The Bridgewater Case

by R. C. Martin

  I need to fuck Sigourney out of my head before I cross a line.

  I’VE NEVER BEEN so happy to be completely and utterly swamped at work. After drawing up the paperwork necessary to file an additional claim for a case against Rollin Mammoth Trucking, I get the green light from Dane and then take it straight to the courthouse. By the time I get back, it’s nearly three o’clock. Having spent so much of my day on tasks not from my to-do list, there’s a great deal for me to do before five o’clock rolls around. Two hours doesn’t seem like long enough to get it done, but I endeavor to try.

  Before I know it, Ava is perched on the far end of my desk.

  “Someone’s hard at it,” she says by way of greeting.

  I look back at her, then at the clock in the bottom corner of my screen, and then plead with her from over my shoulder. “Ten minutes? I swear, I’m almost done,” I assure her, surprising even myself with that truth.

  “No problem,” she replies, standing to her feet. “I’ll run to the ladies’ room. I could use a quick touch up anyway.”

  I stare at her in disbelief as she heads for the restroom, not sure what on her gorgeous face she plans on touching up. My attention on her retreating figure is broken only when she disappears out of sight, and then I return my focus to the task at hand. Thankfully, when she returns, I’m powering down my computer.

  “Where are we going again?”

  “It’s called The Populist. You’ll love it. When I go, we usually end up ordering a couple of different things and share—me and whoever is with me. It’s hard for me to pick my favorite dish. But sharing is caring and this place is definitely meant to be experienced with a friend.”

  Happy to hear that she already considers me a friend, I’m even more anxious to get out of here. “I’m excited to try. I’m just going to say goodnight,” I tell her, pointing toward Dane’s office.

  “Sure.”

  I walk toward his door and spot him standing with his back to me, his focus trained out the window. For a moment, I hesitate to disturb him. I wonder what he’s thinking. Then, knowing I can’t keep Ava waiting any longer, I tap gently against the glass before stepping inside. When he turns to look at me, the calculating, lawman expression he’s always wearing isn’t there. It’s as if he’s removed a mask of sorts, his thoughts too busy taking up residence someplace else. In that one instant, before he seems to realize who I am and where he is, I wish I could know the man who stares out at the setting sun.

  “I’m heading out,” I announce, hooking my thumb over my shoulder. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything before I left for the day.”

  “No,” he tells me with a single shake of his head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay. Have a good night.”

  “Thank you. For your work today, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I murmur with a smile.

  He dips his chin in a subtle nod and then turns to the window. I take that as my cue and step out of his office, joining Ava.

  We end up driving to our destination, both of us riding in Ava’s car. As soon as we walk into the establishment, I know I’m going to love it here. We’re right on time for our reservation, which is a relief. The place isn’t that big, and it’s pretty busy. The Populist is sort of a hole in the wall restaurant, with that totally indie foodie vibe. Instead of actual chairs, there are short, black cubed stools at each table setting. There’s also a little bar with black, high back chairs. Unlike the pub Dane took me to last week, the lighting in the restaurant is warm and dim, coming mostly from the overhead lamps.

  Ava and I are seated right away, at a table against the wall. It doesn’t take long for us to choose what we’d like off the menu, each of us agreeing that we’ll share green curry jackfruit and the tandoori chicken. Everything sounds strange and unfamiliar, but she promises I won’t be disappointed.

  “So, happy one-week anniversary,” she says, holding up her water glass.

  Laughing, I clink my glass against hers as I reply, “Thank you.”

  “All right, give me the goods. How are you liking it? Are you happy you made the move?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely happy I made the move. I miss home sometimes—especially my sister and my parents—but this was the right choice for me. Dane and I are really starting to fall into a good routine. We’ve been working on getting a sort of grove going between us, and I think we’re almost there.”

  “That’s good news. Now that it’s been a few days, do you think you have a better read on him?”

  I shrug, staring down at my water as I absentmindedly twirl my straw around. I think back to the look on his face only a few minutes ago, and I admit to myself that my attraction to him isn’t just physical. There’s something alluring about the mystery of him. At every turn, I find myself wanting more.

  “He seems pretty private. Is he always like that?” I ask, bringing my gaze up to meet Ava’s brown-eyed stare.

  “I don’t know. I’ve always considered him more professional than private. He’s not an open book, but he’s not a closed one, either.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  Smirking, she informs me, “No. Actually, in the time that I’ve known him, I can’t recall there being a girlfriend.”

  “Oh,” I mumble, not sure whether or not to be surprised or disappointed. “So, he’s a serial dater?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that. He’s not a revolving door—but a man like him? He’s too pretty to be celibate. Trust me.”

  I run my teeth across my bottom lip, working up the courage to ask a question that’s come to mind more than once since the day I was introduced to Ava.

  “Go ahead. Spit it out,” she insists on a chuckle.

  My mouth falls open, caught off guard by her ability to read me so accurately. Feeling as though I might as well, I ask, “Have you two ever…?”

  “No,” she answers through a grin. “Dane and I are friendly but not exactly friends. I wouldn’t say he’s friends with any of the women at the office. For reasons I’m sure you can surmise, he keeps things professional for a reason.”

  “He doesn’t want to be like his father,” I murmur.

  “Bingo.”

  Now certain what I feel isn’t surprise but disappointment, I make up my mind that it’s time to change the subject. I’m not sure why I even allowed my thoughts to come this far. He’s my boss. Not only should I not be curious about his personal life, but I shouldn’t be gossiping about it with one of my co-workers. I need to take a page from his book and keep it professional.

  “Well, what about you?” I question before taking a long sip from my straw.

  “What about me?”

  “I know you said you’re single, but what’s the dating scene like around here? Are there any hopefuls blowing up your phone, dying for a chance with the stunning Avangeline Hayek?”

  She throws her head back in laughter and then says, “That, dear Sally, is a conversation for another time, when there’s lots of wine within reach.”

  Lifting my eyebrows, appalled that she doesn’t have a line of guys knocking down her door, I ask, “Is it really that bad?”

  “Wine, Sally. Copious amounts of wine.”

  My face relaxing as I grin at her, I shrug and say, “Guess that means we need another girl’s night on the books.”

  “Yes, we most certainly do.”

  from: Sigourney Salenger

  to: Ellery Reinhart

  subject: Confession…

  Do you remember when you first met Pryce?

  Shit…stupid question. I guess I’m not referring to the details. I’m not asking if you remember that summer, or if you remember the first meal he ever made you—because how could you forget a cute guy sneaking you into the culinary institute to make you ravioli with bolognese sauce? See? Even I remember. What I mean is, do you remember the weeks that followed? When you were in the same foreign city, surrounded by all
things new and extraordinarily old, but the most intriguing mystery of all wasn’t the history of Rome but all you didn’t know about Pryce?

  Well, Dane? He’s my intriguing mystery. I’m surrounded by all things new, I’m loving my job, and I’m really glad I listened to you and Pryce—but in spite of this grand adventure that is apparently my life, I feel this frustrating desire to solve the mystery that is my boss…and I don’t mean in that strictly platonic way that I should.

  Okay, yes, I’ve seen him mostly naked, so he hasn’t left much to the imagination as far as his body goes, but there’s something about that man in his suit. I can’t explain it. It’s like his armor or some sort of force field. He doesn’t hide behind it so much as it’s like—something that protects him. Protects him from what, I don’t know. But I want to know. I want to know what he’s afraid of. I want to know what’s in his heart that needs protecting. I want to dive into those blue eyes and just wade in the knowledge of him…

  I know—I know, I’m getting poetic, but I can’t help it.

  Since the night he took me to dinner, there’s been a shift in our relationship. Granted, he’s not flirting with me, but it’s like he sees me. He sees my potential and, god, Elle, I can’t even put into words how amazing that feels. You know how difficult it is for me to be so close and yet so far away from what it is that I want. You know how hard I’ve worked. You know how much I want it. And I know that you believe in me. Almost more than anyone, you believe in me—but Dane? Dane has cracked the door open for me. It’s not much, but it feels like it is.

  I guess what I’m trying to say is I think I like him. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just desperate? I don’t know. It could be an infatuation. It could be my imagination. It could be

  I stop typing, pulling my ponytail around to drape over my shoulder as I stare at what I’ve written. Honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. I feel like my head is a mess. My life has changed a great deal in the last few weeks. Perhaps I’m simply too overwhelmed to understand what’s going on with my emotions.

  Afraid that I’m being ridiculous, I select all and delete the email in its entirety. It’s too late for me to start another draft, so I power down my laptop before getting up to hit the lights. As I tuck myself in, my socked feet toasty warm beneath my down comforter, I promise myself I’ll take the time to write my sister properly tomorrow.

  IT’S LATE ON a Monday afternoon when the couriers arrive, wheeling in more than a dozen boxes on dollies. Obviously having been told to come my way, I’m required to sign for them before they ask me where I’d like them dropped. I’m heading to ask Dane for instruction when he steps out of his office, directing the men to put the boxes in the smaller conference room to the left. They obey with a nod, and both Dane and I watch them go.

  “What are those?”

  Sliding his hands into his pockets, he smiles at me knowingly and replies, “The records I subpoenaed from Rollin Mammoth Trucking.” Tilting his head in the direction of the conference room, he goes on to add, “Those are just from the last ten years.”

  “Really?” I breathe, my eyes growing large in excitement. “What are you trying to find, exactly?”

  “Any and every instance where a mechanical issue was reported, especially a truck used by Flash Packing. I also want more information on the safety recalls and the steps they took to rectify the issues. In addition, I was granted the right to go over their financial statements. I want to see how much they’ve invested in creating a reliable product over the years.”

  “Wow. That’s a tall order.”

  “You up for it?” he asks, arching an eyebrow in question.

  “Me?”

  “I’d rather not waste time trying to build this case. As it stands, your attention to detail is not only far superior than that of my associates, but you seem to operate with a sense of urgency. I figure, if I trust you with the task, the job will get done right the first time.”

  “Oh, my god,” I blurt, clapping both of my hands over my now racing heart. “I’d love to help.”

  “Good. You can start right away.”

  “Okay. But what about my other duties? The phone—”

  “Have your number forwarded to the phone in the conference room. The space is yours until you’re finished with the files.”

  I nod, my stomach fluttering with delight as I turn to grab a legal pad and pen. I’ll need it, in the event someone calls and I have to write something down to put on the calendar when I return to my desk. I then check the list of phone numbers I keep next to my phone and set the device to forward all calls to the appropriate conference room. Spinning around once more, I’m surprised to see Dane still standing there, his eyes trained on me.

  “You understand what we’re after?”

  I nod as I reply, “I think I’ll start with their production records first—looking for patterns in reported mechanical issues, and anything and everything to do with safety recalls.”

  Dipping his chin in affirmation, he backs his way to his office door before ordering, “Report back.”

  “Of course.”

  Not wanting to let a single moment go to waste, I hurry to the conference room. As I make my way inside, the couriers are on their way out. I thank them before setting aside my legal pad and then turning to take in the boxes stacked along the glass wall. Pressing my fists against my hips, I suck in a deep breath.

  There are at least twenty boxes here, filled with files stuffed with pages’ worth of information. The task before me seems overwhelming, but the thrill of having the opportunity to be a part of this case outshines everything else I’m feeling. Determined to prove to Dane that he can trust me with this, I grab the first box and set it on the table. I then lift off the lid and dive right in.

  SETTING ASIDE MY completed work for the day, I run a hand down my face with a sigh. It’s after six, and I could use a bite to eat. It isn’t until I stand, ready to change my clothes for my bike ride home, that I realize I haven’t heard from Sigourney in a few hours. I check the time again, noting that it’s well past the hour when she usually leaves for the evening, and yet she never came to say goodbye—something she always does.

  Instead of going upstairs, I make my way out of my office. When I notice the light shining from the conference room on the opposite side of my suite, the very room I sent Sigourney to earlier, I walk over to see she’s still immersed in her search. She doesn’t notice me looking in on her, and I decide to take advantage of her obliviousness. As much as I want to deny it, I can’t remember the last time I was this attracted to a woman.

  Hell, I can hardly remember the last time I touched a woman.

  My Friday night plans with Hale were foiled when Maya fell sick. Ever the attentive partner, Hale asked for a raincheck, and I stayed late at the office. Seems to be all I’ve done for most of the summer. Regardless, something tells me, even if I had gone out to Club Saxton with Hale, I wouldn’t have been able to find a woman who makes me feel the way Sigourney does.

  She’s abandoned the jacket she was wearing earlier, now only in her black skirt and lavender blouse, her sleeves cuffed at her elbows. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, leaving her slender neck on display. I don’t fight my thoughts from wrapping around the truth of how I appreciate the way she looks with her hair like that.

  She’s in a chair, pulled all the way up to the table, her body hunched over an open file as she scans the page in front of her. Despite the fact that she’s simply doing her job, I feel as though I could stand here all night and watch her. She’s distractingly beautiful, even whilst doing nothing out of the ordinary.

  When she senses my presence and looks in my direction, I force myself to shift my focus. I furrow my brow in curiosity as I notice what she’s done. There are five open boxes on the table, each lined up in a row, with little strips of colored paper sticking out of them. Sitting beside her are two stacks of folders, along with a pair of scissors and a pile of colored paper. Wanting to k
now what she’s up to, I finally make my entrance.

  “Hi,” she greets with a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Hi,” I reply with a small, crooked smile of my own. I then lift my chin, nodding toward the table as I ask, “What do we have here?”

  She gets up and comes to stand beside me, as if to better understand my perspective as she explains. My eyes travel up and down her body as she tells me, “These are the boxes I’ve managed to get through so far. The scraps of paper are place holders for the files I’ve found useful. I figured that would be the easiest way to keep all of these boxes organized. Anyway—this is just two years here.” Folding her arms across her chest, she shrugs and then looks up at me as she goes on to say, “A lot of it is stuff we don’t need. But—in just these five boxes, I’ve found thirteen incidents that will definitely help build our case. Thirteen in five boxes, Dane. I still have sixteen to go through.”

  I feel a pang of longing in my gut when she refers to it as our case, but I ignore it and ask, “Of those thirteen, how many trucks belonged to Flash Packing?”

  “Three. In fact, they’re the only company that has had multiple incidents where they sent back the truck for repairs. Six companies were issued a completely different truck, and four just returned it with complaints, refusing to work with them again.” She pauses, lifting one of her hands to glide her fingers across her bottom lip as her eyes lose their focus. “Actually, now that I think about it, all four of those trucks were around the time of one of their safety recalls. That’s interesting.”