There抯 a fallacy you tell yourself, sitting in an upholstered chair in a high-rise, looking at shoes online, and it抯 that people like Victoria are different from you in a fundamental way. That she and her children are okay with living on a disability payment and little more, and probably wouldn抰 actually want your life any more than you抎 want theirs.
And then you meet a shy eight-year-old who only wants to sit in the corner and read, just the way you did at her age. You meet her little brother, Phillip, who wants to show you his diagram of the Earth抯 orbit around the sun and tells you he really wants sheets for his birthday. Fucking sheets, as if they抮e a luxury. And then you realize what bullshit it is, those distinctions you抳e made, and that the only person they were convenient for was you.
揟his isn抰 getting you into trouble, right??Victoria asks.
Yes. If not this time, then soon. Fields told me to stop taking pro bono cases two years ago, and it抯 a wonder I haven抰 been caught.
揘o,?I reply. 揑t抯 fine.?And technically, I haven抰 taken on any new pro bono cases because I was already working with Victoria when Fields issued his edict. I doubt he抎 agree though.
Travis, boisterous and cuddly, has spent my few minutes here running repeatedly into my legs, but now he scrambles onto the couch and climbs into my lap, pressing sticky hands to my dry-clean only suit.
A few minutes later, Victoria抯 friend, Rae, arrives with a battered face. I help her fill out the request for a restraining order and coach her on what kind of documentation she will need to bring. When we finish, Lola is looking at me with bright eyes, as if I抦 a hero.
I want to tell her not to. Because Fields must be a monster to tell me not to help a woman like Rae, and the only way to defeat a monster is to become one yourself.
I sometimes wonder if I抦 not already there.
After the happy chaos of Victoria抯 apartment, the office feels unusually quiet. There are never a ton of people working on weekends, but I抳e grown accustomed to seeing Ben抯 smug face here, and the irritating way he抣l raise a brow as he passes, as if to imply I抦 doing something wrong.
If he isn抰 here, it means he has a date. Maybe he抯 taken her away for the weekend, probably to a place teenagers enjoy桪isney, perhaps, or Tijuana. He抣l buy her a few drinks and a sombrero with her name stitched in hot-pink cursive and she抣l think he抯 a prince among men.
I could have a date, too, if I wanted. Tad texted, but I抳e decided that perhaps chef is not the optimal career for a partner after all. I抦 now thinking I抎 like a very tall former Peace Corps volunteer, but only one who doesn抰 look like he抎 wear ponchos and smell like weed, or a very tall doctoral candidate, but one who isn抰 going to bore the hell out of me discussing things that don抰 matter to real people, like whatever he抯 studying. Obviously, therefore, I抳e found no one.
Ben isn抰 as picky, however.
I wonder who he抯 with, and my hand slides toward my phone despite several oaths I抳e taken to stop stalking him online. Ben抯 Instagram feed is a lost cause梩he only thing he抯 ever posted is a meme about the Lakers梑ut Drew Wilson, his most famous female friend, tags him constantly.
She抯 changed her last name to Bailey, I抳e noticed, which must be her husband抯 name. It抯 a rookie mistake. When I write a book about marriage, it will focus on making the whole thing easier to dissolve when it抯 done. I抣l hand it out to the newly engaged and stop getting invited to weddings and showers. Win-win.
Drew has a new picture up of her hot husband hoisting a massive pumpkin on his shoulder. I scan the photo抯 background for Ben, but I don抰 see him. I can抰 really picture him at a pumpkin patch anyway, unless he抯 there to shut it down.
I scroll through the old photos until I get to the one I like best. It抯 from Drew抯 wedding, and Ben is walking her down the aisle. He抯 in a suit, just like he is every day, but there抯 something sort of sweet in his face, something hopeful.
If I didn抰 know better, I could be persuaded, when looking at this photo, that he isn抰 evil at all.
14
Ben and I are in a car, in an area of town I can抰 identify. The air is suffocating, and no matter how much I mess with the vent, nothing changes. I try to roll down the window but the button doesn抰 work. 揟his is ridiculous,?I groan aloud. 揥hy is it so hot in here??
Ben smiles. It抯 his filthiest smile, the one that chafes against me like no other. 揗aybe you should take something off.?
And suddenly, the heat is not my biggest problem. It抯 that devil on my shoulder, whispering now, saying, 揇o it, Gemma. Call his bluff.?His voice is cool and seductive卆 flicker of glee in my stomach, a frosty breath over my skin. I can抰 resist it today.