I really think I might kill someone today.
The last two days have been nothing but putting out fires. A high profile divorce case which seemed to be moving along amicably, exploded when a sex tape of the ex-wife and her new boy toy (I use that term because he looks like a fucking Ken doll. And, considering the amount of body shown in the video, I can confirm that every part of him looks like plastic) showed up on the internet, dated long before the couple split.
Now I’m in the middle of a shit storm and nobody seems to be able to do their fucking jobs. We’ve been working around the clock to get our new arguments and evidence together before court on Monday. It’s eleven thirty on Friday night, and I’m still in the office, my forehead resting on the cool surface of my desk, when I hear a soft knock. Without lifting, I call for whoever it is to come in, and hope to holy hell they aren’t going to piss me off any further. I’ve got a letter opener and a severe case of bitchiness, combined with an intolerance for idiots.
“Do you need anything else, Ms. Larkin?” Stacey’s soft voice reaches my ears and I sigh in relief. I knew I hired her for a reason. Without her, the last two days would have pushed me over the edge and she’d be helping me find a place to bury the bodies.
I raise my head and give her a tired smile. “I’m good, Stacey. Thanks for burning the midnight oil. You can head home. Barring any new emergencies, I’ll see you on Monday.”
She returns my smile, “Okie dokie. Have a good night, Ms. Larkin.” Then she pivots and starts through the door, but she stops and looks back when I call her name.
“Stacey. Um, you can call me Vict—Tori. You can call me Tori when we are alone from now on, okay?”
As exhausted as she looks, she still manages to beam at me, looking proud, knowing that this privilege has to be earned and I’ve only granted it to a few people. “Goodnight, Tori.” I wave her away, and lean back in my chair, taking in the absolute silence. This used to be what I craved, what I lived for. I got off on being the fixer, the one who spent every waking hour dedicated to the challenging cases, running on adrenaline and coffee, and always, always, winning.
Somewhere in the last few days, I’ve started to feel my life slow down, the spinning of the earth becoming just a little more sedate. There have been moments where I felt as though the world isn’t spinning at all. All of them were when I was with Chase. He brought me lunch Thursday and today, ignoring my insistence that I didn’t have time.
“Even Wonder Woman needs to eat, babe.” He’d set a bag on the table that smelled heavenly and when I opened it, there was a container of my very favorite pasta from a little hole in the wall, Italian restaurant next door. I gazed at him in surprise, and he winked at me. “Your assistant is a wealth of information.” I rolled my eyes because he’d charmed Stacey to where she was wrapped around his damn finger and pretty much gave him free reign with information about me as well as access to the office.
Both days, he’d also brought me another blue flower, telling me that he wished he could find one the exact color of my eyes. Corny or not, I practically swooned. Practically? Yeah, I melted into a freaking puddle.
Those minutes that I holed up with him and left the outside world behind sustained me. They were my shot of adrenalin, better than living on coffee. He’s wormed his way inside and my chest has begun to try and burst when he’s around. I feel it filling with something, but I don’t examine it too closely. I leave it in Pandora’s Box, claiming ignorance.
It’s time to leave. With the wedding this weekend, I’d had to call in every associate I could borrow to get thoroughly prepared before I left. I straighten up my desk, and office, then grab my coat and lock up. When I step outside, there is a man leaning his unbelievably sexy body against the deserted valet podium, his chocolate eyes assessing me carefully, and a smile playing around his mouth. I can’t help smiling back, my weary body perking up at the sight of all that lickable goodness. I’m losing the battle with my hormones and every time we say goodbye, I wonder if I could take that next step.
“What are you doing here?” I ask curiously, pleasure at the surprise saturating my tone. He saunters over to me and slips his arms around me, bringing me in close for a long, deep kiss. When he finally pulls away, I’m back in the hazy cloud that always seems to linger after his lips are on mine.
“I didn’t like the idea of you walking home at this hour. I told Stacey to let me know if you’d be alone when you left. She called me an hour ago and told me you were on your own tonight.” Melting, melting, melting.
“That’s sweet, but it’s only a few blocks, Chase. You didn’t have to come all the way up here for a ten minute walk.” He looks into my eyes, the dark night making him harder to read. Lowering his head, he kisses my forehead, then steps back and loops my arm through his.
“That’s what a boyfriend does for his woman, babe. We make sure they are safe, if only for our own peace of mind.” My heart skips a beat at the word boyfriend. I’m still not sure how I feel about defining us that way, but Chase is insistent that we label what we have. I choose not to get into that particular discussion again tonight. I’m beat, and I’m beyond glad to be able to end my day with his sweet affection.
At the door to my building, I start to fidget. Should I invite him up? The other night was fantastic. I’m going to admit to myself, it felt so good to be held through the night again. The question I’m again wrestling with is, can I take the next step? If I invite him up, will he expect that? The questions swirl in my mind, and yet the clearest one is the little devil on my shoulder prompting me to bring him upstairs and let him do whatever he wants to me. That thought sends need skittering down my body and heating up my core.
I keep my arm in his and we walk to the elevator. Inside, he tucks me in close to his body and kisses me passionately. Okay, I can do this, I think. The doors slide silently open, and I gulp down the nervous lump in my throat. Every step to my door brings tension and anxiety mixed with desire. At the final stop, I dig through my purse for my keys and when I find them, I turn to unlock the door, my head still down.
I pause in my task when I feel the gentle glide of his finger under my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. His face is soft and shining with a sweet emotion, but I can see the lust just under the surface, straining to be released, yet he keeps it contained.
“I’m not going anywhere from your life, Tori. But, tonight you need to relax, take a bath, read a book, and let your stress go. I only wanted to know that my girl is safe and maybe leave her with something to keep her mind on me until tomorrow.” I feel my eyes widen a little. He’s not going to come in? I don’t have time to dwell because the next thing I know, his lips are pressing down on mine. The kiss goes from sweet to ravaging in an instant.
For several minutes, we stand there drinking from each other, attempting to sate our need for each other. Unfortunately, when we separate, my desire for him is raging and it’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him to take me inside. He doesn’t give me the chance though, he finishes unlocking my door, hands me the keys, and with a little pat on my bum, he steers me inside. One last, chaste kiss on my cheek and he backs away, “I’ll see you in the morning at group, baby.”
He takes the handle and closes my door, the click of the lock sounding loud in the surrounding silence. Group? My haze is suddenly gone, my thoughts clear and sharp. Son of a bitch! I forgot about my hour of “to the pain,” at the end of which, I’m sure I’ll be begging The Dread Pirate Roberts to cut off my ears. My Princess Bride reference at least makes the reminder of group a little more tolerable.
But, ugh.
Group.
The ugly word.
That’s just what I need to start off this weekend of hell. I need a drink. I plod to my kitchen and grab one of the “in case of emergency” bottles of wine in the far back of one of my cupboards. After pouring myself a glass, I take it with me (oops better grab the bottle), and the new bag of M&Ms that Chase brought me at lunch, and I make my way to my bathroom. With a quick pit stop in the bedroom for my e-reader, I enter the bathroom and, setting everything on the counter, I grab some scented bubble bath, and turn to my precious, the bathtub.
Movies and TV can be so ridiculous and I can’t help but scoff whenever they show a Chicago or New York City apartment with a large, claw foot tub. Even if they have the space, which is unlikely, have you ever seen a tub like that in a city apartment? Well, you have now. That’s right, I bought this place before they had even broken ground and required that the plumbing be set up for the ultimate decadence. These tubs are deep, so every part of you is underwater. There is no overflow drain, which means the water doesn’t slowly leak out.
I sigh in anticipation, turning the knobs to just the right spot and toss in some bubble bath. I don’t know where to find the bubble bath that creates a lasting and full coverage foam (I’m sure it’s out there because you can believe everything you see on TV), but it definitely smells amazing. When the water is hot, I strip down and with my glass of wine in hand (and the bottle within reach), I lower myself down and feel the strain in my muscles start to unfurl.
I turn on my reading device and lose myself in a suspense romance with an innocent woman on the run, and a fierce man hired to protect her. Danger, passion, and love, what else could a woman look for in a book? Besides, the hero’s alpha side reminds me a little of Chase, and it has me wondering what he’s like in the bedroom. I shake that thought off, knowing it will only lead to a cold shower.
The bath invigorates me just enough to go through my nightly routine, but when I finally crawl into bed, I heave a huge sigh and snuggle down under the covers. Not pretending they are Chase’s arms around me.
Click. Click. Click.
Each tap of my heels gives me a little more confidence, builds up another wall of armor against my imminent torture. I dressed with care, reminding myself of the strong, hardened, woman I feel safe with. My hair is up, not a strand out of place, lips stained red, and typical chic clothing. Although, my outfit might be a little sexier than usual. The gauzy, cream, button up blouse I’m wearing lays over a pale pink, lace tank top. My matching pink skirt has just a little flare, midway down my thighs, and my nude fuck-me heels give the impression that my long legs are never ending.
If I have to endure this suffering, I might as well have a little fun tormenting the teacher.
I walk into the room and stop, glancing around at the goofy cast of characters in this twisted little play. Then my eyes finally land on the leading man and I wait for his cue. He seems to sense my presence because he looks up from the little podium and immediately meets my gaze, a smile lighting up his face. His chocolate eyes quickly zero in on my lips, then slowly down the rest of my body, his jaw getting firmer with every few inches. When he finally returns to the top, his eyes are so dark, they look almost black.
He glares at me, before darting a fervent glance around the room. Then he subtly shifts, looking marginally uncomfortable, the movement so small I almost missed it.
Oh yes. This is going to be fun.