Chapter Ten
Ryan wasn’t kidding about my legs. They feel like they need to be cut off and sent in for repair. Ugly bruises cover the center of my right shin. I took a picture of them and almost texted him with the caption, “You were right,” but thought better of it. I’m sure he sees bruises all the time.
I uncross my legs in the chair I occupy in the minimalistic waiting room of Dr. Martin Culpepper. Kenneth sits opposite me, flicking through emails on his phone.
The door clicks, and a receptionist appears, greeting us with a smile. Nothing moves but her mouth, and I wonder how many chemicals she had to have injected in her face to keep it frozen like that.
We reach Dr. Culpepper’s office, and as he stands to greet us, my eyes go wide. He’s positively tiny—a detail that wasn’t conveyed in the smiling headshot on his webpage. He can’t be more than five feet. I’m surprised the bird in question didn’t snatch him up with his sharp talons and fly off.
I must look like a gangly giant when I reach to shake his hand. I’m only five foot four—a bit taller with my heels—but I feel entirely too large.
“Thanks for coming across town to see me,” he says, sitting.
Kenneth nods. “No problem, Doctor. We want to make things as easy as possible for you.”
Three black cubes displaying breast implant samples sit atop Dr. Culpepper’s desk. Wow. The troll dolls don’t seem so weird now. These would be a downright distraction.
Kenneth gestures to one. “You must do a lot of business with those.”
“I do. Pick it up if you’d like.” Kenneth palms one, testing its weight by bouncing it in his hand, and Dr. Culpepper says, “That’s our smooth, round, moderate profile.”
Are you kidding me? The case has absolutely nothing to do with breast implants.
“Huh,” Kenneth utters, as though he’s giving the boob a lot of thought. “Kind of feels like a stress ball, but more pliable.” He rolls it between both palms and closes his eyes. I have to pretend it’s a ball of dough he’s prepping for a baking sheet, because otherwise…ew. He opens his eyes, and a lazy smile bends his lips. “I actually prefer this to the stress balls I use.”
Oh, for the love of God. If he thinks for one second about asking for a few samples to stuff in his stress-ball jar, I’m going to die.
“Makes sense. They’re built to feel nice.”
I cringe.
Kenneth places the implant back on the cube, thank goodness, and takes out a pen and legal pad, all business. Maybe he finally remembered I’m sitting here right next to him while they’re fondling breast implants.
“Our plan is to proceed as though we’re going to trial. We’ll need to get some information, including itemized documents of your lost earnings and the personal medical records you acquired as a result of your injury.”
Dr. Culpepper launches into a description of his illness, the misdiagnosis, and his eventual surgery. To be honest, the entire discussion kind of creeps me out. There’s no way I could’ve ever become a doctor.
“Stronger regulations need to be in place,” Dr. Culpepper says. “If that bird had bitten a child, serious damage could’ve resulted.”
Bingo! In reading the facts of the case, I had questions about Dr. Culpepper’s motivations for filing suit—if he had any above and beyond monetary compensation. I like that he wants changes implemented.
As our meeting winds down, Kenneth turns to me. “I’ll have you stay to collect the documents, since I have another meeting in thirty minutes. You can grab an Uber back to the office.”
“Sure.” If I time it right, I’ll be able to call Hannah during her lunch break and check in. She said Alex hasn’t mentioned the rings again, but he’d snuck a photo of the one she liked.
Dr. Culpepper smiles at me from across his desk as Kenneth leaves. “I’ll get those documents from my secretary. Feel free to look at my books while you wait. Not that you need any work done,” he adds quickly. “People pay to have noses like yours.”
I offer a tentative smile, wondering if he also subtly checked out my chest. Pushing the thought aside, I slide my phone from my briefcase. Kenneth has been gone only ten minutes, and I have two new emails from him—the first asking me to research and write a memorandum for a case involving a nurse who was injured while working in the ER, and the next asking me to write an article on legal and ethical issues regarding third-party litigation funding for a law magazine.
Taking my laptop from my bag, I begin reading the file on the nurse. Before I reach the end, Dr. Culpepper’s secretary steps in with a folder. “Here are the documents. I’ve placed my business card on top in case you require anything additional.”
“Thanks.” I head to the elevators and tap my Uber app. My phone rings when I land on the first floor. Kenneth’s number shows on the screen.
“Hi, I’m heading back to the office now.”
“Are you still in Beverly Hills?”
“Yes. I’ve just finished with the doctor and am waiting for my car.”
“Good, good. Listen. I screwed up and forgot my girlfriend’s birthday. I need you to have your driver stop at Gable’s so you can pick up a gift. Make sure it’s something she likes.”
“Okay. I’m on it. What does she like?” I wait for his answer. “Kenneth? Kenneth?” but he’s already hung up. I dial him back, but it goes straight to voicemail. I slam my phone against my leg and pace down the street, keeping an eye out for my Uber.
I click onto Facebook and type Kenneth York into the search bar. It’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll get lucky and discover the identity of his significant other. If she has a public profile, I can glean some information about her.
Four Kenneth Yorks pop up. The pictures are tiny, but I recognize him in photo number three and tap on it. My car arrives, and I climb in, directing the driver to Gable’s. As he navigates his way up Camden toward Little Santa Monica, I touch the about button, hoping Kenneth’s relationship status will provide me with a name.
But there’s nothing. Just a big, fat blank space. I scroll through his posts, but the most recent one is two years old.
We pull up to Gable’s, and I ask the driver to wait.
A man in an elegant suit approaches me, his hands clasped like a mortician’s. “Hello, madam. May I be of any assistance to you?”
“Yes, thanks. I need to buy a gift for my boss’s girlfriend.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Um, I’m not certain what she likes. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Indeed. Perhaps a fine perfume bottle or a set of Rogaska champagne flutes?”
“I’m not sure they drink champagne.”
He nods. “I see. A lovely pair of Austrian crystal earrings just came in. Any woman would love them.”
“What if she doesn’t have pierced ears?” This is stupid. Kenneth should be buying the gift, not me.
“Certainly. Would you prefer a necklace? Perhaps an elegant broach?”
I would prefer not to have to deal with this. There are a million important things to do back at the office. “I just don’t know. Maybe I should try once more to reach him.”
I dial, but reach voicemail again. This is impossible. An image of Patty with her cheerful smile pops into my mind. Without giving it another thought, I dial our receptionist.
She picks up on the first ring. “Janks and Lowe. How may I direct your call?”
“Hi, Patty. It’s Katie Capwell.”
“Hi, hon. Kenneth’s out at the moment. Do you want his voicemail?”
“No,” I say, speaking in a hushed tone. “I need a favor. He asked me to buy something for his girlfriend, but he only told me to shop at Gable’s. Do you have any idea what his girlfriend likes?”
A clattering sound makes me pull the phone from my ear. “Sorry, dear. Phone slipped right out of my hand. He asked you to buy a gift? For his girlfriend?” she says, lowering her voice.
“Yes. I know I probably shouldn’t ask for help on this, but I’m stuck. Do you have any ideas?”
“Katie,” she whispers, “no one knows about this. No one. But I’m his girlfriend.”
My phone starts to slide from where it’s perched between my shoulder and ear, and I grab it. “Excuse me?”
“It’s me,” she whispers.
An image of Kenneth and Patty sneaking into the supply closet floats into my mind, but I blink it away. “Oh. Um, that’s great. I guess I called the right person, then,” I say with a nervous laugh.
“You bet you did. I’m browsing the site as we speak, but I’ll play dumb. He’ll never know we talked, okay?” She pauses, and I hear the sound of her nails tapping the keyboard. “Oh!” she squeals. “The Daum frog is delightful. And it’s in acid green! Ohhh…there’s one in lilac, too. You’ll have to decide for me. I’m in love with both.”
“The damn frog?”
“Daum, dear. Daum. D-A-U-M. It’s a French crystal company.”
“Super.” I rack my brain, trying to recall if my mother has any Daum crystal, but I come up blank. “Anything else, just in case?”
“This is so fun! I’ll have to practice my surprised look in the mirror. Kenneth likes to be in complete control, if you know what I mean.”
Oh God. I don’t want to hear anything about any of this. “I won’t say a word.”
“You’ll never believe it! They have a love monkey necklace. Alex Woo. It’s perfect. Maybe too perfect. He’d get suspicious. Never mind. I’ll give him a subtle suggestion another time. Go with a pearl necklace. Wait! No, that’s too much. Just the frog.” She lowers her voice. “I have to go.”
She hangs up, and I turn to the man in the elegant suit, giving him a feeble smile. “I’ll take one Daum frog in acid green. Thanks.”
It’s after five when Kenneth finally summons me to his office so he can collect his gift. I walk in to catch him pressing both fists to his eyes, rubbing them. “Close the door and have a seat.”
I do as he asks. He lifts the box from the bag, setting it on the desk in front of him, and frowns. “Why’d you have this wrapped? I need to see what I’m giving.”
“I printed out an image. They do such a nice job wrapping, I assumed it’d be okay to only see a photo.”
“I don’t want to see pictures. I want to see what I paid for in 3D.” His open frustration surprises me. Maybe his meeting didn’t go well. He lifts his hands in defeat. “Can you open this thing? You have fingernails, don’t you?”
My nails are cut short for kickboxing, but I take the package anyway. After several failed attempts, I finally manage to get up a small corner, tearing the paper in the process. I act like nothing happened and ease the paper from the box, handing it to Kenneth. “Here you go.”
He lifts the Daum frog, a quizzical look on his face. “A frog?”
“Yes. The Daum frog in acid green,” I say as though everyone has heard of it.
He flips it in his hand, and I suck in a breath, afraid it’ll break. That frog cost him a lot of money. “You would be happy with a ceramic frog?”
My shoulders droop. As much as I want to blurt that Patty will love it, I know I can’t. “The clerk insisted they’re the new hot thing. Everyone wants one.”
“In the under-ten age group, I’m presuming. Take it back. I’d appreciate it if next time you verify the gift is appropriate.” He lifts the lid from his candy jar and grabs a handful of gummy candies, smacking his thin lips.
It is the right gift! Patty was over the moon about the frog.
“But I—”
“Never mind.” His eyes meet mine, two stern slits brimming with anger. “Let’s hope, for all our sakes, my girlfriend loves it. Also, I need to see the article I asked you to write.”
I clench my jaw. He sent the email about the memo first, so I presumed it should take priority. I haven’t started on the article. “May I give it to you in the morning? It’s not complete. The memo is, though.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I tap it, wishing it would shut up.
“The article is due tomorrow, and I’ll need to review it.” He glances at his watch. “You have until nine.” He slides the box across his desk. “And rewrap this for me. ASAP.” His thin lips ease into a smarmy smile. No wonder Patty liked the freaking frog. It looks just like him.
“Of course.” I gather the box and paper, carefully placing them in the bag before rushing from his office back to mine. High-level projects, my ass. That’s what he said on my first day. And now I’m wrapping gifts? Good thing Mom spent all that money on my law school. It’s certainly come in handy for the shopping and gift wrapping. My phone buzzes again, and I pull it from my pocket, wondering if Kenneth somehow fired off a text when I was standing there in his office. But it’s not from him. The name on the screen makes me smile.
How are those legs of yours?
Smiling, I type my answer. Decorated with lovely splotches of black-and-blue.
Oh shit. Arnica gel helps with bruising. Do they hurt?
No, I’m okay.
You’re such a badass.
I reread Ryan’s words, reveling in the feel of the compliment as it wraps around me. No one thinks I’m a badass, but I like that he does. That’s definitely going on my gratitude list.
I try. ;)
We still on for tomorrow?
Yep.
Awesome. Have a great night, Katie.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and bite my lip. The anger I felt slips from me, replaced by a thrilling warmth. There’s a very strong probability he checks in with all his clients, but I like that he checked in with me.
I retie the bow and stroll back to Kenneth’s office.
“Here you go! The receipt is in the bag. I paid with my credit card, so if you can write me a check, that’d be great.”
“Thank you, Katie. I’ll get it to you in the morning.” He picks up a troll doll from his desk—the one with the bright-blue hair—and spins it in his hand. “Unless she doesn’t like the gift. Then you’ll pay for it.” He twists the hair into a neat spiral and places the troll back in line before looking up at me. “I’m kidding. Now get to work on that article. I want it perfect.” Once again, he smiles a frog-like grin.
Whatever. I’m a badass.
Back in my office, the thrill of Ryan’s text fades as I reread Kenneth’s earlier email. He expects me to complete an article for publication on third-party litigation funding by nine? It’ll take me that long to do the research. But did he say nine p.m.? Now that I think about it, he said it’s due tomorrow. Or was it tonight? I should’ve written it down.
Whatever the case, I have no choice but to get started. As I wake my computer, I dial Lauren.
“Hey! I was just going to text you. Dinner tonight?”
“I wish.” Lowering my voice, I say, “I’m stuck here until I finish an article.”
“Aw, that sucks. We’ll do it another night, though. Good luck with the article.”
“Thanks. I need it.”
At eleven fifty, I send the article to Kenneth.
Fatigue tugs on my limbs as I stand, and my knees can’t seem to do their job. I sink back into my chair and ease my head onto my desk. It’s cold against the warm skin of my cheek. I’ll stay here for only a minute. My breath slows, and sleep seduces me with its gentle pull. Maybe just a little nap. That’s all I need. Just a little nap.
A man is shouting at me. I’m standing outside the library, and he says I’m blocking the door, but I keep trying to tell him it’s a window, not a door. His laugh is a booming sound, rattling me as though he’s inside my head, and he elbows past me, walking through the door that seconds ago I would’ve sworn was a window.
My eyes drift open, and my surroundings blur into focus, but the laughter is still there. I jump from my chair in a panic. I fell asleep at the office!
“It’s an open-and-shut case. We’ve got them by the balls!” It’s Brooks McDonough. God bless that loud voice of his. I reach for my phone. It’s 6:43.
I race to my office door, closing it quietly. My skirt is twisted and wrinkled. Even if there’s no traffic, which is improbable, I’d never make it home and back here by nine.
I just have to think. No shops open until nine. But the drugstore on the corner will be open. At the very least, I can buy some mouthwash and a toothbrush.
Grabbing my purse, I rush from my office, willing Brooks to remain in his as I fly past. Once I reach the reception area, I pause, wondering if I should grab a can of Red Bull from the office fridge before I head out. I hesitate a second too long. The doors to the suite swing open, and in walks Craig.
I straighten my purse on my shoulder and offer a confident smile. “Good morning.”
His expression shifts from disinterest to concern. “What the hell happened to your face? Are you okay?”
I reach a hand to it, embarrassed. “What do you mean?”
He steps closer. “You have stripes.”
“Oh. I, um, I fell asleep here last night. They must be marks from my desk.”
Shifting his gaze from my face to my rumpled clothes, he frowns. “Are you heading home to change?”
“No. I won’t make it back in time. I was just going to hit the drugstore to grab a few necessities.”
With a sigh, he says, “You don’t have an extra suit here?”
“No. You do?”
“Of course, but sadly, it won’t work on you.” He grabs my arm. “Come with me.” As we walk, he says, “It’s early in your Janks and Lowe relationship to sleep over.”
“It was accidental.”
He nods. “Be careful. Once the cuffs are too tight, there’s not much you can do to get out of them.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He turns swiftly and pushes the door wide. “Here we are. My office.”
I step in, and he closes the door. “See this hook? It’s here for a reason. You hang your extra suit from it.”
“Okay, I’ll bring one in. But that won’t really help me now.”
He pauses, hand on chin, assessing me. “I was thinking I’d call a friend downstairs, but she’s much taller.” He shakes his head and grabs a card from his desk drawer, handing it to me.
“Los Angeles Fitness Club and Spa?”
“That’s the one.”
“You want me to do a trial at your gym?”
He sighs. “No. It’s a spa, too. Spas have showers and little mouthwash bottles. Even Q-tips.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“I try. When you get outside, turn left, and then left again. It’s the second building on the block. Julianne will be at the front desk. You can use the club for a week or just today, but you might want to consider joining if you’re going to sleep at the office with any frequency.”
“I don’t plan on it.”
“Yeah. None of us do. It just happens.”
He looks at his watch. “I have a conference call with New York in two minutes. You should try to steam your jacket while you’re there. Hang it in the shower next to yours.”
“Right. Thank you so much. I—”
He waves a hand. “We were all new once. Speaking of which, I owe you an apology. When we met, I was operating under the assumption it was Be an Asshole at Work Day. I was in a mood, and you caught me at the height of it. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s really not, but thanks for giving me a chance to redeem myself.” He checks his watch again. “Don’t forget to bring a change of clothes tomorrow.”
I offer a genuine smile and hold up the card. “Thanks.”