Damn.
I pushed the heavy glass door, lunch bag and empty mug in hand, ready to start back after a brief hiatus from Dickerson, Hill, and Sanders Law Firm.
I wasn’t cursing about my return to work, or the fact that I felt just as lost as I had two weeks ago when Daddy died. No, I cursed because I wasn’t ready for well-wishes.
Or fake wishes.
Marc Sanders, one of the owners and a partner, would be authentic. David Nero, a fellow staff attorney and my nemesis, would give me fake sympathy. But I was an adult and a Donaldson. We didn’t run away from difficulty, we conquered it. So, I marched into the breakroom, my pink, four-point-seven-two-inch Louboutins clicking against the tile announcing my arrival. Marc stopped mid-conversation with David, giving him the universal “hold up” finger. David pressed his lips together, likely very annoyed at my noisy entrance that took time away from his precious mentor.
My pace brisk, I strode over and opened the door to the fridge and then placed my lunch inside. “Gentlemen.” I nodded and moved a few steps over to the coffee machine.
“Heeyyy, Maya.” Marc’s firm grip grasped my shoulder as I waited for the coffee to drip. “How’re you holding up?”
I fixed my lips into a not-too-happy yet not-too-sad smile and then turned around. “I’m okay.”
“Your father will be missed.” His brown eyes drooped a bit at the corners. “Did I ever tell you he helped me get my first client?”
I shook my head, though he’d told me a few times already. It made people happy to share memories of Daddy.
I let Marc ramble on while I tried to anchor myself to his words, attempting to hold back the tidal wave of grief that threatened to consume and carry me away.
Breathe. Focus. Smile. Nod.
“Here I was, thinking I’m a hotshot with my brand-spanking-new law degree, and just like that”—Marc snapped his fingers—“I thought I could take over this small town. I strutted around, giving out my cards, wearing a full suit and sporting a heavy Jersey accent. No one, I mean, NO ONE”—he waved a hand—“would touch me with a ten-foot pole. Then I get really desperate and start hanging out at the courthouse. Judge Joe takes me to the side, tells me that instead of walking around like my shit don’t stink, I needed to look people in the eye when I talked to them. After that, well . . .” He waved his hand again. “Proof’s in the pudding. Judge Joe . . .” Marc sighed. “He was a hell of a guy.”
Everyone loved Dad. The brilliant attorney turned judge had a heart of gold. Instead of sending screw-up kids to jail, he’d allowed the offenders to invest in the community. Although he’d had a soft spot and granted second chances, Daddy wasn’t a pushover. The repeat offenders found that out with the loud clack of his gavel and a prison sentence.
Marc stuffed his hands into his pockets and bobbed his head. He did this every time he was winding up or ramping down a closing argument or a conversation.
Say something before it gets sad and awkward.
The last of my coffee dripped into my favorite mug that stated: I LIKE MY COFFEE BLACK, LIKE MY SOUL. I grabbed my cup and then leaned against the counter. “I’m truly grateful for the meal vouchers. I hadn’t had a chance to mail out thank-you cards, and I—”
“Of course, you haven’t.”
“But I—”
Marc waved away my fake protest. “I’m sure you have a million and one things to do. When my mother, God rest her soul, passed on, I barely had time to come up for air. I know you have a lot of people cooking for you right now. When things settle, and you need a break, use the vouchers.”
David cleared his throat as if I needed a reminder of his slimy presence. He stood right beside Marc, nodding at everything Marc had said to me about Daddy.
David, an all-star pro at the art of bullshitting, attended every networking event. If the owners went golfing, he’d worm his way into an invite. And it worked for him. He got awarded the big cases that would earn big dollars, and the ones that were so slam dunk you’d have to be fresh out of law school to lose.
“If you’re too busy for work, I’m happy to chip in. I’ve made great strides with Mrs. Stevenson, and I’m happy to take it to trial while you . . . grieve.” David’s tone left a Sweet’N Low aftertaste in my mouth.
Hell no, you cannot steal my case.
“Thank you for the offer, David, but that won’t be necessary.” I puppeteered a smile.
Another partner, Roland Hill, strode into the kitchen. My pulse raced at NASCAR speeds. I cleared my throat and returned my attention to David.
“Are you sure, Maya?” David’s unibrow lifted in solidarity.
“Very. I’ve been looking at your notes, tightening up a few things. I’ll take the interviews from here. Thanks for the research, but Mrs. Stevenson seemed excited to have me back onboard.”
Marc nodded. “Tell me about it. She kept asking for you and wanted your address to send flowers and food. You’ve got the magic touch with her, for sure.”
“Thanks, Marc.”
The case had initially been assigned to David. Six months ago, the widow had been a wreck when she first came to the firm and could barely get out a word without breaking down.
Back then, David stomped out of the meeting room into the cafeteria where many of us had been eating lunch. “I can’t understand a damn thing she’s saying, other than ‘Dan’s dead.’ Anyway, I’ve got the Billings case that’s going to trial next week. Can someone else take her?”
Katy, our paralegal, smiled and said, “Maya, your case just wrapped up today, didn’t it?”
I already had three or four more cases than all other junior attorneys, but since I was put on the spot by Thing 1 and Katy, Thing 2, I said yes. Besides, I hated it when clients were dismissed because they were emotional.
After our consultation, I’d discovered that her case had the potential to bring in major money, seeing as her husband was killed in a tractor trailer accident.
I worked with Mrs. Stevenson and nursed her back to emotional health. After a few meetings she laughed and smiled again.
All that to say, hell, fuck no, David wouldn’t be taking over my case. Not to mention, a successful win for this case would damn near solidify my spot as a partner.
I mustered up another smile. Mouth open, check. Teeth on display. Double check. “Thank you again for your research. You really shine in that area.”
David narrowed his eyes, knowing I’d relegated him to a research assistant, not a trial attorney.
“Glad to see you both working together.” Marc patted David’s back. “And Maya, it’s good to have you back. The team meetings have been boring without your spirited debates.”
I gave him a smile, a real one this time, and saluted him with my coffee. “I’m a Donaldson. We always have something colorful to add.”
After I stepped into my office, I did my usual routine: boot laptop, sip coffee, and kick off shoes. I put my cell on silent and pushed it to the edge of my desk.
Now what?
My take-on-the-world attitude disappeared.
I plopped my mug on the desk and pushed my feet against the floor, swiveling my chair around. Every time it stopped moving, I pushed myself off, again and again, twirling around like I had all the time in the world.
A sliver of silver caught my attention. I didn’t need to look at the picture in the frame, my mind’s eye clearly recalled the image: me and Daddy at my law school graduation.
Me with a big smile, all teeth and a little gum and my eyes so squinty they looked closed. Daddy’s long arms wrapped around my shoulders while he kissed my cheek. His attention was focused on me. I don’t think he was aware of the camera.
Daddy had been wistful that day with broad smiles and bear hugs.
“I’m so proud of you, Baby Girl. Your mama would’ve been proud of you, too, graduating at the top of your class.” Dad stepped back, pride etched on his chestnut-brown face. “Mark my words, you’re going to change the world.”
On our way home from the ceremony, I’d asked Daddy to stop by Mama’s grave. On special milestones, Daddy and I left her flowers. I always thanked her for giving me life. But, when Jeanie’s mouth began to tremble and her face turned tomato red, he brushed me off.
“It’s been a long day, Baby Girl. Let’s go later. Just the two of us.”
We never went to share my news. We never will. A mass of pain sat over my left eye where it made camp over the past two weeks. Anytime I thought of Daddy it thumped like a bass drum. Thoughts of Daddy were convoluted: grief, then anger, chased by guilt. “Not here.” I pressed my fingers against my eyelids. “Not now.”
Both my parents were gone. Mama had been reduced to mental snapshots of braiding my hair, bedtime stories and singing in the choir. Memories of Mama were fond but fading.
Memories of Daddy were torture.
Nausea slammed into my stomach, threatening to propel two ounces of coffee and two tons of agony. My mind whirred, never focusing on one thing but skipping like a scratched record.
His easy smile falling off when he realized he’d burned our toast.
Daddy casting a fishing rod in the lake while he stumbled through the birds-and-the-bees talk, attempting to keep it scientific until he got frustrated and said, “Boys only want one thing.”
I hooked the creepy crawler and slid it down the hook. I smiled a little. I didn’t shriek or cry like I did last time. Daddy said I needed to be tough because the world was hard. “What’s the thing boys want, Daddy?”
“To feel you up and let you down.”
I shook my head. “Can you really say all boys, because you said to never generalize a group—”
“Yes. All of them.” He nodded once and told me to be quiet and bait my line.
“Bored already?”
I dropped my feet to the ground to stop the spinning and focused on the familiar voice.
I swallowed and licked my lips. “Mr. Hill.”
“Miss Donaldson.” His brown, almond-shaped eyes roved over me, sending electric zings down my body.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, as one of the paralegals called him, shot me a killer smile, biting down on one corner of his lips. He was usually clean-shaven but in the past few months he’d grown a beard. I wasn’t a fan of beards, but the look worked for him. His impressive gray suit covered even more impressive muscles. His shoulders were so broad I wondered if he lifted boulders instead of hundred-pound weights.
I squirmed in my seat, and his eyes ignited. He knew damn well what he was doing.
Refraining from rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms and cleared my throat.
“Can I help you, Mr. Hill?” And knock on the damn door next time.
He was a partner at the firm and technically my boss, but I didn’t report to him. Regardless, he knew I preferred he knock before entering.
“No, I don’t need anything. I’m checking in on you. It’s your first day back, you have some major cases underway, and I figured—”
“You figured I couldn’t handle it, Mr. Hill.”
“Maya.” His tone compassionate yet reproving. He knew I knew better.
I dropped my head and averted my gaze.
“You can talk to me, you know.”
“I know.” I swallowed, my throat drier than sandpaper. “B-but if I do . . .” I swallowed again, but this time I looked up, taking in a deep breath—an attempt to remove the quiver from my voice. “I need to work,” I whispered. “I need to be around people.” I sniffed before the tears crawled up my throat.
He nodded. “I figured the first day back would be rough for you. And I know how you love caramel macchiatos.” He brought around the hand he’d been keeping behind his back and revealed a cup from the only Starbucks that was clear across town.
I leaned forward, hand outstretched. “Skim milk?”
“And no whip. I’m not some amateur.” He gave me the hot beverage.
I took a deep breath and accepted the offering. “Thank you, Roland.”
“You’re always welcome, Maya.” His eyes lit and dancing with a secret he was dying to tell.
I grabbed a file from the corner of my desk. “I really am ready to work now.” I smiled. “Thanks.”
He nodded, shooting me another hot look. Just before he turned to leave, he paused at the door. “I’ll be seeing you, Maya.”
“Yes.” I gave him a wobbly smile. “I suspect you will.”
His mouth quirked at the corners. He turned and left my office.
I sipped the hot beverage. My spirts had lifted, but I still couldn’t focus.
Thrumming my fingers, my eyes drifted back to the very thing I tried to avoid, my phone.
“Don’t do it,” I chided myself.
But I needed to hear Daddy’s voice. The last voicemail he left before he died.
“Screw it.” Leaning over, I grabbed my phone and punched in the code for voicemail.
“Hey, Baby Girl. I know you’re working late. I saw the oil light blinking so I’m going to pick up your car and swing it by Tony’s shop.” A deep sigh rattled my receiver. “Okay, that’s not the real reason I called you. I’ve been thinking about our talk on the lake. I was wrong for what I said. I think you’ll make a great partner. I was just mad because I always thought you’d want to start a firm with your old man. But Marc’s a good guy—not as good as me—but he knows what he’s doing. So, go for partner. Just know that you’ll have to work twice as hard to get it. Keep a cool head at all times and don’t let ’em see you sweat. Okay, we’ll talk more this Sunday. Bye, Baby Girl. Oh, wait, one more thing. Do me a favor and swing by Aunt Clara Bell’s before you come over on Sunday. She’s making banana pudding.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t want Jeanie to get all worked up about it.”
I put my phone down and squeezed my eyes shut. I could recite the message by now, but the jab of pain never lessened. After hearing Daddy’s voice, pure joy filled my center. Warm and soothing, like hot tea and honey.
Just as quickly as joy arrived, pain took over, hitting me like a one-two punch. I didn’t want to get up. I wanted to sit there and bleed. Maybe catch my breath after the gut punch.
But Daddy wouldn’t want that.
Tears rushed to the surface. I squeezed my eyelids tight, my breath coming out in pants. My eyes flew open and it felt as if a wet, hazy filter blurred my vision. With the side of my fingers, I dashed tears away and reinforced the dam that threatened to break free and flood me.
“I won’t let you down, Daddy. I’ll make partner.”
The day had passed, and the sun had begun its descent. I pushed away from my desk, massaging my eyes. Thankfully, I was nearly caught up on Mrs. Stevenson’s case. Although David had done an excellent job the few weeks I was away, his notes hadn’t been easy to decipher.
The man wanted me to come to him and ask a bunch of questions. And with his office located squarely between two partners at the firm, they would witness my multiple walks of shame had I not been determined to figure out things on my own. If I called him, he would’ve put me on speaker and if I emailed, he would’ve copied our bosses in his reply. I knew this because he’d done it before—make me look inept while he got all the glory.
I didn’t let it slide. I took my complaints to Roland, the youngest and most approachable partner, not to mention David’s boss. Roland thanked me and told me he’d resolve it. I don’t know what Roland said to David, but ever since, David was more careful in how he spoke to me in front of the partners.
Still, I’d been burned. And now I’d take my evenings to catch up rather than ask that snake for help. Besides, I had no plans and work kept depression at bay.
After packing up my briefcase, I set off for home. Tonight, I’d catch up on my other two cases while binge-watching bad reality TV. Most people would assume that I only watched Law & Order and How to Get Away with Murder, but after hours of scouring legalese, my mind needed a break. Big Brother had been my latest guilty pleasure and I’d mastered the art of listening while working.
After my short trip home to my apartment, I showered and ordered Chinese food.
“Cookies. I need cookies.” Decision made, I pulled ingredients from my pantry: flour, old-fashioned oats, brown sugar, and raisins.
The doorbell rang. I glanced at my watch. “That was quick.” I’d just ordered the food fifteen minutes ago. The bell rang again. “Coming, coming.” I grabbed my wallet, rushed to the entrance and yanked open the door.
Instead of my usual pimply-faced, teenage guy, Roland leaned against the doorframe. The three-piece suit he’d worn earlier had been replaced by a denim shirt. A liberal number of buttons were undone to reveal his hard chest.
“Rola—” Before I could finish his name, he rushed me, cupped my jaw, pressed me into the wall, and kissed me senseless. The door slammed behind us. He lifted me in the air, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing him with equal intensity. Somehow, he walked us to the couch. I pushed myself up and arched my back while he stared down at me as if I were a dream. His dream.
My breath stalled in my lungs. I was equally pleased and dismayed. I needed to focus on making partner, not being his dream girl.
This thing, this attraction we had for each other, wasn’t a relationship. It was a long-standing booty call. Yes, a little over a year ago we mutually decided to make our booty calls exclusive with occasional trips out of town. But one of us would stop it when the time was right. Most likely, me.
I cleared my throat, my chest now heaving under his intense gaze. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.”
“But it’s Monday.”
He shrugged. “I needed to see you. I think our seeing each other only on Tuesdays and Saturdays is a stupid rule, anyway.” He lowered himself beside me, reached for the remote and muted the television. “How’re you holding up?” His thumb grazed my lips. I shivered from his warm touch.
“Some days are better than others.” I pushed him off and scooted away. “The caramel macchiato helped.”
He hooked his leg around mine and pulled me closer to face him, all the while giving me the infamous Roland Hill look. The one he used to cross-examine witnesses, eyes narrowed, lips pinched, and head tilted. The subtle, yet stern look that forced a person to confess all. I was usually immune, but today it worked on me.
“Okay, I’m a hot mess. Jeanie, my daddy’s wife, is stumbling around like a zombie. And something is off with Ryder. She’s hiding something from me. Whenever I call, she’s in a rush to get off the phone.”
Roland massaged my shoulders. “People deal with grief differently. Maybe you remind her of your father?”
I shook my head and leaned against his chest. “No, I don’t think that’s it. The girl has been my shadow since she was three years old and they moved in with us. We usually talk every day. No.” I shook my head again. “Something’s up. But I’ll see them for the reading of the will on Thursday.”
Maybe I shouldn’t wait until then, I thought. I could pop by unannounced. Like lover boy here. We had rules of engagement, and for the most part, we stuck to them. Rule number one, never go to his house. It was a rule I created because his neighbor is the father of the biggest gossip in our office: Katy, our paralegal. She didn’t live with her parents but was at her parents’ house often enough to know Roland’s comings and goings. Not to mention she had the hots for him. One word whispered about our affair could mean the end of my chances to make partner.
Although fraternizing was technically allowed, it was generally frowned upon. Not to mention generally women tend to not come out on top when affairs are discovered.
Roland would get a slap on the wrist and a high five when no one was looking.
I would either be frozen out by my coworkers or blocked from any real promotions or exciting cases until I got the hint and resigned. The very same situation happened to a friend of mine from law school. I’d be damned if my career got iced because I couldn’t control my hormones.
Roland rubbed my arms. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“No idea.” No matter how many times I set my thermometer to seventy-five degrees, lately it seemed like it reset to fifty degrees.
“I’ll check your thermostat.” He stood and went to the wall that led to the kitchen.
“You know . . . my daddy used to say if you don’t pay the bills, don’t mess with the temperature.”
“Mhmmm.” Roland tapped on the gauge. “You need to call the management company. It says it’s on seventy-five, but it feels like it’s below freezing. You want me to call them?”
“Umm . . . no thanks.” I snorted and shook my head.
Instead of coming back to the sofa, Roland scanned the ingredients on the island in my kitchen.
He picked up the bag of raisins. “Are you making me oatmeal-and-raisin cookies?”
“I’m baking, yes.”
“For me?”
“For . . . for people.” I licked my lips.
“You know oatmeal and raisins are my favorite.”
“Really?” I shrugged. “Didn’t know. Happy coincidence.”
He chuckled, leaning against the counter. “You hate raisins.”
I did, but how did he know? “Says who?”
“You pick the damn things out of the cookies, Princess.”
“Ryder likes oatmeal-and-raisin cookies, too.”
“Uh-huh,” he said as he sat at the round breakfast table in my kitchen. Manilla folders, legal pads, and my iPad were scattered across the tabletop.
“Bringing work home?” He flipped through cases and I let him. Sometimes when one of us needed help with strategy, we bounced ideas off each other. He was brilliant, and though I didn’t like asking for help, I did my best for my clients.
I shrugged. “Not exactly. I fell behind on some of our pro bonos.”
“Sanjeeta Bahati?”
“She was passed over for a promotion. Boss straight up told her he didn’t like her kind . . . Muslims. And he’s been reprimanded in the past for saying some racist-ass comments.”
“Any witnesses willing to go on record?” Roland asked, flipping through papers.
“I’ve got one brave soul.”
“Still, it’s going to be tough.”
Roland knew the deal. It would seem like it would be a slam dunk, but companies, big and small, tended to put their heads in the sand. They only paid attention if they got bad press or found themselves in the middle of a social media war.
“It’s a good thing she documented her clients’ and peers’ feedback,” he added. “Otherwise it would be harder to prove.”
“I’ve got a few more aces up my sleeve. He’s an asshole: cheats on his wife, hits his kids. I’m going to see if we can add that to the discovery to question his character. And I’m going to slide his wife my business card and resources for a shelter while I’m at it.”
“You always find a way, Warrior Princess.”
“I can’t change hearts, but I can make ’em pay.” I rubbed my fingers together. The world was full of selfish, opportunistic assholes. Once, I had a guy who’d paid an old friend a shitload of money to seduce his soon-to-be ex-wife so he could get out of paying alimony. I knew people who orchestrated car accidents to get money from insurance companies. And sometimes people were just plain dumb. Someone had even called me to ask if they could sue a frozen food giant because they got a bad case of gas.
So, when a good person—a person who actually needs help—gets screwed, I’m all up in that ass. I especially take joy in going after insurance companies.
My phone vibrated on the table. I recognized the number from the gate and buzzed the visitor in. Which reminded me that I hadn’t buzzed Roland in.
“Who’s that?”
“Chinese food. And how did you get past the gate without me buzzing you in? As a matter of fact, you rarely call me from the gate when you’re here.” The luxury apartment complex had decent security. We usually had a guard on duty and, if not, a gate system. Daddy had made sure of it before I moved out of the house after I returned home from law school.
“I know your security guy, Stan the man.”
“Stan the man?”
“Yep, his name is Stan and I call him ‘the man.’ Ever since then, he just buzzes me in. Tonight, I followed behind another vehicle.”
“Jesus.”
“So Chinese food, huh? I could eat.”
“I only ordered enough for myself.” It was a lie. I always ordered enough for two meals, but he needed to learn that popping by was not okay. Giving him food would be like giving tuna to a stray cat.
“Fine.” He gave me a slow smile while reaching for his phone. “I’ll just order something from Lenny’s diner. They deliver, and hey, I’m sure Sheila, your aunt’s friend, won’t notice my name and the fact that the order’s being delivered to your apartment.” He typed a few numbers, but before he could press the button to call, I grabbed his cell.
“Fine. I can spare you some food. But next time, call me first.”. . .
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