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After our altercation over Eleanor Price, Roman has reverted back to his usual bossy, arrogant self. Messaging my instructions for the day instead of asking me, and he only speaks to me when he has to. It’s better that way. It’s better when I don’t have to be in his presence and inhale how damn good he smells. It makes me forget how rotten he is on the inside. That smell puts me under some kind of silly spell of delusion that there could be some good in this man. Then he opens his moody mouth, and I crash back down to reality. He is an arrogant asshole, no matter how good he looks or smells.
I can’t quite figure Roman out. There is no denying he works hard. He’s in this office way before I arrive most mornings and stays well after I leave. Some of the messages from him I read when I arrive to work are time stamped, and they range anywhere from eight o’clock at night to one am in the morning. I just assumed he bribed and bought all his clients’ freedoms, like with Eleanor and his brother and Austin with Moretti. Yet, I file his papers. Not all his cases and clients are sketchy ones. He spends hours and hours researching his cases and meticulously planning court arguments. If he can find a legal and justifiable way to win a case, he will. That doesn’t mean he is a good person, though. That’s his job.
Roman’s calendar is filled with various charity events and fundraisers. Some of the prices of the seats at these fundraising invitations he accepts cost more than I would make in a year. So as much as Roman is wealthy, he appears to be generous with that wealth.
Roman is a walking contradiction. For all the good he does, he follows behind it with something bad. For instance, Jason Klein. I filed all his paperwork yesterday, and that man is clearly guilty. Yet, somehow, Roman got him freed of all his charges. Instead of rotting in a prison cell, he got to go home to his luxurious life. I looked up his pending charges, and the jail time he should have received should have been a minimum sentence of seven years, but he got zero. A slap on the wrist, a fine, and a good behavior bond. It does not make sense. I’m sure Roman must think I’m stupid and don’t know what is going on here, but I know, and I know it’s not legal. There’s nothing I can do about it as I owe the man a debt for my own brother's illegal activities. So, all I can do is hope that I don’t somehow get implicated in Roman’s shady dealings.
The clock seems to be ticking backward. I’ve barely seen Austin in two weeks, but he promises me that he has been going to school and working each afternoon. It’s Friday afternoon, and I can’t focus. The longer I stare at the computer screen, the blurrier it becomes. Taking another sip of coffee, I dread having to do a four-hour shift at the diner tonight. I’m living off about five hours of sleep a night and feel like a walking, barely talking zombie.
I stare at the crumpled-up letters hanging out the top of my purse and close my eyes with a long sigh. Another rent price increase, my gas bill, and a letter from Austin’s school telling me he needs extra credits in order to make graduation. Life is kicking my ass, and I just can’t seem to catch a break.
Money is tighter than ever. I haven’t had any photography bookings and haven’t had the time or energy to complete anything to sell at the markets. I work every weeknight and weekend days at the diner, and I’m here working for Roman every weekday from nine to five. Austin left some money on the kitchen counter last week from his after-school job, but it’s just not cutting it. I know I can’t keep this up. My body is betraying me; exhaustion is a living breathing presence that haunts every inch of me.
“Indie, dear.” June snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Are you listening to me?”
“Sorry,” I say, shaking away my thoughts. “What did you say?”
June studies me, crinkling her eyes under her oversized glasses. “I asked you what your plans were for this weekend?”
“Oh,” I wince with embarrassment. “Nothing much. And you?”
“It’s my son’s birthday. I’m having him over for dinner. He just loves my meatloaf.”
“That sounds nice.” I smile at her. In truth, I am kind of jealous. That makes me feel pathetic to admit that I’m envious of a seventy-year-old woman. Well, not so much her, but what she has. June absolutely adores her family. Her eyes sparkle with pride whenever she talks about them. I hope her children are appreciative of her and their family unit. I’d give anything to have a birthday dinner with my family. A mom that cares for me enough to cook me my favorite meal. If my mom is still alive, I wonder if she even remembers my birthday.
“Is everything alright, darling?” June touches my shoulder. “You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
My head bows: I can’t even fake a smile. The world is on my shoulders, and it’s crushing me, slowly sucking up all the life I have left in me. I’m literally hanging on by a thread, and any moment now it’ll break.
Swallowing back my tears, I fight off the urge to just hug June. What I wouldn’t give to feel the comfort of someone wrapping their arms around me and telling me, it will all be okay. But that’s not my life, and I need to pull myself together.
“I’m just tired.” I shrug, offering her a small smile. “Nothing a good night's sleep won’t fix.”
June nods, returning my smile, but it is wrapped tightly with concern. I’m not fooling her. “I will get you a fresh cup of coffee.”
Chapter Sixteen
Roman
THE ELEVATOR PINGS to my office floor, and as much as I detest this place, I’m actually glad to see it today. I’ve spent the last three days in court. The days have been long and draining, yet despite the best efforts from the defence attorney, I came out victorious. The win is like a drug. I’m high on my success and can’t wait to see the look on Liam’s face this morning when I see him at our weekly meeting. He thought I would fail. I’d admit there were times I even doubted myself in winning this case, but that only fueled me to succeed.
I’m later than usual this morning as I met my first client at his home. Confidentiality is imperative for him, so coming to the office was not an option. When you're the son of the mayor, you don’t want to be seen walking into a criminal law office.
Indie and June are at their desks when I enter the office and look up at me, then straight back to their computer screens. “Morning, Sir,” June greets as she types away on her keyboard. “Congratulations on your victory.”
“Good morning,” I answer, but I am not looking at June. I’m looking at Indie. She doesn’t look up at me. Her lack of acknowledgment is not new; she only speaks to me unless she must.
For the past two weeks, I’ve watched Indie deteriorate further and further. The clothes I originally brought her have become loose around her already petite waist, and the circles under her eyes grow darker and darker every day.
“Miss Johnson, my office,” I order. “Now!”
She’s slow to react. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s no fear in them, just pure, utter exhaustion. I feel her presence behind me as I walk to my office, remove my jacket, and take a seat on the sofa instead of my desk.
“Sit.” I stretch my hand out to the seat across from me. “You look like shit. What is wrong with you? Has something happened with Austin?”
Indie sits down, placing her delicate hands in her lap. “No, Sir.” She bows her head as though she is ashamed. “I’m just tired, is all.”
“Well, that is not acceptable. I cannot have you coming into work looking like a train wreck. Are you unwell? Why are you not sleeping?”
