by Hart, Alexa
* * *
“I thought I said 1?” The familiar deep velvet voice pulls me from the dull pages of the large law-book. He doesn’t sound pleased. Standing, I quickly shut the book.
“Mr. Carter – I’m sorry, I was researching.” His navy eyes burn into me as I spout my explanation, casting my glance downward. “I lost track of time, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
The apology doesn’t do much to soften the tense, raised position of his shoulders, only causing a fire to burn deeper in his stare. In our once-again close proximity, I can barely see anything but him. His broad chest is adorned with a crisp white dress shirt, and a deep charcoal-gray suit jacket. Though, I swear I can see the shape of his muscles through the fabric. In an effort to break the tension, and regain my position in his somewhat-good graces, I gather my files quickly. Glancing up at him through my lashes.
“Would you still like to continue the meeting in your office, sir?”
Mr. Carter’s full lips twitch as I finish my sentence, flashing some mischievous amusement that I can’t place. Does this man simply enjoy making others uncomfortable? I cast him the most earnest glance I can muster, projecting my sincere apology. After a moment of studying my expression, he grabs the stacks of folders from my arms, gesturing for me to follow behind him.
I almost have to run to keep up with his long strides, an unfortunate side-effect of being on the shorter side. When we arrive at the large corner office he unceremoniously holds the door open for me. I grant him a quiet thank you, pausing in the doorway unsure of what to do next. My meetings with Aaron have always been rather equal-footed. Sure, I had to put up with him checking me out every once in a while, but he knew I was an asset to the firm. I never questioned whether or not I could or should do anything with him as my supervisor. This is new territory. Would he consider it rude if I simply strode in and picked a seat? Does he want me to take lead of the conversation, laying out my findings to him without being prompted? Before I can finish my thoughts, he answers the question I didn’t ask, almost reading my mind.
“Sit wherever you’d like, Sophia.” Almost immediately, I notice the softer tone of his voice as he addresses me by my first name. “I’m ready when you are.”
I nod at his prompting, taking a seat on the soft black couch. Setting the files down on the glass coffee table, Mr. Carter takes a seat right beside me, patiently waiting for me to begin. He is so close our thighs brush ever-so-slightly, and I have to strain to look at him directly. Taking a deep breath, I begin.
“This stack here,” I separate the color-coded folders, “is relevant case law. Each case involves a real-estate matter in which the complainant won on similar claims. Violation of the Implied Warranty of Habitability, leasing agreements that are nullified by relevant local code, retaliation against the tenant for exercising his or her legal rights.”
Mr. Carter nods as I speak, picking up the stack to thumb through it, a mild look of impress gracing his features. I continue.
“This stack is every federal, state, and local code I could find that is even remotely related to our case. It ranges from harassment, to theft by fraud or misrepresentation, to legitimate landlord/tenant code.” His brow raises with a small smirk as I continue to speak, “and finally, this stack,” I point to the large stack of red folders, “contains the personal information, complaints, and relevant proof – or at least all that could be gathered in a couple of hours – of every other tenant the plaintiff has had, who has lodged similar complaints.”
I finish my spiel, taking a deep breath. Mr. Carter glances through each stack of folders before setting them down quietly, turning his head to stare at me for what feels like ages. I meet his gaze apprehensively. I’ve always been relatively good at reading people, in fact it's a trick I rely on. It helps me feel more in control. But now, staring at the beautiful and terrifying man, whose face is inches from my own, I have absolutely no idea what he’s thinking.
“Impressive work. This will be more than helpful today, thank you.” He finally says after deliberating, pursing his lips slightly at me. I blink at his polite words, and almost ask him to repeat them. My professionalism gets the better of me.
“Of course, Mr. Carter. Thank you for extending me the opportunity to help on the case. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” There’s that little twitch in the corner of his mouth again. I make a mental note to be sure to address him formally more often, he clearly prefers it.
His chest rises with his sigh as he stands, and I can’t help but stare at his domineering form. His long legs are firm and tantalizing through the slim gray slacks, which are extremely flattering, I must admit. I trail my eyes up his side, admiring the way his expensive jacket hugs the curve of his upper arms. He is by no means bulky, but his well-maintained figure is clearly comprised entirely of hard, flat, muscle.
When my stare finally reaches his face, he is smirking at me, a knowing gleam in his eyes. I feel my cheeks burn a bright red. Abruptly I stand, stepping a few inches back to grant myself some much needed air.
“Yes.”
“Hm?” I respond, my thoughts churning, momentarily forgetting our previous conversation.
“You can do something else for me,” his voice is mischievous and for a moment I ponder if there is a double meaning to his silky words, but he clarifies for me. “The deposition. Come on.”
I follow behind him, unaware that we had depositions scheduled for today. Mr. Carter grabs the files, handing me his personal leather-bound note pad and a slick ballpoint pen. I turn it over and over in my hand as we walk.
“I’m going to question Mr. Kelly; I want you to make note of his physical reaction to everything I say. I want to gauge his thoughts. I believe his brother is here as well, keep an eye on him.”
I cast a nod in his direction as we walk into the same conference room that held our first introduction to each other just yesterday. I can’t help but shudder at the remembered feeling of embarrassment.
“Mr. Kelly, Nick.” Michael curtly acknowledges the outsiders occupying our conference room, pulling out a seat and motioning for me to sit in it. Trying to hide my shock at the polite gesture, I sit quickly.
“Thank you, sir.” The tips of Mr. Carter’s slender fingers brush between my shoulder blades as he pushes the chair in, and moves to seat himself.
Sitting across from us in the chilled room is Mr. Kelly, Nick, who I presume to be Mr. Kelly’s lawyer, and an unnamed third party; from the resemblance, I have to guess he is the defendant’s brother. The pair share a style of slicked back greasy brown hair, a clear façade to mask the thinning. The defendant is slightly slimmer than his brother.
“We’re ready when you are, Mr. Carter,” Nick speaks, turning to his side, “Oren?”
The defendant nods at the prompting, leaning up on the table to cast a lopsided smirk at his brother. “Born ready to tell a bunch of rich know-it-alls where they can shove it, right Joe?” Sporting a thick New-York accent, Oren Kelly motions towards Michael, who suppresses a devious smirk.
“Miss Williams, shall we begin?” I revel in the menacing shade in his eyes, excited to take part in the demolition.
“Yes sir.” I smile, opening the note pad to jot down everything I observe. Flipping on the camera, Mr. Carter begins.
“Please state your full name and today’s date, for the record.” Mr. Kelly complies with the smooth directive.
“Can you describe to me, in your own words, why we are here today?”
“Some crack-head old loon is trying to milk me for all I’ve got.” Tiny smatters of spit land on the pristine glass table as Oren speaks the demeaning words.
“Is that what you think? That Mrs. Thompson is only after money?”
Oren nods at the question, a visceral motion as though his head moves about as if independent from his body.
“Answer verbally.” The shift in tone in Mr. Carter’s voice is evident, from relaxed to authoritative. The sound of a man who always gets h
is way. Oren scrunches his nose at the order, but complies.
“Mr. Kelly, would you please read this for the camera?” Sliding a piece of copy paper across the table, Mr. Carter patiently waits.
Nick espouses a few low curses, but grants Mr. Kelly permission, citing that the paper would be in court anyway.
Oren begins to read. The paper is an email between him and Mrs. Thompson, in which he is more than aggressive and sexually suggestive towards the widow.
“That’s not a pretty picture to paint for the jury, wouldn’t you say?” Mr. Carter baits.
Crumpling the paper, Oren throws it down on the table in a huff.
“Don’t mean anything. I was just joking.”
“I’m sure,” Mr. Carter condescends, pulling the large stack of folders in front of him, “but would, Sarah Cohen, Tina Meller, Melanie Richardson, and Sydney Ruth agree?”
Pulling free the 4 files he mentioned, Mr. Carter slides them towards Nick, explaining, “those are only the complainants who have sexual harassment cases as well. There are about a dozen others in reference to illegal activity and living conditions.”
Oren’s face slowly seeps red as Mr. Carter speaks. Spanning across the table, Joe Kelly is experiencing a mirrored reaction, but instead of focusing his emotion on Mr. Carter, his furrowed stare is directly on me. His lips twitch, peeling back into something rage filled and animalistic.
“That’s it, this deposition is over.” Nick declares, pushing the files away and abruptly standing. They make their way swiftly from the room, where I assume an intern was waiting to show them out. My skin is still crawling with the weight of Joe Kelly’s stare.
“Well, I think that went well.” Mr. Carter’s voice is full of satisfaction, triumphant at the reaction of Mr. Kelly and his counsel. I consider for a moment voicing my discomfort with the brother, but decide against it, not wanting to give him any reason to think of me as weak.
“Interview each complainant and make sure their cases are properly filed before next week.” He orders dismissively as we stroll from the conference room.
“Will do. Thank you, Mr. Carter, for letting me in on the deposition.” We catch each other’s eyes just outside the door, both poised to head towards our respective directions. Cocking his head to one side, he studies me.
“You can call me by my first name, Sophia.” The small show of respect sends a deep satisfied thrill surging through my chest. If I impress him enough on this case, I’ll be that much further towards junior partner. Michael picks me apart with his gaze, assessing my reaction to the push towards familiarity.
“Okay, thank you sir,” I fumble, “wait-“
Michael chuckles darkly at me, and a twinge of embarrassment blooms in my chest, surely leaving my cheeks bright red.
“Michael. Thank you, Michael.” I correct myself. With that, he leaves, making his way back to the corner office and away from me.
Chapter 4
Sophia
Absentmindedly stirring my cream filled coffee, I finish the remnants of the work Michael assigned to me two days ago. I haven’t seen or heard from him since, leaving the tail end of my week relatively dull. Yesterday, I overheard one of the receptionists mention that he’d be out of the office today again, too, and I can’t help but wonder if that's the reason I struggled to rise from bed this morning. Walking through the door to my cubicle eight hours ago felt pointless, without him to pull apart my work with that scrutinizing ocean gaze, eventually to admire it. I sigh, remembering the cool velvet tone of his voice, praising me in his office.
Printing off one last page, I set the large ceramic mug on my desk, and set off to leave the folder with Michael’s assistant before I finally head home.
The walk to his office from the associate pit is a few minutes, at least; drifting past the library, I see it is completely empty. Partners almost always leave early on Fridays, granting their associates and assistants the freedom to disappear, no-questions-asked.
The lavish corner office finally enters my sights, and the desk just outside sits empty, Michael’s assistant must have gone home for the day. Resigning to place the folder directly on his desk, I approach the thick glass door, stopping in my tracks immediately.
Through the wall, I can see him. He is sitting on the couch, pouring over some paperwork. His normally gleaming eyes are dull with exhaustion, and he is sporting more than his usual 5 o’clock shadow. I pause, hand on the chrome handle, deliberating whether to knock, or walk in, or leave unseen, when his voice calls me through the glass.
“You can come in, Sophia.” He says, annoyance ringing clear in his deep voice.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter. I didn’t want to bother you.” Gazing up at me through his thick black lashes, he admonishes.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me Michael?”
“Michael.” I correct myself immediately at his reprimand, pausing mid step, “bad day?”
I don’t know why I ask the bold question, the words slipping from my mouth before my brain has a chance to stop them. He casts me an incredulous look, but answers nonetheless.
“I think I’m going to lose a case.” He sighs, undoing his tie and leaning back into the seat of the couch.
Cautiously, I step forward, files still in arm. “Why?”
“Gave it to someone else to handle, they fucked it up. Now I have to figure out how to save it.” Shock stirs in me hearing his husky voice curse for the first time, a deviation from his usually perfectly professional manner.
“What is that?” He interrupts my thoughts, motioning towards the stack of papers in my arms. I set the files on the table before him and standing straight, I explain.
“I’ve finished everything you asked, these are copies of the court filings, as well as statements from all of the complainants. I’ve also typed and printed my notes from the deposition. I was just going to leave it on your desk for you to look at on Monday.”
Waving his hand dismissively at my statement, Michael motions for me to hand him the stack. I comply.
“Thank you. I’ll get to it tonight. You’re free to go.” Already diverting his attention downwards, he dispatches me. I consider his offer. This could be my only chance to show him my work ethic upfront.
“Actually, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay and help.” I ask, setting my purse down already, resolute in my decision to spend the night trying to impress my hard-ass boss.
Michael purses his full lips at me, brow furrowing in surprise, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, a small smile threatens to tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, I guess we better order some food then?” I smirk.
“Does this mean I finally get to use the firms expense account?”
My quip elicits a full deep laugh from him. The sound is stirring, and musical, producing a gleam in his sapphire eyes. He sets the folders down beckoning me with one finger. I comply, sitting next to him on the couch, close enough for our thighs to once-again brush. Today, I am wearing a pencil skirt, and I can feel the softness of his slacks against the few inches of my bare pale skin. I swallow hard, forcibly stopping myself from reaching out to brush the material.
“Thai? Or Chinese?” He asks, still full of laughter as he pulls his sleek gray MacBook onto his lap, opening it to search for sustenance that will deliver.
Meeting his gaze, we decide in unison, our voices mingling together, eliciting a chuckle from both of us. “Thai.”
Chapter 5
Michael
Dropping my chopsticks in the empty cardboard container, I lean back into the bottom of the couch from my seat on the floor.
“Full?” Sophia asks with an amused glint in her eyes, still chowing down on her portion of the Pad Thai. I shake my head in disbelief.
“How can someone so small eat so much?”
“It’s a talent. Don’t be jealous!”
Running my fingers through my hair, I gingerly grab a beer from the six-pack we ordered with the food. Maybe one of the best d
ecisions I’ve ever made. The cool liquid washes over my tongue, easing the day’s tension. I offer her one, but she hesitates, still clinging to the air of professionalism.
“You know I’m your boss, I could order you to take it.” I quip, earning a small smile from her rosebud lips.
“I think they call that abuse of power.”
I shrug, observing. “I don’t think you mind.”
The atmosphere shifts, crackling with unspoken tension. Her chest rises and falls beneath the silky material of her cream-colored blouse, causing a twitch in my fingers. Suppressing the urge to reach out and trace the visible inches of her collar bone, I instead gesture with the drink.
She takes it, smiling sheepishly and pops the top off to take a generous swig of the amber liquid.
“Definitely takes the edge off,” her voice is breathy as she pulls the thick glass from her lips.
“Okay!” She begins again, “so this is the plan, huh?” With newfound energy, she motions towards the files we’ve laid out across the floor in front of us. I nod, genuinely impressed.
“It’s so simple it’s genius. I’ll update the witness list on Monday morning, to include them all, and we’ll proceed from there. The trial is on Thursday, so it’s far enough in advance that the judge won’t reject it, and too close for them to properly prepare.”
I revel in the satisfied smirk that graces her lips. I have to admit, I can’t take much credit for the devious play that we’re about to execute, it was entirely her. Not only are we filing the separate suits, but we’re going to call each complainant from the suits as character witnesses, to the effect that Mr. Kelly is a disgusting slumlord piece of shit. Well, maybe not in those words. Sophia’s clear pension for exacting complete legal evisceration intrigues me, in contrast with her sweet demeanor, and obvious desire for praise. Like two sides of a coin; a coin that I want to study intimately, memorizing the cool engravings on each face.
