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I sit there, coming down from all of this, waiting to catch my breath as I wrap my head around the fact that I just imagined myself having sex with Brooks Gentry, someone I wouldn’t screw if he were the last man on Earth.
Good god, it’s official.
I’m losing my mind.
6
I don’t have the energy for this and I know it the second I stroll into the conference room where we’d planned to meet.
Without looking up from her legal pad, Tenley says, “Oh, wow. You’re actually on time.”
Throwing my things down on the table, I notice she’s well into whatever research she’s been doing for the case. I’ve barely cracked it. But that’s okay. I do my best work on the fly and under pressure. It’s kind of my thing. Plus, she’s supposed to be the research arm of this operation. I’m the face of it. The closer.
“Is that supposed to be an insult?” I ask.
She glances at the clock, which says nine on the dot. She still hasn’t looked at me. “I’m not insulting you. I’m describing you.”
I sit down on the other end of the table, and considering the size of the it, we might as well be in different zip codes. I don’t think I can stand to be any closer to this negativity. Not right now.
“Are you insinuating I’m not usually on time?”
“You’re not the most punctual person on earth.” She motions to the papers in front of her.
“I’m punctual when it matters.” I’ve never been late to a court hearing in my life.
“Like when a promotion’s on the line?”
I shrug. She said it, not me.
“Being on time means being early,” she adds. “Have you even looked at the case file yet?”
I’m about to tell her I have a life outside the office—unlike her, but before I get the chance she snorts.
“Thought so,” she says, still not looking at me.
Jaw clenched, I crack the file open, trying to stop my pulse from spiking. From the moment she started working here, she’s made no bones about her disdain for me. Any attempts at friendly conversation would always get shot down, so eventually I stopped trying, stopped giving a damn. It was easy to ignore her, given that she was always holed up in her office and never hung out around the proverbial water cooler, but now that we’re going to be working closely together for the foreseeable future, I no longer have that option.
I woke up thinking today would be a good day. I was ready to tackle the challenge, to prove that I’m the one for this job. I got in my five AM run feeling like a million bucks, ready to take on anything this day was going to throw at me. Only the second I got home and trekked to the basement laundry room to grab a towel for my shower, I discovered Ellie apparently had some friends over last night. They were all trashed, sleeping in the downstairs family room, pizza boxes and beer bottles and cigarette butts scattered everywhere. I have a white noise machine in my bedroom, so after I put Jace in bed and went to my room, I was dead to the world.
Ellie was still drunk, so I’d had to throw everyone out, get her into her bed, and spend the morning picking up the mess. After that, I was late getting Jace up for school, so he missed the bus and I had to drive him. Now I have to worry about whether Ellie will have it together enough to remember to pick him up this afternoon.
Grabbing my phone, I send her a text under the table, to confirm.
When I glance up, Tenley is glaring at me with mild disgust. She quickly averts her eyes and goes back to her work.
Placing my phone down, I pick up my case file and start reading. I already know what I’ve seen in the news. James Perry, chef extraordinaire, making waves in culinary circles with his quirky, fun, healthy dishes. He and his wife Courtney started Periwinkle a decade ago in an old factory overlooking the Portland Harbor. Since then, it had risen in popularity, as had the Perrys’ star status. The family, and their two kids, were everywhere on social media, projecting a wholesome-yet-glamorous kind of lifestyle, one people could aspire to via the fake confines of social media.
Everything came crashing down when a fan had to snap a ten-second video in the back alley of Periwinkle. James Perry, on his knees, giving head to his head. Chef, that is. Raul San Pedro, Brazilian wonder-chef, who is as almost as famous as James is.
After the resulting media shitstorm, Courtney Perry promptly kicked him out of their McMansion. This should be cut and dry; she should be holding all the cards, except for one thing—the file says that Courtney Perry is a recovering addict. Ten years ago, before she met James, she had a serious battle with heroin, resulting in her losing the custody of her older children—children their 1.3 million followers likely don’t know exist because their biological father refuses to let them serve as what he calls 'props.' James, of course, is wasting no time using Courtney’s past to his advantage, suddenly claiming he doesn’t think the younger kids are safe with her.
