The Pecker Briefs

by Sawyer Bennett

  I let that last statement kind of hang in the air because while I’ve never been one to focus in on that aspect of a relationship when trying to prioritize things that are important, I’ve come to learn very recently it actually is something incredibly important between a man and a woman.

  “You really like him,” Frannie says once again, this time reiterating exactly what my fears are by her tone of voice.

  “Yeah… I really like him. And I’m probably going to like him more and more as time goes on.”

  Frannie nods at me sagely, and then finishes my sad prediction for the future. “And when he’s decided he’s had enough because he’s not a relationship type of guy, your heart is going to be broken.”

  “And there you have it,” I say softly.

  “Are you going to give up?” she asks with absolute challenge in her voice.

  “Fuck no,” I tell her. She knows I’m not the quitting type.

  Just then, my cell phone rings and I nab it off the edge of my desk. A brief glance at the screen indicates it’s Dr. Granger, the veterinarian who first enlisted me to take this case. I tap the screen to accept the call and answer, “Hello, Dr. Granger.”

  “I’ve told you to call me Alton,” he chides in a voice he tries to make sound charming and even a little flirty, but that’s exactly why I call him Dr. Granger and not Alton.

  My only hesitation in taking this case when he originally brought it to me was because he was also coming on to me and I wasn’t interested.

  But the case fascinated me, and my heart went out to this endangered species. Since then, I’ve made sure that all of my dealings with this man have been overly professional so he gets the hint.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask, keeping my voice light and friendly, but making the statement when I don’t acknowledge his request that I use his first name.

  It’s obvious by his voice he’s not happy about it because his tone goes cool and professional. “We’ve had a very interesting donation, and I wanted to let you know about it. Someone dropped off a check today. They wish to remain an anonymous donor to anyone else within the organization, but as the president, I accepted the donation for five thousand dollars.”

  “And?” I ask, prompting him to get to the meat of the matter.

  “The condition of anonymity also went along with a very specific request that the donation go to help fund your case.”

  My entire body sizzles with adrenaline. With this donation, I can afford to hire a good expert. Or I could hire two mediocre experts. I know quantity is going to be as important as quality when it comes to putting this information in front of the judge, and Ford already told me that he’s going to be spending a lot of money on multiple experts.

  Another zap of adrenaline hits me, and not in a good way. My face flushes, and the center of my chest burns.

  Ford.

  He’s the only person who knows I can’t afford to hire an expert.

  We are already skirting a dangerous breach of ethical duty to our clients by sleeping together, but him helping to fund my case? He could get disbarred for that.

  “Dr. Granger… I’m going to need to talk to you about this later. I’ve got something urgent that has just come up.”

  “Of course,” he stammers. “Call me back when you get a moment.”

  I disconnect the call. “You think you can keep an eye on this place until the maintenance crew gets here?” I ask Frannie.

  “Of course,” she says. “Just leave me your keys and I’ll let them in.”

  I nod. Quickly scribbling a note to tape to the front door, I direct them to go over to Frannie’s when they arrive.

  “Where you are going?” she asks.

  “Downtown. I need to go see a meddling attorney and rip him a new one,” I answer angrily.

  ♦

  It is a rare occasion I will pull out my “bitch attorney” persona. But I don’t have time to be jerked around by the Knight & Payne receptionist who is somehow managing to look down her nose at me even though she’s sitting down and I’m standing up. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Daniels has no appointments available and he’s busy right now.”

  I have no idea if this is true or not, but between clenched teeth, I say, “If Mr. Daniels finds out I was here and you did not let him know, your job is going to be in jeopardy. Now I suggest you pick up your phone to call him and let him know Viveka Jones is here to see him.”

  Her perfectly arched eyebrows fly up high. She only hesitates a second before her lips thin out and she picks up the handset. I keep a neutral expression on my face even though I want to smirk in victory when she says into the phone, “Mr. Daniels… I’m sorry to interrupt and I’ve told her you’re busy, but there’s a Viveka Jones here insisting to see you—”

  Her eyes cut sharp to mine, and I go ahead and give her a victory smile.

  “Of course, Mr. Daniels,” she says in response to whatever it is he said to her. I can, of course, only imagine. “I’ll send her back immediately.”

  The door leading to The Pit is locked, but the receptionist stands up stiffly from her desk and walks over to a key card reader. Her employee identification badge is hanging around her neck on a lanyard, and she bends over slightly to hold it up to the security pad. When I hear the click of the door unlocking, I give her a genuinely grateful smile and say, “Thank you.”

  She nods stiffly, but she’s also already forgotten. I push through the door and enter The Pit.

  The noise of so many people talking, moving about and rustling papers is overwhelming at first but by the time I hit Ford’s office, I’ve blocked it out. I’m both angry and frustrated by Ford’s behavior, because he has crossed a line. In my opinion, his actions put our entirely short, but amazing, relationship in jeopardy.

  He sees me approach through the glass wall. I am almost knocked over by the dazzling smile of joy on his face when he sees me. I have to grit my teeth because my mouth wants to naturally smile back, but we need to get a few things straight first.

  Ford walks around his desk to greet me as I push open his door. My hand reaches out and automatically slaps at the button that fills the glass with smoke, so we can’t be seen.

  I almost feel sorry for him when I see his eyes go dangerously hot and sexy over my bold maneuver. My other hand goes up, palm facing him, and I say, “Stop right there.”

  Ford does my bidding and his body goes rigid as he takes in my defensive posture and the cool tone to my voice.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks in a neutral voice.

  I twist to open the purse on my shoulder, and then grab the certified check I just had issued from my bank. It was a quick stop I made on the way to Ford’s office.

  I pull it out and walk up to him, pushing it up against his chest. His hands come up and automatically grab it from me, but he doesn’t look at it. Rather, he locks his eyes onto mine. They’re filled with confusion as well as challenge. He knows I’m mad about something, so he’s automatically gearing up for a fight.

  I pull my hands back, and he finally glances down at the check I have just handed him. I watch his face carefully, but there is no surprise registered there.

  But I didn’t expect there to be. He knows what it means.

  Still, he tries to play it off. “What’s this for?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me, Ford,” I hiss as I go to my tiptoes to get in his face. “You gave that money to Justice for All Animals. And by doing that, you have put yourself in danger with the North Carolina bar. You could lose your license.”

  Not a single muscle on his face twitches, and his voice is casual. “I didn’t give any money to Justice for All Animals.”

  Yes, I am really pissed at Ford for doing this. I’m also ridiculously charmed and warmed beyond measure that he is trying to help me. But I’m mostly pissed.

  “Don’t bullshit around with me.”

  Ford bends down to put his face within inches of mine, and his voice is hard as he clips out. “I did not gi
ve any money to Justice for All Animals.”

  I am not falling for his denials. I have come to learn a lot about this man, and I know he likes to play the role of the alpha protector. But I’m not having it right now. Not when he could hurt himself in the process.

  I take two steps back from him, crossing my arms over my chest. I nod at the check in his hand and say, “It was either you or Leary, and I don’t care which. But that check had better be cashed by the end of the day to reimburse whoever made that generous donation or—”

  “Or what?” he growls. It seems Ford doesn’t like being told what to do or for it to be insinuated he’s done something wrong that he believes was chivalrous.

  “Or,” I say dramatically as I sweep my hands from my shoulders downward. “You can kiss this fabulous body goodbye, because you are not having any more if you’re going to put yourself at risk for me.”

  Ford’s lips start to curl because I’ve amused the hell out of him. Before I can try to say something to wipe the smile off his face, my phone rings.

  “Low Rider” by War belts out from inside my purse.

  Frannie’s ringtone.

  I snag my phone, connect the call, and hold up one finger to Ford to indicate I need to take this but the argument is not over, just on hold. Putting the phone up to my ear, I say, “What’s up, Frannie?”

  “The workmen are here to board up the window,” Frannie says, and I immediately go on guard by the stiffness in her voice. “But they said the landlord isn’t going to pay for the repair, and they want assurances you will pay them before they start.”

  “You have to be fucking kidding me?” I snap into the phone, not at my bestie but at the situation. But it’s a rhetorical question. Frannie would not kid around about that. So I tell her, “I’m on my way. I should be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “All right, sweetie.” Frannie gives a little cough and then says in a sly voice. “But I can pay them, and you can pay me back. You don’t have to rush out of there if you don’t want to.”

  “I’m on my way,” I say firmly.

  I disconnect from Frannie but before I can stuff my phone back in my bag, Ford is demanding. “What’s going on?”

  So bossy. So nosy. Both things are really hot because I can hear within his voice that whatever is wrong on my end, he wants to fix it.

  I give a casual shake of my head, trying for a carefree smile as he’s tried to fix enough stuff in my life already. “It’s nothing. Someone vandalized my office last night.”

  “What?” Ford shouts.

  Oh, wow… he’s completely pissed off.

  “Someone threw a brick through the window with a colorful message attached to it.”

  “What was the message?” he demands slowly.

  His eyes are now scary dark and murderous.

  “It’s not important.”

  “What. Was. The. Message,” he clips out.

  I swallow hard, because I’ve never heard that tone from him. I don’t even think to lie because I know he’d know it was a lie. “Die, cunt.”

  Ford spins away from me to grab his suit jacket that had been laid over the back of his chair behind his desk. He shrugs it on. Stuffing the check that he had been holding into the front breast pocket, he swipes his keys off his desk and shoves those in his front pant pocket, taking only a moment to bend over and shut his laptop.

  He spares me a very brief glance as he starts to walk toward his door. “I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got something I have to do.”

  My arm shoots out and my fingers clutch onto his suit jacket, which pulls him up short. He gives me an impatient look.

  “I don’t think your client did this, Ford, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He just stares at me, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

  Oh yeah, he totally thinks his client did it.

  “Not that your client isn’t a dick, “I tell him softly in the hopes of dissuading him from doing something stupid. “But I have a lot of people who would be higher up on the candidate list than Drake Powell.”

  Ford’s voice is tight as he asks me, “In the eleven years you have been in that office and doing this type of law, has anyone ever thrown a brick through your window with a message that says, ‘Die, cunt’.”

  I have no choice but to admit, “Well… no.”

  Shadows of retribution flicker in his eyes, but his voice is eerily calm when he says, “Let go of my arm.”

  I automatically release my grip on him because I can tell there is no stopping whatever it is he is planning to do. Hopefully, he’s not going to do something stupid. At the most, I can only imagine him going to see Drake Powell to ask him if he or any of his cronies had anything to do with it.

  I’m going to have to trust he won’t get himself in trouble. Still, I need to make sure he doesn’t forget the most important thing about my visit.

  I call out as he opens his office door, “Ford… that check had better be cashed by the end of the day.”

  I get nothing back but a grunt before he’s out the door.

  CHAPTER 15

  Ford

  From the day I first met Viv, chained to a longleaf pine, I knew she was different than any other woman I have met before. From that first kiss, I was pretty sure I would not be bored with her within a few months.

  From that first time I sank inside her body, I realized nothing had ever felt better.

  These were all truths I immediately recognized and accepted. In some way, I knew deep in my gut that Viveka Jones would have a major impact on my life.

  Which makes this all very confusing that I’m feeling the greatest doubt in my life when it comes to her.

  As I sit here in my car across the street from her office—the front window crudely covered with a piece of plywood—I realize I am at a crossroads with her. Now would be the perfect time to walk away. We’ve had a great time together, although I sure as shit would miss fucking her. But she wasn’t wrong in my office yesterday when she was outraged over the fact I had essentially funded her case. It was a stupid-as-fuck thing to do because I could have killed my entire career had I been caught.

  But the truth is, I would do it again if I thought she would let me. Career be damned. This is what is confusing to me because even though I knew Viv was special in so many ways from the other women that inhabited this planet, I am utterly confounded I would be willing to risk the thing I probably hold most dear in my life next to my family.

  My law career.

  I stare at that plywood covering her office window, and I acknowledge the burning fury within my chest that it was most likely done by my client, Drake Powell.

  Oh, he denied it when I went to his office yesterday. Even acted all offended when I confronted him. I made sure to do it in a concerned, professional way—just an attorney looking out for his client’s best interest. He insisted he had nothing to do with it.

  I don’t believe him for a second. He either did it, directed someone to do it, or one of his buddies did it and he knew about it.

  I know this mostly because he made a comment to me the other day on the phone when I was telling him how much the expert witnesses were going to cost. He was not happy about the figure I quoted him and after he ranted about how the legal system was designed to screw over people like him, he also added on, “Someone should do something about that uppity cunt.”

  That choice of words has me convinced.

  Drake Powell had everything to do with that brick going through her window.

  And that knowledge has caused a burning need within me to look after Viveka. That, in turn, causes me to open my car door and step out. I lock it up, wait for traffic to pass and then trot across the street.

  When I try to pull her door open, it doesn’t budge because it’s locked up tight. I press my face closer to the glass and put my hands up to shield the sun, peering inside. I don’t see Viv, and the lights are off.

  I twist toward Do or Dye. Maybe Frannie knows where she is.


  When I open the salon door, I immediately see Viveka even though she’s sitting the farthest from the door, clear on the other side of the space. She’s wearing what I have come to learn is her standard attorney outfit for the type of law she practices. Jeans and a casual yet frilly blouse so she retains an air of femininity. Today, she’s sporting black rubber rainboots that are streaked with mud across the top of the foot, but the soles appear to be clean.

  She’s sitting sideways in one of the salon chairs, one leg cocked over the armrest and the other on the floor. She’s using it to push herself around in circles. I watch her for a moment as she spins around while surfing on her iPhone.

  So gorgeous. Free spirited. Quirky.

  Christ, it’s such an attractive combination I could stare at her all day.

  I tear my eyes away and glance around the salon, seeing three stylists along with their clients in salon chairs all staring at me.

  A woman about my age with purple and blue hair gives a loud cough. Without taking her eyes off me, she calls, “Veka… I think you have a visitor.”

  My eyes slice over to Viveka just in time to see her plant a foot hard onto the tile floor to stop her spinning. Her eyes go wide as she takes me in, before they cloud over with a certain aloofness. She and I have not talked since she showed up at my office yesterday morning. I have no clue what she’s thinking but I have to consider she might be surprised to see me here thinking my lack of contact with her was sort of a kiss off.

  In all actuality, I was letting her cool off. She was really pissed at me yesterday, and rightly so.

  Besides… absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

  Viveka doesn’t say a word but just continues to stare at me. I, in turn, stare right back at her.

  This goes on for so long it starts to get uncomfortable, and the women watching us start fidgeting.

  Frannie mutters under her breath but we can all hear her. “Well, this is awkward.”

  This makes me turn to the left, and I give Frannie a short smile. I step forward and hold my hand out to her to shake. “Hi. I’m Ford Daniels. And you must be Frannie.”