“Alright. Thanks for the notice.” He spoke into his Bluetooth phone piece. “The Jr. just walked in. Let me know if you find out any other information.”
Pete touched the device to end the call.
“Get off of my desk.” I commanded.
“Whoa, son. Calm down.” he said with a half-smile. “Is someone a little frustrated?”
His arrogance grated against me like concrete.
“I have a few ladies on speed dial that can turn that frown upside down.” He teased.
“I don’t need anything from you, except an apology.” I demanded.
His laughter rang out through the room and pissed me off even more.
“You must be on drugs.” Pete menaced. “I’m not apologizing to you.”
“The apology is not for me. You need to speak with Yvette.”
My father’s eyebrows squiggled.
“Yvette?” he questioned as if he had never known a person with such a name.
“The new associate.” I prodded. My temper flared at his pretended ignorance.
“Oh. You mean Jelly.” He snapped his fingers as though he could finally picture her.
“I thought you called her Gumdrop?”
“Yea.” he said dawning a devilish smile. “Gumdrop to her face, but Jelly when she walks away. When I see that ass …” he grunted.
“Never mind. Keep your apology.”
“Stop being so emotional.” Pete snapped. “I’ve never seen you so intense over a piece of ass.”
I swiped my hand through the air to dismiss his comment.
“Why are you here?” I spat out. This conversation and his presence, were all giving me a headache. My father was not going to cooperate so there was no reason to even discuss it. Whatever feelings or non-feelings that I have or don’t have for Yvette, I would have to deal with on my own time.
“It’s the Menory case.”
This stupid case had become more and more convoluted at every turn. It was supposed to be simple. It had been anything but simple.
“What about it?” I sighed taking a deep breath.
My father followed me over to a conference table and chairs.
“There have been some new developments.” he answered as he clasped his hands and leaned back in the chair.
“Developments like what?” I inquired, picking up a folder I had left there. Everything was always dramatic with my father. His flair and finesse dazzled juries and swayed opinions, but made it difficult as hell to get a straight answer from him.
“There are questions surrounding the validity of Sherry Hunter’s story.”
“The woman who initiated the case, Sherry? The wife of Brandon Hunter?” I threw the random folder to the table and stood. “What the fuck happened?”
I swear that I thought I saw him smirk but it was gone just as quickly.
“The one and the same.” he confirmed. “One of the nurses kept a backup record of medication and procedures that she had provided for her patients.” he said plainly. “Her records contradict the amount of medication that was found in Brandon’s system and on the carts provided by the hospital.”
“She’s lying.”
“The supervising nurse and the medication log back up her story.” my dad confirmed.
“That doesn’t mean that there was foul play.” I insisted.
“It doesn’t mean that there wasn’t either.” he remarked. “This information is enough to cause reasonable doubt amongst the jury and topple all the cases like a set of dominoes.”
He stood as though everything had been explained, as though our conversation was over.
“So what does that mean for the case?” I asked while walking behind him toward the door.
He turned to me, his lips folded and eyes flat.
“We lose.” Pete said the two words that I never thought he would willingly ever speak. My father is a winner. He taught me to be a winner.
The first words that my father ever taught me were “never lose”. When I played little league, learned the piano, took a test, or went to college, his message was consistent: life is a competition, never lose. Standing in my office, wearing the same expression that he had worn my entire life, in the same rumbling voice that he always used, he was now telling me the opposite—we were going to lose.
I was shaken. I took a step back and looked at him.
“What do you mean, ‘we lose’? There has to be some way around this that we haven’t thought of.”
I moved over to my desk and pulled out information about the case.
“Yvette and I figured out—”
Pete cut through my words before I could even complete the sentence.
“You consulted with a first year associate about such an important case?”
Although posed as a question, his words sliced across my confidence. My father could cut away at me like no other person could, but not even he could erase his training that quickly. I don’t lose, not even to him.
I gathered up the remainder of my bravado and looked him straight in the eye.
“The point is that Menory may be trying to hide something.” I explained. “All of the patients treated used both Menory medical supplies and had at least one type of medication that was manufactured by Menory as well.”
My father walked forward and I passed him the file.
He quickly scanned the notes I had written outlining patient medication given and medical supplies provided.
I waited eagerly for any sign of his acknowledgment that I’d saved his ass and the company.
My wait was in vain.
He looked at me with his steely gaze.
“The Menory company makes a multitude of items.” he countered. “The likelihood of the patients using both the medical supplies and a medication manufactured by the company is just as likely as all of the patients going to the same grocery store at the same time.
The conviction that I was wrong was reflected on his face as I turned away.
He closed the folder and sighed.
“It’s over,” he said as he dropped the folder on my desk.
“Who are you?” I exclaimed. I moved from my desk to stare into my father’s face. “You’re definitely not Pete Hanson today, not the Pete Hanson who built a company from nothing, who won every case that he’s ever touched. You’re not the Pete Hanson who taught me to never back down from a challenge.”
A cynical laugh ripped out from his throat. His eyes narrowed as he moved so we were practically nose to nose.
“I’m your fucking father, boy. Self-made,” he bit out in a harsh whisper. “Who the fuck are you without me?”
Although his words sent chill through my bones, I didn’t back down. I didn’t flinch a muscle.
“A man who doesn’t give up.” I replied with resolve.
My father stepped back as he straightened his tie, and smiled at me.
“We’ll see.” He said lightly before leaving my office.
I fell back into my high backed chair feeling somewhat defeated.
However, I had never been on the losing end before, never been the underdog, at risk of losing it all. The air around me suddenly felt thick and dense. I found it hard to draw a breath.
We had bet the entire firm on this case, pooled all of our resources and best manpower into what seemed like a sure fire money maker. We had other clients, top firms, but none that could counteract the financial hit that losing this case would make.
“Fuck!” I bellowed as I threw my wooden nameplate across the room. It hit the wall with a resounding thud.
“Mr. Hanson?” James called from the other side of the door.
He knocked once before he called out again.
“Mr. Hanson, is everything all right? Is there something that I can do for you?”
“Find out everything that there is to know about Sharon Hunter.” I barked after he opened the door.
“Yes sir. Right away.” he said nearly bowing as he backed out, closing the door behind
him.
I yanked open my bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Chivas Regal Scotch that my grandfather had given me on my twenty-first birthday. I kept it in the office for celebrations. Today it had garnered a new use: open in case of failure.
I felt the burn radiate through my entire body. As it seeped through my bloodstream, I let my head loll back against the chair.
As I relaxed & sipped my drink, I let my mind wander over the facts of the case. Over all the words in all the files. Through all the depositions and all the subpoenas and summonses and stays. I thought we had covered all our bases. Even Yvette had helped.
The thought of Yvette brought up a different kind of fire, a yearning.
I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket. A warmth flooded my being as I realized that she was the first person that I thought of in this crisis. Her sweet voice would calm me in any storm. Especially the storm currently causing havoc in my mind.
Memories of her creamy skin and fresh hair heightened my desire to hear the sound of her sensuous voice in my ear.
I dialed her number and the phone rang continuously before going to voicemail.
I dialed her number again and hoped for a different response. I tried unsuccessfully to reach her for the next 15 minutes. I missed the sound of her voice and hoped she missed me as well.
11
Yvette
My Aunt Cheryl was of the belief that cleanliness is next to Godliness. In her opinion, the cleaner your home, the more that you appreciated it; and the more that you appreciated what you had, the more good things would come to you. I didn’t subscribe to her entire belief, but I did learn that cleaning a bathroom with the door closed created the same happy effect as a weed cigarette.
I cleaned when things in my world were out of whack. However, when I couldn’t control the utter chaos that I had unwittingly created, a bottle of bleach, a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and a sponge helped me regain a sense of serenity. Cleaning was the cathartic for me. After Dylan’s chauffeur jettisoned me like so much flotsam, I needed something to clear my head. At least the fumes from the oven cleaner would give me a real reason to cry.
Without a doubt, I knew that the morning I had spent running up an endless number of stairs balancing trays of hot coffee, was the worst morning of my life. That is until I was escorted from my lover/boss’s home, by his staff. That was the absolute worst. Dylan hadn’t even faced me. He didn’t even think enough of me to face me or to say goodbye. Despite the kind words and extraordinary sex, I was just another fuck for him. I wanted to burn down his home, slash his fucking tires, and cut crotch holes in every damn suit that he owned. I also wanted to weep in his arms again. They were strong, and thick, and warm. They melted away the world and every issue in it.
I slammed the oven door and fell against the floor. The realization of my situation overwhelmed me as tears ran down my cheeks.
There was no way that I could walk into that office every day without wanting to cry. Dylan’s presence was everywhere in the building. With his name on documents and his face on pictures, it would remind me daily of his lack of consideration for me.
My aunt used to say that I was too impulsive sometimes, that I made decisions based on emotion rather than logic far too often. “Don’t let fickle feelings fuddle your future forever”, she would tell me. By sleeping with Dylan, I had fuddled my future with the company permanently.
Convinced I had lost my position with Hanson and Associates, I moved to the sofa to begin my healing process. Step 1: wallow. I pulled the crocheted blanket that held remnants of my aunt’s rose scented perfume, over my legs and under my arms. Sugar coated, multi-colored gum drops and orange slices were at hand on the coffee table to counteract the sour of decaying dreams.
After some mind numbing television, I moved on to step 2: vent.
“Hey lady!” Ariel Elizabeth Whitfield-Beauchamp’s cheerful tone rang out as she answered the phone. “You’re calling pretty early in the day.”
When my sniffles responded instead of words, Ariel sighed.
“What’s wrong?” she inquired in her ever pleasant voice.
There aren’t many people that I call friend, but during my senior year of undergrad, I needed to find a roommate at the same time that Ariel was looking for someone to share her apartment with. It turned out that the wealthy history major, determined to make a way apart from her family’s money, had been offered the opportunity to travel with a television show around the globe and basically needed a house sitter.
Ariel paid most of the rent, while I took care of the utilities. She was rarely home, but we kept in constant contact through social media and the telephone, becoming fast friends. Sitting on my sofa that day with all of my pain, she was nearly my only friend, and the only person left in the world that I felt I could confide in.
I tried to get out a few words of explanation, but hearing her cheerful voice reminded me of how happy I had been the last time that we had spoken. How excited I had been to start my new career with the Hanson law firm.
“Yvette.” she said slowly. “Put down the gumdrops and let’s fix it.”
“I screwed him.” I blurted.
“Screwed who?”
“Dylan Hanson, my boss. So now I have to quit.”
There was silence, and it sounded like she was changing rooms because the background noise quieted.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
The semi-curse sounded awkward coming from her. It was rare that Ariel used any negative words especially a curse word.
“I can’t go back to that place. Dylan’s father, the freaking founder of the whole damn company, was trying to do the horizontal polka with me. Dylan, my boss, actually got me to sleep with him and then basically sent me out like the morning garbage with his butler. They are never going to take me seriously as a lawyer.”
“Give up the pity party, Vette. Do you think you’re the first woman in history to screw your boss? Or even the first woman to screw Dylan under questionable circumstances?”
“They will never take me seriously. I’ll be another booty-beauty that they want to poke on demand, not an educated woman who dedicated years to studying law.”
“So what? They won’t be the first men who dream of doing you or the last. Are you going to quit every job every time a man wants to sleep with you? The key is to use it to your benefit.”
“How would I even begin to do that?” The thought of seeing Dylan again made my stomach fold over.
“I don’t know Yvette. What I do know is that I didn’t spend nights helping you cram for exams and making Supreme Court case puppet reenactments for you to quit. Put on your big girl panties and march yourself right back into that office and be the determined, beautiful bad bitch that I know you are.”
“I called you to listen to my problem.” I whined. “I don’t want to go back to that place.”
“What other option do you have?” she countered and I knew that I had lost my case.
The sunshine mocked me as I passed through the revolving door of the Hanson and Associates building, my stomach churning.
I waved at the security guard who promptly turned his head. Apparently, I was persona non grata today.
Either the elevators moved slower or my heartbeat moved faster, but the journey to the twentieth floor was a sluggish one.
There were two secretaries that sat near Pete’s office entrance in the elevator with me. Huddled in the back of the car they snickered and whispered the entire ride.
I kept my face brave even though my insides quivered. I couldn’t imagine going to work every day wondering who knew about what Dylan and Pete had done or tried to do to me.
I smiled at the two women. Kill them with kindness, Aunt Cheryl would advise.
“Good morning ladies.” I imparted.
One woman tilted her neck and gave me a sarcastic smirk.
“I bet it is a good morning for you.” she said snidely.
The two women locked e
yes and laughed out loud.
“It really is.” I lied cheerfully. “I hope you get back to having good mornings as well. You are usually so well put together.”
The elevator doors opened then and I walked into what seemed like an episode of Law and Order on fast forward. People were moving across the floor was in a frenzy even at this early hour.
The goof troop ladies made their way ahead of me to their desks without a further peep.
I kept a smile plastered to my face. I had made sure to dress professionally and fixed my make up with care, so that everything on the outside looked spectacular even when my insides were a massacred mess.
When I passed the bullpen of my former co-workers, James made eye contact with me and rushed to my side.
“Good Morning Yvette.” he spoke kindly as if we were old friends while we walked toward Pete’s office.
I could only blink at the man who had acted like Hell’s gate keeper during my first few days in the office.
“Hello.” I responded with uncertainty. People like James didn’t just stop working to be nice and welcoming, he had an agenda.
I slowed my pace. James had something to say, but was obviously trying to find a way to say it best.
When we made it to the entrance of Pete’s office, James moved in front of the door.
“How are you today?” he asked.
“Cut the shit.” I interrupted and attempted to side step him. Small talk was neither of our strong suits. “Spit it out.”
“Mr. Hanson has requested that you work for him again.” he said with a wince as though he feared my response.
I took a deep breath.
“Which Mr. Hanson?” I asked, almost sure of whom it was.
“Mr. Dylan Hanson has requested that you be placed back under his guidance.” He said a little more confidently.
I wanted to hit him, but it wasn’t his fault. James wasn’t playing with my livelihood or emotions. Dylan Hanson was. Figuratively, he had me by the balls. I had put on my big girl panties and marched into work, ready to take on Pete, but Dylan had snatched the rug right out from under me.
Game Winning Catch: (Secret Baby Sports Romance (Pass To Win #5) Page 22
