by Alexi Venice
“Maybe he’s trying to get away from her.”
“That’s what we’re thinking,” he said. “We’ve also seen him on surveillance video, but he moves in and out of a view so fast that we can’t dispatch someone in time to catch him.”
“He’s making a monkey of men.”
“Nice. Here’s my question for you, Monica: ‘If they do see him, can they use tasers on him?’”
Monica shook her head. “I thought we didn’t allow security guards to carry weapons. I’ve advised on this in the past. Federal regulations prohibit it.”
“But the monkey isn’t a human!” he exclaimed in exasperation. “He’s a rodent.”
Primate? She scrunched her face and let the comment pass. “Have you told Darcy that you’re going to tase Marcus?”
“We haven’t said so in as many words, but we’ve warned her that he’s starting to present a legitimate health hazard, so we’re going to have to take stronger measures.”
“What did she say?”
“She started crying, then said she would contact the ASPCA and other agencies, and maybe even a lawyer, to prevent us from harming her precious monkey. She even threatened to go to the media.”
“That headline wouldn’t look good,” Monica said. “‘Local Hospital Kills Monkey Despite Owner’s Pleas.’”
“We just plan to stun him. We’re weighing the headline against this rodent shitting everywhere.”
She considered the best way to express her thoughts. “If he were a mere rodent, I don’t think there would be a headline. However, people feel a sense of connection to primates—with their humanlike features and all. Thus, I think we need to proceed with caution here, Al. Let me discuss the law with Jim and get back to you. Hopefully, he’s available right now. Can I call you back in 20 minutes?”
“That’d be great. Thanks.” He hung up.
Monica cut through the kitchen—a huge mistake—on her way to Jim’s office. There was a pan of brownies on the counter, so she stopped and cut a small square, savoring the decadent rich chocolate. She instantly felt guilty for her lack of self-control. No more sweets this week! I have to lose these love handles if I want to garner Shelby’s attention.
Jim’s prestigious office occupied a coveted corner of the building, offering him a sweeping view of the courthouse in the valley and of the hospital in the distance on the opposite hill. She knocked on his door jamb, and he looked up from one of his three flat screens. His serious expression turned into a smile. “Come in.”
“Hi Jim. How’s it going?” Monica liked the masculine color theme of brown and beige in his office. Across from his desk, there was a gas fireplace in the corner with a loveseat and leather chairs flanking a coffee table.
“Everything is going too smoothly today,” he said, “so I’m guessing you’re here because something became difficult.”
“It’s not that bad. A little issue at the hospital that I told Al I’d run by you.”
“Is it about the physicians testifying in the McKnight case?”
“No, but I can catch you up on that, too, if you want,” she said.
“I need to stay in the loop.”
“Right,” she said. “We can start with that because the trial has the potential for getting quite ugly.”
“How?”
“At least one of the doctors will testify that Trevor McKnight’s punch to Abdul Seif’s nose sent Seif to the sidewalk, causing the crack in his skull, which led to bleeding on the brain, then swelling that ultimately killed him.”
Jim rested his elbows on his desk and laced his fingers together, regarding her attentively. “What will the other doctors say?”
“I didn’t get to meet with Dr. Rice, the neurosurgeon, but Dr. King, the intensivist…”
“I know Bob King,” Jim said. “He’s a regular at the country club, and pretty arrogant for a shitty golfer.”
She smiled. “Well, he was emphatic that Abdul fell because he was drunk, cracking his own skull.”
“Taking sides, huh?”
“Yep,” she said.
“That sounds like King. Good ol’ boy who will protect the McKnight family. They go way back.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “There’s more.”
“Hm?”
“Dominique told me that Halliday intends to accuse Dr. Rice of medical negligence, arguing that she killed Abdul, not Trevor.”
Jim sucked in a breath. “Son of a bitch. That will get ugly.”
“Yep.”
“I’d like to think our local jurors will see through that tactic,” he said.
“That’s exactly what I told her.”
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She reminded me that Halliday has to create reasonable doubt in only one juror’s mind to get a not-guilty verdict.”
“True,” Jim said. “Also, when Dave McKnight gets wind that our doctors will defend their own care, not going along with Halliday’s narrative, McKnight might try to pressure us into convincing them otherwise.”
“Maybe the firm should resign from representing the doctors right now, so we don’t get caught in the middle,” she said.
“What?” he exclaimed. “No way. First, we aren’t in the middle. It’s not like we’re taking an adverse position against the McKnights. Second, the hospital is my client, and I’ve been doing work for them for twenty years. This is exactly the type of situation that Al relies on us for. There’s no way we’re ditching the doctors for some other firm in town to pick them up and play the hero, potentially stealing the hospital from us.”
“If you’re sure our representation won’t create a fight within the firm.”
“You let me deal with Charles.” He poked himself in the chest. “You just keep doing an excellent job.”
“Okay then.”
“Speaking of Charles,” he said in a disapproving tone, “Richard told me that Nathan is gay and dating a cop.”
Monica was sure she confirmed the truth when her eyeballs popped out of her head.
Jim smiled, getting his answer. “Since you’re sort of chummy with Nathan, I gather this isn’t a surprise to you?”
“Um, well…ahh...I’d really rather not discuss Nathan’s private life. You’re right, though. We’re friends.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Loyalty and professionalism are two of your strengths.”
Does he think I’m loyal to the firm or Nathan?
“Don’t pay any attention to Richard,” Jim said. “He isn’t a partner yet, and he’s turning into a real turd disturber.”
Exercising uber restraint, she decided not to tell Jim that Richard was hitting on her too. “I don’t work with him on any files, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”
“Fine by me.”
“Now, what else did you want to discuss with me?”
“Some monkey business at the hospital.”
“Let me guess. One of the doctors got caught shagging a nurse in a closet.”
She laughed. “Not exactly.”
Chapter Eight
The next day
Monica arrived at the MoFit gym in plenty of time to stretch before class. Sitting on the floor, her legs straddling a black mat, she leaned over each knee, awakening her hamstrings.
When she straightened, she saw Craig fiddling with the electronics for the audio system. Currently, dead silence prevailed, and the quiet was as disconcerting to those who were trying to run, jump or pedal as it was to those who were trying to wake their bodies with something less aerobic. She heard Craig curse a blue streak as he reconnected cords and angrily thumbed the screen of an iPhone resting on top of the stereo. Still no music.
Curiosity carried her to his side.
“What’s up?” She looked over his shoulder at his iPhone.
“Something’s wrong with our subscription. I can’t log into the account, so we can’t stream music for class, whic
h really sucks.”
Without music, there would be only heavy breathing and moaning, and Monica didn’t want to hear that unless it was coming from Shelby, and they were alone in her bedroom. Even then, Monica might welcome some background music.
“Do you want to use my workout playlist?”
His intense eyes and ripped body turned to her. “Is it upbeat?”
“Uh…yeah. I used it for biking. I think it moves.” She removed her phone from her sweatshirt pocket and scrolled through the song titles for him.
“That looks perfect,” he said. “Can I plug it in?”
“Be my guest.” She turned over her phone and watched him thumb to her first song, which was an upbeat club song by Pitbull. This will be revealing—sharing my playlist with everyone. Hope they like it. Monica immediately regretted her impetuous offer.
On the other hand, the prospect of working out in silence sounded like building the pyramids in the hot sun with sand in her eyes. Craig led her to the whiteboard, where some masochists were already reading the workout. The semi-circle of fit people eagerly faced their fate—written in black marker before them.
Only half-paying attention, Monica caught sight of a blur at the opposite end of the gym. A classic beauty in black and white striped tights sauntered through the main walkway toward class.
In her trail of dust, she left men dropping dumbbells on their toes as they gawked at the vertical, horizontal and diagonal lines that cleverly intersected at panels overlying her ass, thighs and waist. She took no pleasure in the effect she had on them, indifferent to their open admiration, which made her all the more appealing to Monica.
As sure as a soul knew its mate, Monica surreptitiously watched Shelby join the class. She was full of smiles and gracious humility. “Sorry I’m late.”
Monica restrained herself from looking directly at Shelby’s face for fear of revealing the hunger in her eyes. Instead, she permitted her eyes to roam freely over the black and white lines that played geometric tricks on the curves and muscles under them.
“Those tights are awesome!” Craig said, careful not to sound sexual, but articulating what they all were thinking.
“Thanks,” Shelby said, blushing. Her eyes flashed at Monica, who could’ve sworn she saw something there. Her heart skipped a beat. As the class returned to listening to Craig describe the workout, including him demonstrating the exercises, Monica didn’t comprehend a thing other than the propinquity of the hot lady in zebra tights, and the alchemy of attraction growing between them.
“Everyone grab a piece of equipment and set up the stations,” Craig said. “Each person will start at a different station, and we’ll rotate, doing 40 seconds of exercise and 20 seconds of transition time. Any questions?”
There were none, so everyone dispersed to grab the boxes, mats, kettlebells, dumbbells and other equipment needed. Monica got eight mats and returned to the space to lay them side-by-side on the outskirts of the activity, so no one would get run over while planking or doing dead bugs.
Craig set the timer on the wall clock and yelled, “We have Monica to thank for our music today since the MoFit subscription isn’t working. I checked out her playlist, and it’s really good—lots of Pitbull, Pink and Beyoncé.”
Everyone clapped. Shit. Outed to Shelby. She’s totally going to form an impression of me based on my playlist.
Craig yelled out, “Okay, everyone, three, two, one and start!”
Pink sang Hustle.
Monica hit the mats, assuming a “hollow hold,” her feet and hands in the air. She had no choice but to study Shelby’s ass because it was in her line of sight while the stripes stretched and retracted over rippling muscles. Vertical stripes ran around the small of Shelby’s back to her hip bones, accentuating her slim waist, then dropped to a vee formation between her legs.
The fact that Monica was thinking about and focusing on Shelby’s curves at such an early hour made her feel positively dirty. And a little naughty. And alive. Monica had never been so turned on by a pair of leggings.
Undeniably the most flattering design for a woman’s shape, the intersecting panels of lines had a kaleidoscopic effect that dazzled Monica. Like the herd effect of zebra stripes confusing predators, Monica was stunned and confused by Shelby, unable to tear her eyes away.
All the while, Shelby seemed oblivious to the impact she had, which Monica considered one of Shelby’s most attractive qualities—humility. Okay, if Monica was honest with herself, Shelby’s ass was her most attractive feature, closely followed by her sexy smirk, then her trapezius muscles resting on top of finely shaped collarbones. Then her full lips—those kissable lips. Then her sweet nature. And, finally, humility. The combination was overpowering, and her new favorite thing to think about.
“Time to move to the next station, sleepyhead,” Shelby said, patting Monica’s leg, which was still suspended in the air.
Lost in lustful fantasy, Monica hadn’t realized she’d been holding her feet and hands in the air long past the required 40 seconds. The woman of Monica’s desires was now standing directly over her, prompting her to vacate the mat. Monica adored the angle of Shelby hovering, but was reminded of the unforgiving circumstances. Oh, how she wished the locale were different, picturing Shelby above her like that in bed.
“Right. Sorry. Got distracted.” Monica hopped up and found herself face-to-face with Shelby.
Her eyes twinkling with amusement, Shelby reached to the side of Monica’s head. “May I? You have a runaway strand that’s sticking straight out.”
“Of course,” Monica said, self-conscious as hell.
Shelby corralled the thick, black strand and gently smoothed it along Monica’s head, coaxing it into the ponytail.
At Shelby’s touch, innocent as it seemed, Monica’s knees went weak. “Thank you.”
Shelby’s satisfied smile hit Monica on such a deep level that she was almost scared by a premonition of having known Shelby in a former life. Is this how it feels when you meet your soulmate?
Unfortunately, Monica didn’t have time to reflect, as Craig shouted for everyone to switch to their next station.
Monica found herself at the pull-up bar doing leg raises like she was a pro. Finally, something she was good at. She gripped the bar, raised her toes off the floor and straightened her legs directly out in front of her. She stayed in the L-shape position until her hands screamed, her abs quivered, and her thighs stung—almost the entire 40 seconds.
“Very impressive,” Craig said. “Not everyone can do that.”
“I guess we discovered the one thing I can do naturally at CrossFit,” she said.
“You’ve got ability,” he said. “A few more weeks, and you’ll have everything down.”
“I hope so.” She moved to her next station, a knee-high box that she was supposed to step on. While waiting the 20 seconds of rest time, she snuck a glance at Shelby and caught her looking. Yay me. Monica’s spirits lifted, and her endorphins kicked into high gear, so when the clock rolled to start time, she stepped on the box, as if it were curb-height, driving her knee into the air.
Half way through the 40-seconds, she switched to the other side, so she could work her opposite leg. She felt energized in Shelby’s presence and driven to do her best. Since Shelby was off to Monica’s right, she couldn’t see what she was doing, which was probably a good thing because distraction might cause her to step over the box.
Craig yelled, “Time,” and everyone moved to the next station. Shelby smiled, as Monica passed her, on her way to the next exercise that she would no doubt conquer with ease while Monica toiled away like a plebe, her hair coming undone—like her heart. And this is the only time Shelby sees me, at the gym, at seven in the morning, with bedhead and no makeup. Could it get any worse?
Finding herself back at the pullup bar, waiting the required 20 seconds between sets, Monica lost track of Shelby. Then she felt a warm, steady hand on her back—between her shoulder blades—and knew before turning t
hat it was Shelby.
“Oh,” Shelby said, “excuse me. I was afraid you’d back up and we’d collide.”
Monica’s first thought was, What the heck are you doing between me and the wall anyway? but her second thought was, Please lay your hand on me again. Since she couldn’t say either of those things, she simply said, “Right. Thanks.”
Her back sizzled where Shelby’s hand had rested.
Shelby was only a few feet from Monica, poised by the rings dangling from the bar in the same set of cages as Monica. Monica had forgotten that ring rows were included in the workout, which she chalked up to being flustered in Shelby’s presence.
Between stations, Monica drank heartily from her water bottle, pretending to ignore Shelby, pretending she wasn’t phased in the least by Shelby’s touch, pretending there wasn’t chemistry between them, pretending she was a cool cat who was there only to exercise.
As the workout wound down to a close, Monica doing her L-shape on the pull-up bar for the final time, she saw Shelby finishing a hollow hold. At the sound of the bell, Monica landed on her feet and rubbed her palms, grateful that the workout was over. As she was taking a much-needed drink of water, she felt more than heard Shelby by her side.
“Good workout, huh?” Shelby asked.
“Fabulous,” Monica breathed.
“I really liked your playlist.”
Through her long, naturally black lashes, Monica glimpsed Shelby’s half-smile. She likes my music! Yay, me!
“I might have to get a copy of it from you,” Shelby said.
“Anytime,” Monica said.
“I also like your Athleta leggings—”
“I was going to say the same about your striped—”
Shelby cut her off. “I usually wear them with the writing on the inside, though, but it’s good to know you’re a size Medium in case I need to buy you something.” Shelby rested her index finger above Monica’s butt where her inside-out Athleta’s had the size printed on them.
How do I even respond to this? She did the only thing that came naturally—laughed.
Shelby joined her. “I’ve done the same thing.”
Yeah right.
