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“I went to Harvard,” I correct her. “And who said it bothered me?”
“You asked. Clearly it bothers you.”
It’s in this moment I realize I know absolutely nothing about her.
“So what’s your story anyway?” I ask. If we’re going to get through this case, we need to find some common ground.
“My story is neither here nor there.” She squints at her screen.
“Your story is what got you to where you are today, so it’s technically here.”
Tenley blows a strand of hair from her forehead, annoyed. “Single mom. Bouts of homelessness. Put myself through college. Just your average, everyday Cinderella story.”
“It’s a shame.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “What is?”
“How hard you’ve worked to get to where you are,” I say, “and you can’t stop to enjoy it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you’re always here. Working. You can’t enjoy life and work at the same time.”
“Speak for yourself,” she snips.
“What do you do for fun?”
“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t ask me that. I’m going to pretend like you just asked me a relevant question that pertains to the Perry case.”
The little section of creamy skin above her Puritanical blouse flushes red. I’m getting under her skin. But to be fair, she’s getting under mine too.
No one has ever spoken to me the way she does.
And it’s kind of… hot.
My cock pulses at the thought of silencing her smart little mouth with a punishing kiss, tearing off that starched white top and that tight pencil skirt and having scorching hot hate sex right here on this conference table.
Flipping through my folder, I pull out my copy of the brief, which is the closest thing I have to a cold shower at the moment.
Out in the hallway, the elevator dings. Our food. Pushing away from the desk and making sure my pants are not tenting, I grab some cash from my wallet for a tip, head for the lobby and collect the food. When I return, I realize we’re alone in the office. It’s cleared out as it probably always does on Friday nights, not that I’m ever here to see it.
Tenley’s still in the same place I left her, though she’s on another page of notes. I set the bag and a couple of sodas on the table. “Dinner time.”
Surprisingly, she pushes away from her work and reaches for it.
I’ve watched her work through lunch more times than I can count, so I imagine she’s starving.
We each dig in, and as I’m winding the noodles around my chopsticks, she says, “This is going to get nasty. I can feel it.”
“Between you and me?”
She snorts.
“Oh, you’re talking about the case.” I nod. “Well, they got a lot of damning stuff on our client, but what do we have on James? That guy he was with. Is it serious? Do we know?”
“Yes.” Of course she does. She’s ten steps ahead of me, always. “Apparently, they’re together now. Rumor is he’s claiming she withheld sex from him the last two years, and during that time, he developed the relationship with Raul, the chef. You know, because withholding sex from a man turns him gay…”
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that line of thinking and it won’t be the last.
“Okay…” I’m trying to connect the dots as to where we can go with that. It’s irrelevant to the case as that argument won’t hold up in court to excuse his cheating, but it shows he’s willing to say whatever it takes to get sympathy.
“What we need to do is look into this Raul. Find out how long he was employed there, how long they knew each other. Maybe ask around the restaurant and see how serious it was.”
“Agree.” This might be the first time we’ve ever agreed on anything.
“I called the police to pull the report on this DUI our client had that they’re so hot on. Obviously, it doesn’t look good for Courtney, but I want to know the circumstances behind it. We should get it soon.”
I nod. “Okay, and do you think—”
“Apparently, they were both heroin addicts. They actually met in rehab. He got clean before she did, though. Still, James can’t be damning his wife for something he’s also guilty of.” She digs her chopsticks into her carton. “What’s interesting though is she isn’t using that against him. What does he have on her? There’s got to be more to this.”
Jesus. She’s all over the place, but those gears in her head have been turning in directions I haven’t even thought of going in yet. I stare at her, not wanting to interrupt until I know she’s finished.
“Are you done?” I ask.
She nods and lifts a roll of shiny noodles to her lips, still staring at the brief in front of her, but it falls from the sticks and snakes its way down her ivory blouse, leaving an obvious stain. She doesn’t seem to realize until the noodles have disappeared under the table, probably into her lap.
