand falls away from me. “Definitely not,” I agree, voice low.
“There you have it.”
My drink arrives. I down nearly half before daring to look back in his direction. It’s going to take at least two to get through the night. “Where’s this guy we’re supposed to meet?”
His grin widens. Perfect white teeth, dimples; I bet there are very few women in this club who wouldn’t go home with him tonight. No questions asked.
“You’re looking at him,” he announces, practically causing me to choke on my drink.
“What?”
He scoots closer, his fingertips brushing across my bare back yet again. “This is my club. One of them anyway.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” My whole body tenses. I throw back the rest of my drink, letting the vodka burn the back of my throat.
“I don’t lie, Miss Mason.”
“Mrs. Mason, and you did lie. You said we were coming here to discuss how to rezone your property with the owner of this one.”
“I never claimed anything different.”
I shake my head, discreetly scanning the room for the nearest exit. This is not why I took this case. I thought it would give me something new. Something different.
He continues, “If I’d asked you to check out my club tonight, you would have told me to fuck off. Wouldn’t you?”
“Fuck off, Holtz.” I attempt to stand, but he grabs my arm, pulling me back.
“Since you’re here, you might as well stay. We can work out more of the new project details.” The waitress comes by with another drink. Without hesitating, I take it and pour it down my throat. Screw professionalism, I cancelled girls’ night for this.
“How about you find yourself a new lawyer,” I say, already starting to feel the effects of my first drink. “I don’t need your bullshit, and I most certainly don’t need your money.” He shifts until I have no choice but to look up into his eyes. Even under the faint light, I see the specks of blue in them. Or is that the backlighting? I can’t tell.
“I don’t want another lawyer. I want you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Well, I like everything I’ve seen so far. There’s no question in my mind that you can handle this. And I want you to handle it.”
I sigh, wishing I didn’t have to drive so I could have another drink to drown myself in. “You can stop by my office tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk. I really need to get going.”
“Oh yeah? Where are you heading?”
“To … my husband,” I fumble.
“Isn’t he out of town? Does he know you’re out with me tonight dressed the way you are?” His knee bumps mine.
“He knows where I am.”
He takes a sip from his scotch and then rubs the rim of the glass against his lower lip. “And he doesn’t care?” he asks, as he studies my body like one might take in a rare lunar eclipse. “If you were my wife, I wouldn’t let you out of the house to meet another man dressed like that.”
“Something tells me you’ll never settle down, Mr. Holtz,” I shoot back.
He laughs, setting his glass on the table. “You’re probably right about that, but it doesn’t change my mind on the matter.”
A third drinks arrives. Where are all of these drinks coming from?
“You going to drink that?” he asks, pointing at my glass.
“I have a hearing at eight in the morning.”
“One more won’t hurt. Might actually loosen you up.”
“Who said I needed to loosen up?” I ask, eyeing the glass. If I were with the girls, I’d have finished off a bottle of wine by now.
“Me. Drink up, and I’ll give you a tour so you’ll know what we’ll be proposing to the city. If you want to leave after that, then you can go,” he says, finishing off the last of his scotch.
“I think I want to leave right now.”
He leans in, eyes pulling mine. “You don’t. What will you do when you leave? Go home, get into bed, and read over one of your other cases?”
“Sleep,” I answer honestly.
He shakes his head. “Drink.”
He’s right. I’m going to end up back home alone in my bed, falling asleep with a folder of cases in my lap. Against my better judgment, I do what I’m told. When the glass is empty, he sets it down in front of us and takes my hand, leading me back down the unique staircase. A bouncer greets us, carving out a path through the thick crowd.
Women stare as we pass, their eyes narrowing in on our joined hands. I ignore their stares, knowing this is nothing. They can help themselves to him after I leave for all I care.
The décor is much like it was upstairs, but the seating areas are smaller, framing the oversized dance floor. A familiar song plays, and my alcohol-induced body can’t help but sway. My hand slips from his as I raise my arms in the air and move my hips to the beat. Letting loose isn’t something I get the chance to do often, but the alcohol—the music—brings that side out of me.
A hand splays against my stomach. A strong, muscular chest presses to my back. My body tenses up.
“Just relax,” River reassures me. “We’re just dancing.” I stand frozen for a few seconds, then the music begins to carry me again. Our bodies move together in a synchronized motion. His hands trail from my stomach to my hips, never crossing the invisible line that separates where appropriate begins and ends.
I lost track of how many songs we’d danced to. I’m now drenched in sweat and struggling to catch my breath. “You okay?” he asks, feeling me slow down.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“Come with me,” he says, keeping one hand on my hip to guide me to the back of the club. The crowd shifts easily as we head toward a narrow hall at the back of the dance floor.
“I need to go check on something upstairs,” he says, when we’re standing in front of the ladies room. He nods toward the bouncer who’s been following us everywhere. “Steve will show you the way back when you’re done.”
“I need to go home.”
“There’s one more thing I want to show you before you go. It won’t take more than a few minutes.” River is like Mayweather; I could throw every punch—every argument I have—at him, and he’d never back down.
Without another word, I disappear inside the restroom, standing in a line with four other girls as the attendant moves around maki
ng sure everything stays tidy.
After ten minutes, I finally make it through the line and exit into an empty hallway. Without Steve to guide me, I hesitate, pondering the idea of leaving River and his club behind. Tonight didn’t go as planned. I had no business being here in the first place. I still have no business being here.
“Hey, sexy.” A man in black pants and a blue button-down stumbles into me, closing me in against the wall. “You looking for someone?” He slurs every word, the smell of liquor heavy on his breath.
“Not you,” I groan, using my strength to press hard against his chest. But somehow he’s too strong, gripping both my wrists between our bodies.
“Quit fighting. Fate brought us here.” His lips brush against my neck. I push harder, but he doesn’t budge.
“Get off me!” I yell, trying to free my legs enough to knee him in the groin. The way he is standing between them makes it impossible. I close my eyes, praying for God to get him off me. Coming here was a mistake, and this is my punishment—karma. Alcohol still courses through my veins as my thoughts whirl, but I do my best to remain steady. I yelp again, doubting anyone hears me over the music.
A punch resonates, and my body is left untouched. The guy falls to the ground and doesn’t make any movements. My knees buckle, forcing me to the floor as I glance up. River.
He holds his hands out to me, and I take them without question, allowing him to pull me back to my feet.
He brushes my hair away from my face. “Are you okay?”
I nod, too shaken up to speak. Nothing about this night has gone as planned.
“Say something. Please,” he begs, his cool hands cradling my neck.
“Take me home,” I whisper.
He nods. “Okay. Let’s get you out of here.”
On the way down the narrow hall, we spot Steve stepping out of the men’s room.
“Where the fuck have you been?” River yells at him, keeping an arm around my waist to hold me steady.
Steve shrugs. “I figured she’d be in there for a while. I needed to go.”
“There’s a shit head passed out over there. Show his ass out, and you can meet me in my office tomorrow morning at ten. Are we clear?”
Steve is twice River’s size, but he might as well be a child when he’s up against his boss’s anger.
“My apologies, boss. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
Without another word, River escorts me out the back door to where a tricked out black Escalade waits. He opens the passenger door, carefully helping me inside—seat belt and all. I only realize that my feet are aching when I am seated in the car. Four-inch heels only seem like a good idea until the end of the night. My head is spinning, and my conscience immediately fills with guilt.
“I need to get my car.” I tell him as he climbs in the driver’s seat.
“I’ll have someone deliver it to your house in the morning. When do you need it?” His demeanor has shifted. He’s quiet, and I haven’t met quiet River before.
“I have a hearing in the morning, but I can take one of my husband’s cars. Can you make sure it’s dropped off at my office? Just have them leave the keys with my secretary.”
He speeds through downtown. Minutes go by with nothing but low rap music playing on the radio. If someone would have told me this morning that this is how I’d be spending my evening, I would have laughed.
“Fuck,” he mutters, stopping at a red light.
“What’s the matter?” I whisper, confused.
“I don’t know your address,” he answers, turning the knob on the radio until it’s dead quiet.
“My house is about twenty minutes from here. I can either give you directions or the address. It’s not that big of a deal.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say a word.
“Would you rather I get a cab?” I ask, my voice cracking. Hurricane River popped up out of nowhere today and created a disaster.
“No,” he responds. “What way do I need to go from here?”
I recite the simplest route, watching as the light turns green and he shifts his car back into drive. I reach for the radio and hesitantly turn up the volume. Silence is something I haven’t taken well to lately. He finally speaks when I direct him to pull into my gated community.
“What happened back at the club … I’m really sorry. Steve should have been there the entire time. I just need you to know that.”
“It’s not your fault. That jerk was just waiting for someone, and if it hadn’t been me, he would’ve found someone else.”
“Not in my club,” he says. “That doesn’t happen in my club.”
“You can’t control everything and everyone. It’s impossible,” I say, as we pull into my driveway.
He puts the SUV in park and turns his body toward me. “Most things you can, Mrs. Mason. Hang around me for a little while, and you’ll find out how.”
“For instance,” I tease, still feeling some of the vodka. “You can’t make me take your case. If I wanted to, I could dump you as a client and there wouldn’t be a damn thing you could do about it.”
He scoffs. “But you won’t.”
“How do you know that?” I grin back at him. Conversing with River has become a game.
“Because, right now, I’m the most exciting thing you have going on in your life.” He brushes a stray piece of hair away from my eyes. “You get up every morning and throw on one of your expensive business suits. You wear your hair the same way, take your coffee the same way, and leave for work at exactly the same time. Your life revolves around the four walls that make up your little office, but your clients—they aren’t like me. You work late because your husband either isn’t home or he’s home but he’s not really there, not the way you want him to be. That’s your life, Marley.”
“You don’t know anything.” My voice bellows.
“Then tell me what part of that I got wrong.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he has me pegged. One freaking day, and he has me all figured out.
“I need to go,” I say, pushing open the door. I punch the numbers into the garage door and pray it opens before he has any thought of coming after me. It works the first time, and as soon as I close the door and walk into the kitchen, I hear his SUV pull away.
This isn’t going to work. I need to drop him.
MY HEAD IS POUNDING WHEN the alarm goes off at six. I hit snooze, figuring I can take a quick shower and wear my hair up. When it buzzes again a short time later, I realize how easily nine minutes can feel like nine seconds.
When I got home last night, I slipped off my dress, washed the make-up from my face and then passed out without even bothering to check my cell phone. This morning, I find that I didn’t miss anything. Cole didn’t call. He didn’t text to ask how things went. If he were in my shoes, I’d be calling to make sure he made it home, and if I didn’t hear from him, I’d sure as hell call the office the next morning. It’s just another of the many differences in how we approach our relationship … how we show we care.
I finally make it to my hearing with only a couple minutes to spare. It lasts almost four hours, but I handle it pretty well for someone who only had a few hours of sleep. A nap is the only thing on my mind when I step into the office shortly before one. Beatrice is working away on some documents I needed typed up. Usually she’d look up and say a quick hello so she could get back to it, but her eyes come up a second time.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m shot. I might have to use that nice couch in my office to take a nap.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Any messages?” I ask. There’s only one I’m hoping for.
She hands me the keys to my Lexus. “Someone dropped these off early this morning. I’m going to guess it has something to do with the bags under your eyes.”
“Beatrice!”
“What? You know the only setting I have is honesty. Have you had lunch?” Besides the sa
lad I had at yesterday’s lunch meeting, all I’ve had is the yogurt and almonds last night. The snooze button pretty much killed any chance I had of eating breakfast.
“No. Would you mind getting me a sandwich from that little deli down the street? And a Coke too. I’d love a Coke.” Best medicine for a headache. “And if you haven’t had lunch, get yourself something too.”
“Well, okay. You twisted my arm,” she says, standing from her desk. “Can you handle the phones for a little bit?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.”
I nod, picking up a pile of mail from the corner of her desk. “Can you forward calls to my office. I need to sit down for a little bit.”
“You got it, boss.”
For a few minutes, I revel in the quiet, staring out the window … at my spot. Successful hearings used to make me giddy, but they lost their glitz after a while. Everything seems to lose its glimmer with time. The ringing phone startles me, and I run to pick it up, my chair swirling as I sit down.
“Mason Law Offices. How can I help you?”
“Hey, baby. What are you doing answering the phone?” Cole.
“I sent Beatrice to grab some lunch. What are you up to?”
“I just left a meeting, and we’re about to go to lunch.” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “How did the hearing go this morning?”
“Piece of cake. Judge Shirley has seen me so many times, she practically knows what I’m going to say before I say it.”
“Good for you.” I hear the smile in his voice. The silence that follows causes it to slip.
“Last night was interesting,” I admit when he doesn’t ask right away.
“Oh, yeah, how did that go? Were you able to work out some of the details?”
“Not really. It turns out he’s the one who actually owns the club, so I’m no further along than when I started. I want to drop him, Cole.”
“He knows people, Marley. People that could take our firm to the next level. That’s the only reason I took this case in the first place. Are you sure you’re not making a rash decision?”
“Cole—”
“Do you remember the goals we laid out when we took over the firm? We don’t want to be just another one of the hundreds of places people can go for legal advice. We want to be the firm. This is a step in that direction, baby.”
