揑 went to the ER the night you grabbed my wrist,?I reply. The trick, when lying, is to make yourself really believe it抯 true. Right now, I can almost remember the hospital, late at night, fluorescent lights overhead, the smell of bleach. 揟he bruising is documented. I discussed the incident with several people at the time梩he doctor treating my injuries was very adamant about me reporting the attack to the police. Drop the charges against Ben or I file for assault.?
揧ou think you can threaten me, you fucking bitch??he demands. 揧ou抳e got no proof.?
揑抦 pretty sure I just told you I have proof, and I guarantee there was a camera that caught what you did outside the bar. But if you want to go up against me in court, let抯 go. This kind of case is how I make my living. I will clear my goddamn schedule.?
He hangs up, which is when I stare at my shaking hands and admit, for the first time, how much this matters to me. That I didn抰 go running to Fields?office because it was the right thing to do. I did it because I don抰 want to work here without Ben Tate.
I thought his presence at FMG was a glaring, obnoxious light.
But maybe it was simply the only bright spot in my day.
By eight-thirty, I抦 too edgy and amped-up to work. I know I need to thank Ben, but it抯 awkward, and my feelings at present are confused and chaotic, which leads me to avoid them entirely.
I抦 running through a list of Ben抯 greatest hits, trying to continue disliking him, trying to justify the fact that I haven抰 said a word to him all day.
He stole my client.
He said 揑 told you you抎 beg?
But none of it holds the sting it once did, and I抦 not sure how to keep my boundaries in place without that. Finally, I spring from my chair and begin packing to leave. Maybe I抣l go talk to him, but more likely I抣l sneak away like a coward. He抣l be in Charlotte next week卛f I just avoid him entirely, perhaps things will be normal by the time he gets back.
I抳e slung the bag over my shoulder and am about to head out when Ben appears, looming in the frame of my door, looking at me without an ounce of his trademark certainty.
My stomach ties itself into a knot so tight it hurts. 揇id Webber drop the charges??I blurt out.
His mouth moves, a passing suggestion of pleasure. 揌e did.?He walks into the office, closing the door behind him. The sound it makes seems to echo through the room. 揑 thought you might have had something to do with it.?
I stare at my shoes before I look up to meet his eyes. 揟hank you,?I say quietly. 揊or what you did. You didn抰 need to, but匢抦 glad.?
He抯 moved closer since we began talking. 揑抦 so sorry that happened. I wish you抎 told me.?
I fidget, hoisting the bag farther onto my shoulder. 揥e don抰 tell each other things like that.?
His brows draw together, as if he is considering his next words. 揗aybe we should start.?He抯 close enough now for me to see the pale bruise under his eye. He got into an actual fistfight on my behalf, in public. I抦 drawn to that small mark on his cheek, as if it has value, as if it means more to me than all my possessions combined.
揧ou got hit,?I whisper.
He gives me the smallest possible shake of his head. 揟hat was just security, not Webber,?he says, as if that lessens the fact that he got hit on my behalf.
A thousand caustic responses come to mind. But what抯 overriding them all is a single thought: I can抰 imagine being here without him.
I close the distance between us and, on tiptoe, with my hands on his lapels, pull his mouth to mine.
For a moment he is still, shocked, and then梬ith a quiet grunt of surprise梙is hands go to my hips and he pulls me closer. His mouth is soft but growing more determined by the second, and I抳e never wanted anything more. His low groan vibrates in his chest as he deepens the kiss, his hands sliding over my ass, tugging my body tight to his. The smell of his aftershave, his body hard and looming over mine, the heat of his palms gripping me梚t抯 both too much and not nearly enough.
There抯 a dull thud as my back hits the wall. No part of him is reticent now, and I抦 arching to get closer, to feel the press of him, hard as steel against my rib cage. I will contort myself into a thousand shapes to be the one that fits him best.
My hands are on his belt when I hear the ding of the elevator卆nd reality hits like a hammer. What the hell am I doing right now? I抦 hooking up with a partner, putting everything I抳e worked for at risk, without a single guarantee.
I swear to God, I抣l never learn.
He blinks at me, as if coming out of a trance, his eyes dark and drugged. I slide out from the wall and stumble backward. Jesus, I have no idea how to get out of this. 揙kay, well then, um厰 I say, snatching my bag off the desk and heading for the door. 揋ood day to you, sir. Don抰 beat anyone up in Charlotte.?