Trial
EARLY TUESDAY MORNING, I drove my car back to Ventura, along the coast again. This time Jake, my coworker and boss, took over the passenger seat. I was amazed that he’d asked me to drive since the fact that he was older than me, a partner, my boss, and male, would normally mean that he would pull rank and drive. Apparently he wanted to do research on his tablet, while we were driving the half hour or so to the courthouse. Something as simple as driving had me thinking about feminism. Guess it was just part of me.
We’d stuffed the trunk of my car with boxes of files, papers, and binders. Major butterflies hit above their weight class in my stomach, and I tried to ignore them. I also tried to clear my brain of all of the work-related anxiety I felt, as I drove and looked at the ocean and watched for pelicans.
We were headed to trial, finally.
Jake's tall, muscular body dominated my car's leather interior. I glanced at him and noticed that he was all spread out, long legs and body everywhere. Guys sometimes sat like they were invading conquerors.
Even though I didn't have a crush on Jake, I'd say it: it was hard to be with him in close proximity and remain professional, because he was such a hot distraction. He smelled like a man and was wearing a pristine suit and tie, his blue eyes glinting, his hair tousled but sober. Such a sexy physicality. I told myself that there was nothing wrong with ogling. I was just appreciating the art, people.
Okay, so maybe I was lying about the whole "I didn't have a crush on Jake" thing. Still, he was no Sun God.
With an energy completely unwelcome this early in the morning, he chattered the whole way about the trial, like a sexy, deep-voiced chipmunk. He lived for courtroom work. He wanted to be a statesman-like, Atticus Finch-type lawyer—at least before the second book was published and Atticus was reviled instead of revered. But I digress.
I wondered if he could talk about anything else. Well, it wasn't like I needed to see him at home over a dinner table, so it didn't really matter.
I struggled to listen to him, since I was still early-morning sleep-deprived. I needed coffee or else I was going to contemplate inflicting serious bodily harm on Jake Slausen, gift to women's eyeballs everywhere. He was probably a gift to gay men, too. To stop myself from plotting his destruction, I interrupted his discussion of the finer points of his opening statement.
"Jake, can we stop for coffee before we get there?"
"Sure, Amelia."
Of course a trip to get coffee would lead to an orbit around the Sun God—or at least a chance of being sucked into his tractor beam. I was ready for him.
Maybe.
Today I wore full lawyer badass gear, not fucking around this time. I donned the blue pinstripes and put my hair up in a chignon. But while I was physically put together, I still needed to get my brain awake for trial. Must insert caffeine. I pulled into the parking lot at Southwinds and Jake unfolded his long body from my Mercedes and entered with me, holding the door for me, like a gentleman.
Again, it was busy in the coffee shop. Again, it smelled divine. Again, there was a long line. And again, Ryan was there. This time I saw him immediately as I got in line, listening to Jake, who was standing very close to me, talking in my ear, so that I could hear him over the din. I grabbed a yogurt. Jake did too.
Ryan lit up when he saw me, but his eyes narrowed when he saw Jake standing so close, leaning into me as he spoke. When I got up to the counter, I learned that Ryan's effect on me was unchanged, although I was hopeful that this time I would be able to formulate words and speak them aloud, resulting in an order of a latte without major embarrassment. It appeared that my effect on Ryan was unchanged also, judging by the way he leaned up against the counter. This could be interesting.
"Hey, Movie Star," he greeted me.
I responded, "Hey," and ordered a latte with wild success. (I said, "I'd like a latte please." It was going well.) Jake ordered one too, and put his yogurt next to mine, handing Ryan his credit card.
"Trial today?" Ryan asked. I nodded and went to answer, but Jake interrupted.
"I didn't know you were a regular, Amelia."
I shrugged.
Jake looked at me with interest and then turned to Ryan. "Amelia and I start trial in an hour."
"Good luck," said Ryan politely and then he handed me the duplicate receipt, even though Jake paid. "We're having a survey. If you could just fill this out, I'd appreciate it," he said, looking at me straight in the eyes, ignoring Jake, who had moved to the side, and the mob of people all around.
The paper said "PHONE NUMBER?"
I took it and followed Jake to the side. It wasn’t even a debate whether I gave Ryan my phone number. I’d never been more affected by another person in my life. I was usually so closed off. Normally it took me a long time to warm up to people. I pretty much had only Marie to tell my secrets to, Hugo, to flirt with—or not—and the people at work to gossip with. Ryan got through to me immediately. If I gave him my phone number, this meant that he would have access to me on his terms, not mine.
I thought about it for a second more.
That was fine with me. I wanted to see where this would go. I found a pen in my purse, wrote down my number and grabbed my latte from the barista. On my way out the door, following Jake, I handed the receipt to Ryan, saying "here is my survey answer."
He took it, opened it, and smiled. Then he took care of the next customer.
At lunch I checked my phone. There was a text from an unknown number.
Slay them. — Ryan
I texted back: I will, echoing his words when he kissed me. I remembered my snark while texting. Good.
That evening, I dropped Jake back at the office, where I had picked him up that morning, and headed home, exhausted. I was so done. We had a good first day of trial. So good, in fact, that we were feeling confident, which was dangerous. Still, we’d properly prepared and needed to rest up for the next day. Having a trial was like studying for finals. It really wasn't a good idea to cram. You had to know what you were doing well ahead of time, and you had to get a good night's sleep so that you’d be mentally agile. I pulled up to my house, parked, and saw a package sitting on my front porch, leaning against the front door.
Oh yeah, next day air.
The night just got a little more interesting.
The Swedish website said that it was waterproof. Right now, a bath, followed by a naughty book and a vibrator to ease the ache caused by Ryan, sounded like a good thing. I grabbed the package, opened my front door, sorted through the mail, and sat on my couch to open up my present to myself. Discreet brown box packaging led to an elegant upscale black box. I opened it up. It looked like a wand.
Naughty Harry Potter thoughts immediately came to mind.
I got my phone out and took a picture, texting it to Marie with the caption, Ollivander got me a special wand. Then I immediately deleted the picture in case my mom saw my phone.
No, my mom didn't check my phone. I just felt guilty, still, you know? I mean, she could check my phone, right? Never mind the fact that I was thirty-one.
While I waited to hear from her, I went to the bathtub and started to fill it up with warm, scented water. My phone vibrated with her response:
I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.
I laughed and went to text her back and looked at my phone and then I felt like I was going to faint. I hadn’t sent that photo to Marie.
The text was from Ryan.
Fuckity fuck shit damn fuckballs.
My stomach dropped.
Oh, fuck, I’d just texted him a picture of my new vibrator. This was definitely on the minus side. On the plus side, he appeared to know his Harry Potter.
I didn't know how to handle this. Luckily, he did it for me.
Dinner. Friday. Your place.
Sheesh, he was bossy.
Then I realized that he had asked me out on a date. Or a stay at home date. Whatever. I was going to see him again. But not before I messed with him a little bit, to get him back for seeing my new vibrator.
Are you asking me or telling me? If you're asking, you need to say "please"
He immediately responded:
Gorgeous Movie Star, I would really like to get to know you better. Are you available this Friday for me to bring you dinner?
Seriously? I melted.
Yes.
Mischief managed.
Oh, fuck, what was I getting myself into?
The second day of trial, Jake and I drove separately so that he could do something after the trial. Unfortunately, I’d also left very late, so I had no time to see Ryan that morning, despite being in the neighborhood.
I raced to court, parked, ran through security, and hoofed it up to our courtroom. When I arrived at our department, Jake stood there in the hallway with a strange look on his face.
"We settled."
I was completely taken aback and it took me a moment to process his words.
"What? What do you mean, we settled?"
"The other side caved. We're going to put it on the record, and then we're done," he said, with a combination of relief and disappointment.
This was another part of being a lawyer. The stuff you go to law school to do—to be in court and to go to trial—rarely happened because it was just too expensive and risky. In settling a case and not going to trial, a lawyer felt a disappointment somewhat like a surgeon consulting with a healthy patient who did not need surgery. In other words, the client was not displeased to avoid court. Just the lawyer.
A half hour later, we were done with finalizing the settlement in court before the judge, and Jake gave me the rest of the day off. I knew just where to go. I texted Marie that I had the evening free, and we arranged to go drinking that night. Then, I headed to Southwinds for some excellent coffee and hopefully, some Ryan-viewing.