I look at the smirk on Asher’s face and wish I really could just go around taking the chances that he does. With the complete shameless attitude that he does.
Asher thinks that he single-handedly built this firm and that he’s invincible against anything ever destroying it, even his own actions. He and I go way back— he was my friend in fucking middle school— so I cut him a lot of slack but I think his voracious appetite and playboy ways with the women he hires and supervises could land him in hot water. I’m always the one picking up the pieces and helping him out of the fucking jams he gets himself into.
Asher doesn’t know how easy he has everything. He’s not from the barrio like me— the part of town that is literally referred to as the “War Zone” in Albuquerque. He’s from the posh Northeast Heights neighborhood my mama had to drive to every day— first to scrub rich peoples’ floors and then to drop me off on her way at the private school I had been awarded a scholarship to attend, for being smart and good at tests but mostly for driving up their diversity numbers.
Asher’s parents had plenty of money to send him to the school I was lucky enough to have my way paid for me to be able to attend— a fact that none of my rich benefactors ever stopped rubbing in my fucking face for the entire six years I was there.
“Excuse me?” Ruby asks me now, raising an eyebrow at me in a more serious way than Asher just had.
For the first time, I notice what a very interesting shade of blue her eyes are: sky-blue mixed with gray. So, they look like a day that’s cloudy but about to get better. Like you can see the sun poking out from behind the clouds.
I can’t believe I just had that fucking thought. Luckily it was only to myself or everyone would have yet another reason to be fucking laughing at me today.
“How is it that you think you can so easily pull all the cases that have that one judge?” I ask Ruby.
She’s a relatively new floater and I’m sure she doesn’t understand how our filing system works. Although it’s pretty fucking self-explanatory if she would take a little bit of time away from listening to whatever undoubtedly in bad fucking taste music is always playing out of the headphones she wears and spend some time in the file room.
The files are arranged on the shelves in the filing room as anyone might expect: fucking alphabetically by client. Not in any way that has anything to do with the fucking judge on the case.
“Well when I first started I had a lot of free time on my hands,” she answers me, shrugging. “Still do, actually. So, I decided to do something productive in the file room that could make it easier to find files by additional ways instead of only alphabetically by last name.”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows at her, in near disbelief.
“And how is that?” I ask her. “In what other ways did you arrange the files, and how exactly would you be able to do that?”
“I know, right?” she asks, smiling as if she’s very proud of herself for devising something innovative. “I had the same question. Like, at first, I was wishing we didn’t even have to file things physically, since it doesn’t make a lot of sense anymore. Thanks to computers we have everything filed electronically and can arrange or search for them in all sorts of different ways. And that’s what I dislike about Pinterest.”
“Pinterest?” I ask her.
I’m vaguely familiar with the site, but I thought it was something that housewives or nannies used to collect pictures of their cooking or knitting projects. I didn’t know that someone fresh out of their teenage years would use Pinterest.
“Yeah, I use it for photos of album covers from bands that I like,” she says, “And I get annoyed that I can only sort things by boards. That’s it. So, I can have a band board, or a genre of music board, or a type of cover board, but if I want the same album to go in all three of them, I have to add it to every single board. It really should have tag options like Evernote.”
“Evernote,” I say, just as dumb-founded as when she mentioned Pinterest.
I’m a bit more familiar with Evernote but I thought it was something for tech junkies or executives who like to meticulously track their notes and documents. Again, not something I think a twenty-year-old would be interested in.
“Yeah, so I thought I’d make something that combines Pinterest and Evernote,” she says. “I’m working on it already, in fact.”
“In the filing room?” I ask her.
“No.”
She laughs, and I have to admit I fucking love the sound of it. And I love that she’s laughing about something I said, even if it’s because what I said made me sound like a fucking idiot. She’s still laughing because of me.
“I mean, yes,” she says, smiling. “I did something like that in the filing room. But I’m coding an app that does it too, for, like, on the computer.”
“I see,” I tell her. “You… code?”
I hadn’t realized that was part of a floater’s job description.
“Yes,” she says. “Well, in my spare time.”
She shrugs and looks away, as if she’s a little embarrassed. Or maybe like she doesn’t want to tell me anything else about what she does in her spare time. I suddenly realize she could have a boyfriend and I feel fucking outraged.
“Interesting,” Asher comments, and I instinctively feel a little fucking possessive.
I know he’s head over heels in lust with his new pet, Madilyn, and he only ever “mentors” one woman at a time.
But still.
I’m the one who started talking to this interesting assistant and I’m not going to let Asher mess that up for me. Even if I won’t explore my more basic instincts with her.
Will I?
“What do you call this program?” I ask her.
“You could call it Everest,” Asher says.
“Like the mountain you climbed?” Madilyn says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
She pops her head up from a cubicle where apparently she had been helping a secretary search for some files.
Fuck yeah.
I’m glad to know that Asher was showing off for Madilyn and not Ruby.
Because she’s mine.
What the fuck?
My cock seems to be saying it, even if my brain is willing it to calm down. To sit down instead of getting a bit hard in my slacks.
“Ha. Everest. I actually thought of that.”
Ruby laughs a little bit but it’s not nearly as genuine as when she was laughing with me. And she’s still looking at me and not at Asher.
Her head is tilted at me in a way that says, come and get me. And damn, do I want to. She just fucking oozes sex appeal.
If she weren’t my subordinate I’d have her pinned up against those filing cabinets she’s talking about, putting my hand over her mouth while she screams my name into it, so that no one can hear us fucking in the file room.
Clearly my cock is doing all the thinking now.
“But I don’t want it to be that obvious that that’s where I got my idea,” Ruby continues. “So, don’t tell anyone.”
She winks at me. Holy fuck is that hot.
“So, what is it called then?” I ask her.
“I don’t know yet.”
She shrugs.
“It’ll come to me. And in the meantime, I thought I’d work on our outdated filing room system. I thought I had stumbled upon this big elaborate idea but my execution of it was laughably simple. It was just based on a color scheme. Like the scheduling system I started up in Google Calendars.”
“The scheduling system?”
“Oh yeah,” says Sherry, one of the paralegals. “That’s really helped us figure out where everyone is when. Red is for court, yellow is for a meeting, blue is for out of the office for personal reasons, pink is for…”
“Exactly,” Ruby says, before Sherry can continue. “So, I just stuck with the idea of the color system. But I had to add shapes, too. To get the full effect of the ‘tagging’ idea that Evernote uses.”
“I see,” I tell her.
I have to admit I’m fucking impressed.
“Yeah. So, if you’re wondering why our office supply budget jumped up a bit last month, it’s probably because I needed to order Sticky Notes in all different colors and shapes. I added these color- and shape- coded stickers to the folders so that we know which ones have which judges, or are in which courts, or have which of the most common opposing attorneys that you guys always seem to be fighting with.”
She winks at me again before continuing.
“Stars are for judges. So, I just have to go load up the folders with red stars on them into this cart with wheels—” she gestures to a cart that the runners and floaters keep in the corner— “and we’ll be good to go with all the Baez files that need these new Motions to Recuse filed into them.”
“Wow,” I tell her, seriously, seriously impressed.
But then I look down at the shoes she’s wearing: red patent leather heels. I don’t know much about fashion, but they look nice with the black and white little dress she’s wearing. But they’d look even better without it: if I could get her out of that dress and onto my cock. And by the way she keeps winking at me, I’m pretty sure I can.
Except I can’t. Not really. I just wish I could.
“My only question is which of our strapping young men that serve as runners you’re going to ask to help you do that.”
“Oh, I don’t need any help,” she says, putting her headphones on. “They’d just ruin my jams anyway, asking me a bunch of questions about my system that they never understand, even though, quite frankly, it’s plain as day if they just look at the shapes and the colors and my list that explains what everything is.”
“You have a list?” I ask her.
“Sure, and I also arranged everything electronically using actual tags— which is way easier than ordering and using all the Sticky Notes— for when this firm finally gets with the times and moves to an all-electronic filing system. Even though I’ll probably be long gone by the time that magical day ever fucking rolls around.”
“Excuse me?” I ask her.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand.
Her fingernails are painted red with some white birds on top. This is just another example of how she is one of the most interesting and beautiful creatures I think I have ever fucking seen.
I don’t mind the language— hell, everyone here knows my mouth and Asher’s mouth and the mouths of most of the partners at the firm are filthy as fuck— but I can’t believe she just admitted that this job doesn’t mean that much to her.
Sure, I’m not sure why it would to most twenty-year-olds. She’s probably in college at night or otherwise on her way to bigger and better things. But most people have the sense not to admit that to their boss.
But this Ruby chick doesn’t seem to have a filter. And I have to admit I fucking like that about her. My cock obviously does too, because I can’t seem to get it to stop standing a little too much at attention.
“Oh yeah,” she adds, as if what she had said just dawned on her. “I mean, who knows? Maybe I’ll run this place one day. But probably not. My life doesn’t usually work out that way.”
She shrugs and begins pushing the wheeled cart in the direction of the file room.
I think I have just met my fucking match. But it can’t possibly be. She’s not even old enough to drink.
My heart says: I think I’m in love.
My cock says: I know I need to fuck her no matter what.
My brain says: I’m not listening to either of you. But at least I temporarily forgot about my shitty day in court.