Now and Again

by Rothert, Brenda

  Now and Again

  By Brenda Rothert

  Chapter 1

  A chill wound itself around Layla like a ribbon, wrapping around her chest, moving down her thighs and ending at her toes. Even her ass cheeks were freezing. She lifted her head and a sharp pain radiated from her forehead all the way down to her neck.

  What the fuck is going on? Why is my face wet? And what the hell is . . . ?

  The fingertips she stuck in her mouth and pulled back out answered her question. Glitter. On her tongue? She rolled to her back with a groan and opened her eyes, a spinning ceiling fan coming into focus. Who ran a ceiling fan in the middle of winter?

  “Hey. What’s up?”A deep, groggy voice spoke from beneath a pile of covers on the other side of the bed.

  “Andrew?” Layla squinted as she peered at the half-open brown eyes. What the hell was his last name?

  “You craving some more of the golden rod?” He grinned and Layla looked back up at the fan.

  Andrew Golden. That was his name. He was a junior attorney at Cole Marlowe’s firm. And did he say . . . more?

  She forced herself to raise her pounding head so she could sit up. Looking down, she saw that she still had on her lacy red bra . . . and nothing else. With a shriek, she reached to pull the covers over herself, but Andrew was cocooned tightly in them. Her side of the bed only had a white bed sheet with a wet spot where her head had been. Spilled champagne, she vaguely remembered. Peach.

  “Pass me some covers, asshole!” She jerked on a blanket and Andrew laughed.

  “I’ve already seen it all, sweetheart. Don’t get shy on me now.”

  “What the hell happened? We were at the New Year’s Eve party at that hotel, and we kissed when the ball dropped . . .” She pressed her hands against her head. It was throbbing like never before.

  “And then we got a room and I dropped my balls into your mouth.” Andrew leered at her. Layla twisted her face into a dirty look.

  “You screwed me when I was too drunk to know what I was doing.” It was a statement; not a question.

  Andrew sat up, his face getting serious as the covers fell away from his chest. “No, this was your idea, Layla. You saw Cole Marlowe dancing with your sister and said you wanted them to know you were over it, whatever that means. You practically did me on the dance floor, but I said we could get a room, and you were all about it.”

  Layla sighed and shook her head, disgust setting in. “Did we at least use condoms?”

  “Hell yes, we did. I know you’ve been—” Layla cast a sharp glance at him and he looked sheepish. “─around. Sorry.”

  Glancing around the room for her panties, Layla found them half-hidden under a dresser, twisted into a ball. She grabbed them and stepped in. “Where’s my dress?”

  “It’s, uh . . .” Andrew glanced around the room, running a hand through his dark hair. “It’s over by the desk somewhere, that’s where you did the striptease.”

  “Oh my God.” She dropped her face into her hands.

  “No, it was good. It was really good. I’ll help you find your dress.” Andrew climbed out of bed and Layla squared her shoulders, walking toward the desk in the corner of the room.

  “No! Get back in bed!” she squealed. “I don’t want to see your junk!”

  “You did way more than see it last night!”

  “I know . . . I’m just really hung over right now and I just want to get dressed and go.”

  She found her black dress in a heap behind the desk and pulled it on quickly.

  “Hey,” Andrew said, pulling the covers back over his midsection as he sat on the bed. “I know this was a weird start to things, but I really do like you. I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time I saw you, but I knew you were out of my league. Do you think we could—”

  “I can’t talk right now, I have to go.” She grabbed her strappy silver heels, threw her purse over her shoulder and rushed out the door, taking a deep breath when she made it to the hallway.

  Padding down the hallway in her bare feet, she gazed at glitzy chandeliers, oil paintings and a side table with a vase of blooming cut flowers. All a perfect contrast to the way she felt.

  Cheap. Worthless. I can’t believe I did it again. Another mindless fuck with some guy I don’t even know. I’ll have to go into the doctor’s office for an STD test next week – again. If they had frequent flyer miles I’d have a free visit coming.

  A blonde in a maid’s uniform sorted through the supplies on her cart, glancing up for just a second. Layla knew she had walk of shame written all over her.

  My New Year’s resolution? This is never happening again.

  ***

  Seven months later

  Layla lifted the back of her long, damp dark hair off of her sweaty neck. The humid air was so thick it was stifling. Summer in Chicago was no joke.

  She picked up her pace, running surprisingly well considering her heels. Although she didn’t have time for this trip to the Chicago Police Department, she’d have to make it work. If that damned sergeant she’d called several times wasn’t blowing her off, she wouldn’t be out in this blistering heat.

  Walking to avoid the hassle of parking seemed like a good idea when she’d left her office. Not so much anymore. She lifted her arms to check for sweat stains on her shirt. Nothing yet, but it wouldn’t be long on a day like this.

  She blew out a quick breath, deciding to set a decent pace and run the rest of the way. But after just a few steps, she jolted to a sudden stop. Her heel was stuck in a hole in the sidewalk. Tugging her foot upward, she heard a loud crack as her foot pulled free, the heel of her shoe still rooted in the sidewalk.

  Fucking awesome. I’ll look like a crazy person in court later, all sweaty and frizzy with a broken shoe.

  That was that: she’d have to cab it. Layla took off her broken shoe and the other one, jumping as her bare feet touched the scorching pavement. She practically danced to the street corner to hail a cab, switching from foot to foot to avoid the burn of the sidewalk.

  Finally something went right when a bright yellow cab cut across two lanes of traffic and pulled up to the sidewalk. One of the shoes Layla was holding by the straps slipped from her grip as she stepped toward the car, and she bent to retrieve it.

  A middle-aged man in a dark suit dashed from behind her into the cab, and Layla’s mouth dropped open when he glanced at her from inside the car. She stared, momentarily speechless with disbelief.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she yelled. The door slammed and she jumped down from the curb, planning to confront the cab thief. But the dark asphalt was even hotter than the sidewalk, and she howled with pain and jumped back onto the sidewalk.

  The cab cruised away from the curb, and Layla shook her head while she watched it go. She considered tossing one of her worthless shoes after it, but with the day she was having, that would probably turn into a disaster, too.

  She groaned as she looked at her watch and scanned the busy street for another cab. The hopping from foot to foot was starting to draw some strange looks, so she took a deep breath and decided to run barefoot.

  Her gray pencil skirt kept her from going as fast as she wanted, but within a few minutes, she was running through the front door of the Michigan Avenue police station.

  “Hi,” she panted to the woman at the front desk, pushing a wet strand of hair away from her face. “It’s a little hot out there.” She smiled.

  The woman just stared back, glaring in a get-to-the-point way.

  “Okay,” Layla said, reaching into her messenger bag and pulling out a slip of paper. “I’m here to see, uh … Sergeant Montrose?”

  “Is he expecting you?” The desk clerk stared over the top of the lenses of her glasses. Layla wanted to
offer a compliment to soften her up, but she eyed her tight, bottle-black bun, round face and plain navy shirt and came up empty.

  “Um, he might be, actually. I’m Layla Carson. I’ve been trying to reach him by phone for several days. I’m an attorney, and I need some information for a case I’m working on. I can’t get him to call me back, and it’s important--”

  The clerk raised a hand, cutting Layla off. “If he’s not expecting you, you’ll have to make an appointment.”

  “I agree with you, but see, I’ve tried. Several times. And my client’s hearing is coming up. Is there another PIO I could talk to?”

  “Our public information officers each cover their own division,” the clerk said. “What’s the case number?”

  Layla dug a file out of her bag and recited the number.

  “That’s Sergeant Montrose’s division.” The woman raised her brows as if asking if there was anything else.

  “I have to see him,” Layla said, pressing a palm to the counter. “I have court at 2:00 and then I have a 4:00 meeting with clients and I’m afraid he’ll be gone when I’m done, so I need some help here. Please.”

  “Ma’am, I didn’t even have to let you in here, since you have no shoes on and we don’t allow that,” the clerk said. Layla looked down and rolled her eyes. “And--”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this,” Layla grumbled. “May I please speak to someone in charge?”

  With a heavy sigh, the woman lifted the receiver on her desk, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Layla.

  “There’s an attorney in front to see you,” she clipped into the phone. “No appointment … Okay.” She replaced the receiver and gestured to the elevator. “Sergeant Montrose says you can go down and he’ll see you. The Investigations Division is in the basement. He’s in office B-17.”

  Layla nodded and turned toward the elevator. She offered a polite smile to the man who held the door for her, rifling through her bag on the ride down to find the papers she needed.

  When the elevator doors opened, it was quiet. A large central area with several tables and chairs was empty and the doors to most of the offices were closed. A young receptionist worked behind a neat desk, smiling up at Layla.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Sergeant Montrose is expecting me,” Layla said, combing her fingers over her dark, wild waves.

  “Just through that door, then find B-17,” the perky blonde said, pushing a button under her desk that made the door click open. Layla walked through and found the dark wood door to B-17 at the very end of the long hallway. She knocked, taking a steadying breath. Criminal law wasn’t her area, but she told herself she could do this.

  “Come in,” a deep voice called. Layla opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Hi, I’m Layla Carson.”

  The man behind the desk rose and walked around to shake her hand, and the closer he came, the harder she found it to take a breath. He was tall, with a broad chest and wide shoulders. Layla met his bright blue eyes, mesmerized. His sandy hair had a little wave but was cut short. Her gaze washed over his white dress shirt, which skimmed perfectly over the large muscles of his arms.

  “Ben Montrose,” he said, shaking her hand. “Have a seat. I know you’re waiting on a callback. We had a cold case open back up this week and I’ve been pretty focused on it.”

  Layla knew the pause meant she was supposed to talk, but her mouth was just as frozen as her feet.

  Say something, Layla!

  “You’re…” Hot. “Young.” She blurted it, afraid her honest assessment of him would come spilling out if she didn’t just say something. Ben curled his lips into a smile as he sat down behind his desk.

  “I’m 31,” he said. “But thanks. Was there a case you needed my help on?”

  “Right. Yes,” Layla said, regaining herself as she sat down. “It’s Brandon Larson. I represent Advocates for Hope, an organization that works on behalf of the mentally ill. The director asked me to take Brandon’s case because he has some mental challenges. Some of your officers arrested him for drug paraphernalia possession, but I don’t think he even realized what he was in possession of.”

  “I can’t help with that. Once it’s charged you have to work with the DA.”

  “I know that,” Layla said, giving him a look. “The reason I’m here is because when I met with him, he said one of your officers used a racially charged term when he told Brandon to get in the squad car.”

  Ben pushed back in his chair, raising his eyebrows. “That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

  “It is,” Layla agreed. “But if your officer saw a group of young minority men together and made certain assumptions, I have to wonder if he was fair in choosing who to arrest. All four men at the scene were arrested. My client was asked to hold the paraphernalia by another man when the police pulled up. He didn’t know what it was.”

  Ben sighed and met Layla’s gaze for an instant.

  “Can I see the report?” he asked. She reached into her bag and produced it, noting his grimace as he looked at the bottom to see which officer had made the arrest. He went back to the top and started reading, giving Layla a chance to check out his office.

  The clean white walls were bare except for three frames hanging together. Layla squinted to read the words from her seat. There was a diploma for a Bachelor’s Degree in Criminal Science from University of Illinois and a Master of Public Administration diploma, also from U of I. The third certificate looked like a military award, but she couldn’t make out the words on it.

  His desk was neat, with paperwork sorted into orderly stacks. A long shelving unit behind the desk was organized with textbooks, a few binders and two framed pictures. Layla’s gaze was drawn to the one of a pretty woman with long blonde hair sitting under a tree with her arms around two young boys. They both had Ben’s blue eyes, and Layla pursed her lips.

  Of course he’s married. All the good ones are.

  “I’ll need a day or two to work on this,” Ben said, looking up as he finished reading the report. “Can you come back Friday?”

  “I can,” she said. “But there’s a hearing on this case next Tuesday.”

  “Just give me til Friday, okay?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll look into your complaint, and update you when you come in Friday.”

  “That’s probably best since phone calls don’t seem to be your strong suit,” Layla said, an edge in her tone. The corners of Ben’s mouth turned up slightly.

  “Is 1:00 okay?” he asked. Layla pulled her phone from her purse and scrolled through her schedule.

  “That’s fine,” she said, rising from her seat.

  “Miss Carson, is there something else I can help with?” Ben asked, looking amused as he raised his brows.

  “No, why?” Layla looked back at him, confused.

  “It’s just … you’re sweaty and barefoot. Did you drive here like that?”

  “No, I walked, actually, and my heel broke on the way and some asshole stole my cab. I’m not pointing fingers, but none of that would’ve happened if you would’ve called me back.” She slung her messenger bag over her shoulder.

  “Hmm,” he said, not looking sorry at all. “I can have one of my guys drive you home to get some shoes, would that help?”

  “I don’t have time. I have court at two with a judge who’ll find me in contempt if I’m ten seconds late.”

  “Are you going like that?” he asked, smirking.

  “What choice do I have?”

  “Let me see your shoes.” He reached a hand over his desk and Layla glared at him as she pulled her expensive black strappy heels out of her bag and handed them over.

  Ben took the unbroken shoe and carried it to a beaten up wooden filing cabinet in the corner, which he cracked the shoe against. Layla stared, shocked, as the heel flew off. He handed it back.

  “Now you at least have a matching set to wear for court,” he said coolly.
“And I’ll have one of my guys meet you out front and drive you.”

  “I might have been able to get that shoe fixed!” She shot him a dirty look. “Now you ruined both of them.”

  “I doubt you could’ve gotten it fixed. They look pretty cheap,” Ben said.

  “Those shoes cost $300! Are you crazy?”

  “It’s 1:40.” He pointed at the clock on his wall. “Better get moving.”

  Layla narrowed her eyes at him as she stomped toward the door.

  “See you Friday,” he said, grinning. She walked through the door and pulled it closed behind her.

  ***

  In was close to seven that evening when Layla opened the door to her apartment and was greeted by a wave of cool air. Her brown and white beagle Prince ran to the door to greet her with a sloppy kiss and a wagging tail.

  “Sorry I’m late, baby,” she said. “Mommy had a long day at work. I’ll change and we can take a walk.”

  The t-shirt and shorts she changed into were a welcome break from her skirt and broken heels. She grabbed her sunglasses and Prince’s leash and they set out for their usual trek around the busy urban block.

  Layla scrolled through messages on her phone, pausing when she saw one from her sister.

  Call me.

  A little more information would have been nice. Things had been tense between Layla and Emma since Christmas last year. Layla found out right before then that Emma had been seeing Cole Marlowe, their hot neighbor from high school, behind Layla’s back for months.

  Layla called Emma back as she walked past a deli, the scent of baking bread escaping and making her realize she was hungry.

  “Hi,” Emma said, sounding breathless.

  Awesome. She’s probably having sex with Cole right now.

  “Hey, just calling you back, are you busy?”

  “No, I’m walking home with groceries,” Emma said. “These sacks are heavy, if I sound weird.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good. I just wondered if you’re coming to dinner at Mom and Dad’s this weekend. We’d like to see you.”