CHAPTER 22
Viveka
I lean back in my desk chair, which squeaks from the movement. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and rub at my temples.
I’m done.
I can’t get any more ready for the hearing, which is set for ten tomorrow morning.
Ford and I agreed not to see each other tonight. I knew I’d be working late, and even when I get home, I’ll be going over my oral arguments several times before I go to sleep. I won’t be good company.
Besides, Ford is working late, too. He’s got more evidence to organize and present since he has more expert witnesses. I’ve got my one and only Dr. Mellman, who is flying in tonight from Ithaca and will testify tomorrow.
Ford did throw me a tiny bone. He admitted he wasn’t going to call any of his experts to testify, but rather was going to present their findings via affidavit. That prompted me to call Dr. Mellman and ask him if he’d be willing to testify live. It was going to cost me. I had to dip into my own personal savings to get him down here, but I think it’s worth it. He could totally sway the case.
I raise my head and look out the new window that got installed today. I had to have a heart to heart—or in other words, threaten legal action—with my landlord last week since he was balking at the cost. Gone is my name from the window in the fancy gold lettering that Adam had done for me all those years ago, but one day I’ll dig up some extra money and have it redone.
It’s starting to get dark outside, and my eyes cut over to the time on my computer screen.
“Shit,” I mutter as I realize I’d been here a lot longer than I’d planned to be. It was nearly eight, and I try to never be in the office this late because it’s not the greatest area of town.
An incredible wave of guilt also hits me that my poor pups have got to be starving to death. Their dog door gives them full access to go in and out during the day when I’m not there, and they have plenty of water, but they’re probably ready to eat each other.
Or, God forbid, they’ve decided to eat my pillows in open rebellion.
Granted, they normally eat dinner around six and my brain acknowledges they are not going to die waiting a few hours, but my heart tells me it’s time to go.
I log off my computer and pack up my briefcase with the documents I need for tomorrow. That includes an updated pecker brief—yes, it still makes me snicker—to hand up to the judge, as well as an outline of my direct exam for Dr. Mellman.
I shoot a quick text to Ford as I promised to let him know when I was leaving the office. On my way out the door.
He responds quickly. Be safe. Text me when you get home.
My heart squeezes in response. In the years we were together, Adam never once told me to be safe. It’s not that he didn’t want me safe, it’s that he was always so busy it wasn’t efficient for him to say those words.
I hitch my purse over my shoulder, then grab my briefcase in one hand and my keys in the other, which also has a bottle of pepper spray attached to the ring. It’s not pitch black out, but it’s dark enough that the streetlights are on. I’m always aware of my surroundings, and I look left and right when I step out to lock my door. I’m relieved to see Gary, the locksmith on the other side of Frannie’s salon, also locking up for the night.
He lifts his chin at me. “Night, Viv.”
“Night, Gary,” I call back, and trot to my car parked right in front. Gary watches me, and that makes me feel safer.
Once in, I lock the door and start the engine, secure within the protective environment of my trusty Volvo. Before I put the car in drive, I grab my phone from my purse and on a whim call Ford.
He answers on the first ring. “You’re violating the rules,” he says in a low, sexy voice.
“I know,” I say with a laugh. Not only did we agree not to see each other tonight, but we agreed not to talk at all so we could concentrate on our cases. “But I’m driving home. I just figured I’d call and tell you good night and good luck with any prep you still need to do.”
“I’m done,” he tells me in a relaxed voice. I have an image of him lying on his couch, watching ESPN or something. “Say the word, Viv, and I’ll get in my car right now to come to you.”
A cramp hits me between my legs as images of what Ford would do to me fill my mind. He’s become an expert at playing my body. He’s figured out how to make me come really fast and hard, and that’s always how he starts out. He gets me off either with his fingers, his tongue, or if he’s feeling extra playful, my vibrator. He actually tortures me with that thing, making me come over and over again with it before he fucks me.
“I can’t,” I practically croak with a healthy dose of whine in my voice. “I still have work to do.”
“I won’t stay all night,” he murmurs. “I’ll only come over for a little bit. I’ll make you feel good, Viv, then I’ll leave.”
I know my panties are wet. Just soaked from the promise in his voice. I want to say yes so bad, but I have so much still to do. What I don’t have in money and resources, I make up for with hard work. I’ll be going over my arguments until late into the night. I don’t have a few hours to spare for Ford’s magic cock, and we both know he’d probably stay all night.
“Can’t, baby,” I whisper. “I want to, but I can’t.”
Ford chuckles. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”
“But tomorrow night—”
“I’m going to destroy you,” he finishes my thought. “Wreck you so thoroughly you won’t know what hit you. Make you come so many times you’ll forget your name. Going to make up for not seeing you tonight, Viv.”
Oh, God. Just… how can one man be that sexy? It’s like he received all the sexiness in the universe.
I’ve never been all that great at phone sex. Ford always has me so discombobulated when we’re in bed that I’m fairly quiet there, too, unless I’m yelling his name out.
While I can’t give promises of rocking his world back to him because they tongue tie me up so much, different words come into my mind that are just as heartfelt.
“I’ll miss you tonight,” I tell him softly. Not his cock. Not his tongue. I’ll miss him, and I hope he understands that’s what I mean.
Ford is silent for a bit, and I think perhaps I’ve gone a little too mushy for him.
But then he gives it right back to me in a voice filled with emotion. “I’ll miss you too, Viv.”
“I’ll text you when I get home,” I promise.
“Okay, baby.”
By the time I’m pushing my phone back into my purse, my house comes into view. When I pull into the driveway, Daisy’s face appears in the front living room window and she starts barking in joy to see me. Butch is too tiny to look out, but he jumps up and down beside Daisy, so his head pops up periodically. He’s yapping hysterically.
Those dogs aren’t starving. They’re just happy I’ve come home to them.
“Silly pups,” I murmur as I step out of my car, pulling my purse and briefcase out with me.
Just as I’m shutting my door, a large hand clamps down on the back of my neck, another on my shoulder. I give a tiny yip of fright, but then I’m being spun so fast I can’t get my bearings. Then the roof of my car is rushing up to meet me as my attacker slams me forward. I try to push back, but the effort is wasted. My forehead slams right on the edge where the roof meets the driver’s door, and stars explode behind my eyelids. I can actually feel the skin split and the immediate rush of blood dripping down.
Miraculously, a calmness sort of overtakes me. I have a moment of clarity where I realize I need to figure out a way to fight back. Daisy’s barks have changed now to big booming barks of anger as she watches me from the window. She seems to be telling me something.
Make noise.
I open my mouth to scream, but he releases me before I can let loose. His hands are gone, and he just… disappears. I turn to try to identify him, but all I can see through the blood dripping down is a dark figure running down the sidewalk and melting into the darkness of the night.
“Viveka?” I hear from across the street, and I turn that way. I can barely make out my neighbor, Art Sneed, but I sure recognize his voice.
I raise my hand, perhaps in greeting or maybe to assure him all is good, but then an absolute draining of all my energy hits me at once and my knees start to give out.
“Jesus Christ,” Art mutters, and I hear the pounding of his feet as he runs toward me. He’s too late to catch me, but my driveway stops me when my knees slam into it. I can feel his hand on my jaw, lifting my face to inspect it. “Who the fuck did this?”
I’ve never heard Art cuss before. He’s a retired schoolteacher and has always seemed so mild mannered. I shake my head, but nothing comes out. Either I’m too tired to get the words out or there’s no need to waste the energy since I have no clue really what just happened.
“Yes, I’d like to report an assault,” I hear Art say and this confuses me. I blink through the wetness in my eyes, which I determine is both blood and tears, to see him talking into his phone. “And send an ambulance.”
“No ambulance,” I finally manage to say.
Art ignores me as he gives my address to the dispatcher.
Within minutes, there are two cop cars with lights flashing and an ambulance on our street. Neighbors have come out to be nosy and watch. One of the officers asks me questions while an EMT cleans the blood off my face to see better. Art goes inside and feeds the pups for me.
“Did you get a look at your attacker?” the cop asks.
“No,” I tell him as I search my memory. “It happened so fast.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No,” I say again… my voice sounding wooden and hollow.
“You’re going to need to go to the hospital,” the EMT interjects as he starts to place a bandage on my forehead. “This cut needs stitches.”
“Shit,” I mutter, realizing my night of practicing my arguments has just been ruined.
“Would you like me to call someone for you?” the cop offers kindly. I think he’s feeling the need to do something as we both know this will go down as an unsolved crime.
I shake my head. “I can do it. If you can make sure I have my purse, my phone is in there.”
The EMT helps me into the back of the ambulance. “Let’s get you on the stretcher.”
“I don’t need the stretcher,” I say.
“It’s protocol,” he says and points to the bed on wheels.
The officer reappears, and he hands up my purse and briefcase. Art’s face also pops up behind the cop, and he calls, “The pups are fine, Viveka. Do you need me to come with you?”
“I’ll call Frannie,” I assure Art, and he gives me a wave. I think this is the most excitement he’s had in a long time. “Thank you so much.”
“Anytime,” he says with a smile.
Yeah, I hope this is a one-time only occurrence.
Once the ambulance gets underway, the EMT pulls my phone from my purse and hands it to me. There’s nothing to do since he’s got a bandage on my cut, so I take a moment to call Frannie. She answers in a groggy voice, and I know I woke her up. It’s barely nine thirty, but she’s not a big night owl.
“What’s up?” she mumbles.
“So, I had a little accident. Hit my head and need some stitches. Think you can come to the hospital and hang with me?”
“What?” she shrieks, all signs of grogginess completely obliterated.
I don’t want to give her too many details. “Yeah… just a little accident. I’ll fill you in on the details there.”
It takes a few more minutes to get her off the phone as she demands the details right now. But finally, she assures me she’s walking out her door and will meet me in the emergency room.
The EMT takes my phone and slides it in my purse for me when I disconnect.
I close my eyes and try not to think of what happened to me. Those few seconds… not more than probably ten total… where I was absolutely terrified. I’ve never felt that before.
So out of control and helpless.
I think about Ford, too. It had crossed my mind a time or two to call him. In fact, he was the first person I had thought of, not Frannie, which tells me I want his comfort the most. But I immediately dismissed it.
I didn’t want to burden him the night before our big hearing.
More importantly, I didn’t want him to go apeshit and do something stupid.
Because while I know the cops will never find who did this, I think Ford would come to the same conclusion I have.
Drake Powell was behind this somehow. I don’t think it was him, but I think whoever attacked me did it at his direction.
Given the speed of the attack and the fact my purse wasn’t stolen, it was clearly personal.
Retaliatory most likely.
Yes, Ford would automatically think it was his client, and he’d do something stupid. There’s going to be no hiding this tomorrow, but at least we’ll be in court and he won’t be able to do anything.
Then it will all soon be over. We’ll argue the hearing. One of us will win. One of us will lose.
After, we can move on and be done with this case and the crazy that’s apparently started with it.
Then Ford and I can be together and see where this thing is going to go.