by W Winters
“Early lunch?” she questions.
“Just need another coffee,” I comment and inwardly scold myself for lying. If only she picked up the thin cardboard cup on my desk, she’d know just how full it was.
Delilah
“Have a good night then,” I say and lift my glass in salute as Aaron leaves the high table in the corner of the bar, giving me a short wave before he slips the leather jacket around his broad shoulders and heads for the door for a smoke.
“You too, Jones,” he answers but I barely hear him over the chatter in the packed place. It’s busy for a Saturday night and I focus on every face except for his. Every single one, taking them in, watching the way they speak, some of them a little too close as they whisper, some laughing so loud and genuinely that wrinkles form around their eyes.
I take them in like I took in the evidence of the case this morning, distracted and not seeing it at all.
Because Cody Walsh is right there, not even ten feet from me and he’s been there all night, but he hasn’t spared me a glance.
His phone has eaten up most of his attention and right now he’s having what looks to be a very interesting conversation with someone I’m unfamiliar with. He’s avoiding me. It’s plain as day. He hasn’t looked at me once. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of doing so either. What a prick. Sleeping with him was a mistake. A grave one for my ego but nonetheless, one that’s over. We’re nothing more than a man and a woman working closely together in a professional setting. Not a damn thing else as far as I’m concerned.
Wine… back to my wine I go because I desperately don’t like feeling that twist in my stomach and the tightness at the back of my throat.
Just a sip, and only two glasses tonight. I couldn’t focus at the office, so tonight will consist of sitting cross-legged on my bed with paperwork in front of me until I have every piece of evidence in line for the perfect prosecution.
Work is my comfort place and working will get me through whatever these emotions are that I’m warring with inside right now.
Trial is a dance. The steps are all taken carefully and meticulously to get to the twists and turns that wow and convince the room. It’s more than a back and forth of questions, there’s intention, there’s a necessity in every move and every angle. Even the wording of the questions is vital. Being able to focus and pivot is even more important.
I won’t sleep tonight until I know the pace and presentation that will be the most alluring and convincing. Some call the courtroom a circus, but that’s just a show for entertainment and distraction. I treat every courtroom like a ballet, with a spotlight on the details. Every single detail brought to light with a pirouette given enough time and pause to show the depth of what it means.
With a glimmer of confidence, I take another sip of my wine. Aaron and I went over the basics and in only hours I will figure out exactly how we nail this prick with first-degree murder and nothing else.
“Jones.” Patterson’s voice startles me, but not so much that I show it. Giving him a professional smile, I offer the experienced man a nod in greeting.
“How are you doing tonight?” he asks, but doesn’t give me a moment to respond before adding, “I heard you got a whopper of a case.”
A whopper. Patterson’s from somewhere in the Midwest, I think. Maybe he wants to know details, I’m not sure. But he should know better than to think I’d give him any. He’s a defense attorney and none of his clients have anything to do with any of mine. So this is … peculiar.
“You know how it is,” I answer him with a shrug that brings his attention to my blush-colored blouse. But not to my shoulders. His gaze dips lower and the heat of embarrassment creeps up my chest. “When you have a series of plea bargains and boring cases, you get hit with a difficult one to throw you off.” Setting my wineglass on the table and pushing it away slightly, I add, “Can’t have too many easy ones, can we?”
Patterson looks between the glass, my chest, and my face. The slight sway in his stance and the red in his cheeks betray any air of being sober the man has. He’s simply had too much to drink.
“That’s true,” he comments, pointing at me with the hand he’s also using to hold his whiskey. The ice tinks on the glass. My father’s a whiskey drinker. Never on the rocks though. He said the ice melts and weakens it.
The thought reminds me that Patterson is old enough to be my father and rich enough to buy him four times over.
Patterson seats himself, occupying the chair Aaron recently left empty. “You know when I worked with your father years ago, he used to say the same thing.”
My father was a lawyer decades ago. Pride wore on his face the day I told him I was going to law school. I’ll never forget that day. But his career was incredibly short-lived. The lifestyle, he told me, simply didn’t suit him and Mom wanted to move back home.
“Is that why he gave it up? It was too easy for him? Or are the stocks just paying better?” Patterson questions me.
I shrug again and this time when Patterson’s gaze drops, I lift my glass of wine to block what little of my cleavage could possibly show from that angle.
“My mom wanted to move back home,” I answer straight-faced. We never wanted for anything and grew up in a nice enough area. It may have been a small town and not anything like New York City, but we were well-off. Maybe not as well-off as Patterson; I have no idea. “I’m sure he would have stayed had he known what the firm would become,” I offer him with a polite smile and a nod of recognition.
There’s a murmur of agreement from Patterson and then he takes a swig of his drink. I look away, not wanting to continue the conversation.
Patterson knows far more than I do about my father’s departure. I’m not privy to my parents’ decisions back then. And I don’t like to have conversations involving sensitive topics knowing I’m lacking relevant details on said topic.
“You know I was surprised you came down here of all places.” Patterson doesn’t quit, leaning back in his seat. “I get it, wanting to stay on the case and transfer…” he pauses and nods, dropping his head. “That’s commitment,” he comments into his lap and raising his brow, which forms a series of lines on his forehead.
“I was just starting and took it as a sign.”
“What’s that?” he questions, not following and I don’t know if it’s because of the whiskey or because, like my mother said, it was crazy that I was moving to stay with a case.
“The firm was a starting point so when the offer came up and evidence led us here, it seemed like a sign. Like I was meant to get into federal criminal law.”
“And what did your father think of that?” Patterson questions. “I’m sure he was able to help you. He has strings to pull. But to help you go into federal criminal law…” he trails off and makes a face just then. One I’d like to punch but instead I simply smile.
My father and him were defense attorneys. “Working for the prosecution shocked him, but my involvement and dedication didn’t.” I give him the same answer I gave Claire five years ago. And just like her, he nods with understanding.
“You certainly worked your ass off to get here.”
The smile on my face is genuine as I say, “And I appreciate the help I got along the way.”
His asymmetric smile widens and he lifts his glass to me in cheers, but just after taking my sip, Patterson’s smile fades.
Before I can turn to my left to look at whatever’s taken his attention, a heavy arm rests across my shoulder and Cody Walsh kisses my cheek.
I barely catch sight of him before his lips brush against my skin.
What the fuck is he thinking? My heart spasms as I smile like it’s a joke and push against his muscular chest, which barely moves.
“Do you have a minute?” Cody questions, his brow furrowed as he ignores Patterson. The older man is up from his seat and leaving before I can hiss at Cody, “What the hell are you thinking?”
Adrenaline races through me as I tuck a loose strand of
hair behind my ear, the long day wearing on the simple bun I’d styled my hair into this morning, and casually glance around the bar.
Aaron saw what Cody did, that I’m sure of. He has the decency to look away when I catch him staring.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It will be the talk of the office. As if I need any more buzz around my personal life and intentions right now.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come over sooner; I’ve been busy.” He speaks as if it’s a given. Like he was genuinely busy. Does he think I’m a fool? I have eyes and common fucking sense. He was ignoring me and we both know it. I’m not an idiot and I don’t like being treated like one.
“What the hell are you doing, Walsh?”
“Saving your ass. He was eyeing you up and you didn’t like it. I know damn well you didn’t.”
“He’s my father’s age and my father’s friend.” The excuse doesn’t dissipate Cody’s scowl; it only makes it deepen. And quite frankly, I second-guess myself at the term “friend.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Cody reprimands me. He has some damn nerve.
I grit my teeth, laying cash down at the bar for the glasses of wine and grab my coat. “You have some fucking nerve to come over here pretending to be a knight in shining armor when you’ve ignored me for days.” The last word is practically spit out of my mouth.
I could choke on emotion right now, but I’m damn good at ignoring it and better yet, at hiding it. I give Cody the cold shoulder and silence as I make my way out of the bar, but the stubborn fool follows me.
Shaking my head and huffing out a sarcastic breath, I turn to look at him as the entrance doors close and a gust of wind blows against my bare neck.
“I don’t have time for a man who doesn’t know what he wants.” My anger is palpable. I don’t know what gets to me more. Him ignoring me after sleeping with me, or him affecting the way colleagues see me by implying we have a romantic relationship in the bar.
I don’t care to figure it out. Not here in the cold night on the corner of Main and Spruce.
“I’m already up shit creek with the press. I was fine with having something low key. But ignoring me? No, I didn’t sleep with you because I thought you’d treat me like I didn’t exist after. And I sure as hell didn’t want it out in the open. I get it, you don’t want a relationship, but causing a scene isn’t my style. I don’t need any more prying into my life,” I mutter under my breath and push Cody back another step.
“I’m not prying.”
“No, you’re kissing me in front of everyone after leaving without a word and not speaking to me for days.”
“You needed him to back off,” Cody says, keeping up his hero mentality and it only pisses me off more. Is he not hearing me?
“Is that what you were really doing? Saving me?” I practically hiss. The weight of the other night lays on my shoulders. I glance around to make sure no one’s out here, but even in the empty street, I feel the familiar prick. It’s an uneasy sensation, only adding to my annoyance and frustration. “I want to get out of here.”
“Because I kissed your cheek?” Cody asks as if it’s an insult and I take it as my cue to cross the street. Holding my coat tightly closed and ignoring Cody behind me as I walk as quickly as I can to the garage.
“Don’t follow me.”
“Don’t leave then,” Cody responds.
Why does it have to be messy? Why couldn’t this have been low key and easy? The same at work as it’s always been and if we needed each other, we’d act on it. That’s what I thought it would be. Just as I figured Cody would, he follows me as I storm off toward the garage, my irritation growing with every step. Both with myself and more so with Cody.
It’s not until I get to the entrance of the garage, standing just before the concrete stairs that will take me to my car that I ask him, “When did I become a damsel in distress? Not once have you walked me home. Not one goddamn time!” The spite in my voice surprises us both. The hurt in my chest lingers and I struggle with what I’ve just said.
“I would have taken you home if you’d asked.”
“I didn’t and I’m not now,” I answer, turning away from the hurtful look in his pale blue gaze.
“Why are you so pissed?” he asks. “I’m sorry I kissed you in there. I get it. You want this to be low key and—”
“This?” I say, cutting him off, not hiding my shock and irritation. “What is this, Cody? Because you slept with me, which I initiated, I take that on, I get that. But then you left without a word and ignored me repeatedly. It would have been fine if it went back to normal. So what exactly is this?”
“I don’t know,” he says and his demeanor changes, like he’s struggling between remaining a guarded wall or giving me a look like he’s a wounded puppy dog. If he wasn’t so handsome, it would be pathetic. But as it stands, the look makes it difficult to stay angry.
“You don’t know and I don’t know either, but you don’t get to make a public statement because I fucked you one time. My career is more important to me. The way they see me in there matters,” I say and throw my hand up, pointing at where the bar is down the street. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I cross my arms, letting his apology sink in. I’m grateful for it, but damn am I hurt and still pissed, even if that emotion is waning.
“I don’t know how to do this, but I want to talk.”
Now he wants to talk? “Not tonight; I have to work. I had a shit couple of days. I just need to go home.”
“Then let me take you home,” Cody offers, ever the gentleman and I can at least respect that but I’m not exactly ready to just let it all go. I can’t just let it go. Ignoring me, ghosting me, and then getting all touchy-feely with me in the bar? He could have handled this any other way than how he did. I suppose I could have too, but I’m too tired, too overwhelmed, and too pissed off to think about it right now.
“I can take myself. I’m fine.” The bitter note in fine is the cherry on top of this shitty night. I shake out my hands, trying to let it all go before digging in my purse for my keys.
“I know you’re still mad. I’m good at pissing people off.”
The confession tumbles out of me before I can stop it. “I wonder if you’d have even come over to me if someone else hadn’t hit on me.” Shit. It hurts to say it out loud. I could have left and he wouldn’t have even said hello to me if someone else wasn’t scouting out his territory. My hands go clammy. It would have been easier to just ignore him and go about my night. Why the hell did I let him get to me? Why did I go after him when I knew it wasn’t going to work?
“That’s bullshit,” he says and his conviction makes me doubt myself.
Lifting the strap to my purse higher up on my shoulder, the keys still not found, I question him, “How would I know? You didn’t message me. You couldn’t even look at me. Was it really that bad?” I’m proud that my voice doesn’t break out loud like it does in my head. “No one likes to be ignored. Especially not by a man I just slept with this past weekend.”
“Don’t do that,” he says. Cody’s voice is comforting but I don’t fall for it.
“I’m not your problem, so I can do anything I want, Agent Walsh.” I’m close to turning away from him when he takes my elbow in his grasp and before I can object, places something in my hand.
“I was texting you this,” he says and closes his hand around mine, forcing me to take his phone. “Just read it. All right?”
“I don’t want to read a text when you could have sent it and didn’t.” My annoyance does nothing but fuel him to stare me down until I let out a frustrated sigh.
“Just read it.”
Finally, I look down at the phone, if for no other reason than to appease him enough to let me leave. The bright screen lights up and I see he’s brought up his messages between the two of us. It’s a long message that he’s referring to, one left unsent. I have to scroll up and when I
do, I accidentally hit send. Shit. I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m reading it anyway. Letting out a slow breath and ignoring the squeal of tires from someone leaving on the opposite side of the mostly vacant garage, I start to read the message Cody thinks is going to change my mind.
I enjoyed last night.
That’s the first line and I don’t get much farther. “It wasn’t last night,” I comment, letting my head fall to the side and seeing for the very first time in years, a vulnerable Cody Walsh.
With the lights from the parking garage illuminating his face, he looks younger than I’ve seen him before and my breath slips out easier as I remember his hard body over mine, his muscles flexing as he took me, pressing my back against the sofa and rocking himself into me ever so slowly but deeply to bring me closer to my own release before he found his.
“I didn’t start writing it today,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. His five o’clock shadow combined with that boyish smirk makes me warm to him.
Dropping his phone back in his hand, I don’t read the rest of the message.
“I enjoyed it. I like you. I just don’t know how to not fuck it up.”
“Going caveman isn’t something I’m interested in,” I offer him.
“You want this to be discreet?” he asks and I simply nod.
“Read the rest,” he presses, pushing the phone toward me but I reject it. Only the phone; I don’t reject him. My heels click on the pavement as I close the space between us and tell him, “I sent it to myself so I’ll read it when I get home.” With a nod and a simper, I add, “Maybe I’ll text you back before the week is up.” It’s only a lighthearted joke and it does exactly what I want it to. Cody relaxes his arms around me, letting his hands fall to the small of my back. I’m tall in my heels, but he’s still an inch or two taller than me so he has to lower his head to whisper against my lips, “Don’t be mad at me.” His plea isn’t lost, but neither is my frustration.
“Don’t ignore me … and don’t kiss me in public,” I say and the statement isn’t spoken harshly. Maybe there’s even a small plea hidden in the gentleness with which I spoke it.
