Amelia
––––––––
Closing my front door, I fight not to sag against it. My condo is open plan, with hardwood on the floors, a large living room to the right with a forty-inch flat screen television I rarely watch and a large cook’s dream of kitchen with granite countertops, a six-burner stove and a large island separating it from the rest of the condo that I never cook in. My stomach grumbles, reminding me there is food in one of the bags I’m carrying, and it’s been a long-ass time since lunch.
I push away from the door to cross to my library nook, ignoring the living room where the television beckons for me to zone out in front of it. The library is so small it can’t be called a room with a straight face, only seven feet deep and ten feet wide. When I viewed it, it was set up as an office. I turned it into my little reading, library room. There’s a nice big window where I put my silky tufted chaise lounge. I have another big fluffy chair with an ottoman I use as a coffee table. Tonight, I sink into the fluffy chair as I set my sushi down on the ottoman.
I’m not quite as careful with my laptop and bag. I let them fall to the side of the ottoman. After hours in front of my computer today the last thing I want to do is open my laptop. Pulling out my sushi, I dig in without bothering with chopsticks. I’m embarrassed at how quickly it disappears. Done, stomach satisfied I lean back into the fluffy chair with a happy sigh.
The day had dragged by, feeling endless. Ever since I made the decision after Thanksgiving that I wanted to quit, it’s been harder and harder to stay late at work. For now, I’m waiting until Ethan is back from vacation before I tell him and Karen. Going through the motions was all I was good for these last few weeks. Even though I was usually in the office until eight, I was shutting down by seven. The day after a holiday was normally quiet but aside from the visit from Chris Baldwin it was a day of crickets. My whole body comes alive in a rush at the memory of him.
As it had this morning, my mind struggles to understand what is going on with my body. Okay, so he was gorgeous, beautiful, all the adjectives I’ve ever heard of denoting attractive apply to the man. Still, I’ve been around beautiful men before, and my body has never melted into a puddle of goo at the sight of them. Then again, no man has ever looked at me the way he did. He could teach a master class on eye fucking. I never even understood what the term meant until he unleashed his skills on me. Damn it, I dig for my cell phone to search him.
The first few pages are filled with accolades on what a great player he is. He’s a three-time All-Star. I have no idea what an All-Star is, but the indication is it’s a big deal. He has three World Series rings from the win that brought him attention, another from playing in Massachusetts, and from the win two years ago, his first year here in Chicago. Huh—he is retiring after this year.
I wonder if he’ll stay in Chicago or go home to Austin. Tension eases in me when I read an article where he says he doesn’t really consider Austin home. Interesting, considering I read through his file, stolen from Ethan’s office. Christopher Baldwin’s extensive property holding in Austin stunned me. It’s even more interesting none of it is mentioned in the press. He owns four apartment complexes built from the ground up. With his property investments, Baldwin is worth a little over a hundred and twenty million, which doesn’t even factor in his holdings in the market. The real Christopher Baldwin is more than the playboy dripping with Southern charm he plays in public.
The pictures of him with a multitude of strippers come up on the fourth page of the search and keep going until I give up after the seventh page. There are a few pictures of him with Caroline Goodwin, one of the sexiest, most talented actresses of the last decade. They dated, even lived together for almost two years when he was in LA playing for a team in California. Although his past before her included a few strippers, there were also models, and even a PR executive.
After her though, he only dated strippers, and dating was a stretch, it was rare for him to be seen with one more than twice. God, they are so sexy. If he hadn’t come right out and said he wants me, I would never have thought it possible. The only thing I have in common with the scantily clad women are the curves he talked about. Chris does seem to be open to a variety of women—his hookups are a veritable list of the United Nations, with each one having the kind of curves found in centerfolds. One of the pictures has a caption about how he prefers his women to be naturally curvy, women who are surgically enhanced don’t appeal to him.
I glance at the treadmill in the corner of my living room, dusty from lack of use. I’m all natural for sure. There’s a part of me still disbelieving of his attraction to me—fat-ass me. For years, I’ve had my mother telling me I was never skinny enough to get a man. My mother’s a size four, and I never got below a size six no matter how hard I tried.
Most of my adult life was a cycle of eat, work out until I dropped, eat rabbit food only, work out, give in to the good stuff until my stomach hurt then hit the gym again until I dropped, lather rinse repeat. It was how I maintained my size eight until the weeks before a planned trip to my parents, when a ramp up would get me down to a size six, then within a month I was back to an eight.
While I blamed my current weight on the accident, it had begun to creep up long before it. I don’t cook so my food has always been takeout, fast, or restaurants only. With hitting the gym every day I was able to work off the calories, but when I started living in the office after Holly and Ethan got married, the visits to the gym became less and less until they were completely random. In the months before the accident I had gone up to a size twelve. After the accident, I’m firmly a size sixteen.
The accident was pure hell. I was able to keep my left leg due to skill and metal. For six months it was held together with rods and pins before it was deemed healed enough for them to be removed. Even though it’s ugly now, I’m grateful I still have it. The only problem is anything more than a leisurely walk of a few blocks is pure hell.
Working out on it, even with the low impact moves my physical therapist put me through, has me in tears. When I told him it was still too painful, he suggested swimming or working out in a pool. As much as I love swimming, with my new weight and the scars I flinch even thinking about going out in public in a swimsuit.
So often I look in the mirror and startle at the person looking back at me. She isn’t who I used to be; I don’t know her, and I don’t like her for the way people judge her as lazy, stupid, lacking in self-control. I hate the way men’s eyes slide away from me in public, as though terrified I’ll think they want me. The way women roll their eyes at me in the department stores where I once bought the Prada and Gucci and Chanel I loved so much, but now have to buy Eileen Fisher and stay in the fatty section.
As much as I hate it, instead of it pushing me to change, I’ve retreated into work and buying online. My male clients don’t care about my size, they care about me winning, about me getting the best deal possible and the women admire my skill without ever looking down at me.
It stuns me that Chris Baldwin, a gorgeous male specimen who could have any woman he wanted, wants me. His eyes didn’t slide away, they caught mine, held and eye fucked me until my whole body pulsed with heat. He said I made his cock ache I blush even thinking of the word he used. He was sincere, his desire clear on his beautiful face. It’s thrilling to be wanted by someone like him.
Hold on, was I actually thinking about getting involved with him? No, bad idea, horrible idea. I cringe at the memory of how my last relationship ended. Richard Lake the third was a boring, pompous jerk, and not very attractive with his bright red hair and endless freckles. Still, he looked down at me in disdain as I lay there naked and told me that he couldn’t do it. I made his cock limp at the idea of fucking me. Squeezing my eyes against the memory, no. I can’t, no matter how appealing Chris Baldwin is, I’m not up to dealing with the fallout of disappointing him. Even as I wonder if all the quotes from the women are true, wonder if it’s possible to feel that kind of satisfaction.
I’m no virgin, I’ve been with three men. Each experience was filled with discomfort and embarrassment. I found the whole ordeal more gross than anything. I’m more than content to not try again. As appealing as the invitation to sin with Chris is, there is no doubt in my mind I would fail miserably at it, even under his no doubt expert tutelage. He’s used to strippers who have all the right moves. Me, I have no moves at all. As empty as my life is right now, I’ve grown content with it. At least there are no tears, or fear, or angst, the way I lived with every other relationship I tried.
Sliding out of the big comfy chair, I cross to the wall of books and my shelf of Austen. My hand finds it from muscle memory, Pride and Prejudice. How fitting, Mr. Darcy with all his arrogance, so sure Elizabeth would be willing to take him on his terms. I’m not prideful, I’m protective of the last little soft part inside me that I’m pretty sure might never recover after a round with Mr. Baldwin. I stretch out on the chaise lounge and pull down my faux fur throw over my legs as I open the book. As it happens, so often, within minutes I’m lost in the story, far safer than the real world.
***
Amelia
––––––––
When I get into the office the next day, I’m surprised by an email already waiting for me from Wilson Tyson. Tyson represents Pentonie Properties, the company that sold Chris the property. Word travels fast in this city, they were getting out in front of a suit to avoid more bad press. It’s standard for attorneys to reach out to the legal representation of the company they will be suing to see if they are interested in settling before filing. Ethan and Karen believe it’s a sign of weakness and our firm doesn’t, we make them come to us. They want a meeting, today, at their office. I laugh; this is going to be fun.
After a look through the past settlements of Pentonie, then adding up the cost of getting the remaining tenants out of the property, plus the fees from my working on this, as well as what defending the suit will cost Chris, the math is high. Pentonie owes Chris, a million, easy. I call Chris, and he answers on the second ring. “Yeah.”
“It’s Amelia. I received an email this morning about the suit against Pentonie Properties. Pentonie is looking to settle before we file it. The moment it gets filed anyone can find it online, it hurts them. They want a meeting today.”
“Why does it feel too easy?”
“Because you’re smart. Pentonie screwed up, they probably thought you had more money than sense, that you were just some guy trying to get into the property game without knowing what you were doing. Then you helped push it by buying the property with your lawyer in Texas and without due diligence. Now it’s out you’re our client. Our reputation, especially Ethan’s, is you don’t fuck with our clients. Ethan enjoys ensuring people dumb enough to try hurt so badly it never happens again. I’m going to decline their offer of a meeting today. I’ll set it for Friday, here. I want to let them sweat for a few days. How does eight in the morning sound to you?”
“Damn, you sound lethal, Ms. Bishop. Something tells me people make the mistake of underestimating you, and you like schooling them that you take after Ethan by more than just his last name. I trust you. However you want to play this, it’s your game.”
I roll my eyes, even as I blush with pride at the way he sounds impressed by me. “Good, I’ll see you Friday at eight then.”
“No, sugar. I’ll see you today at one for lunch at Goldfinches. I do believe you were remiss yesterday in not doing a better job of introducing yourself to your client. I’m used to being wined and dined, a little something for getting charged fifteen hundred dollars an hour. I’m giving you another chance, the table is already booked.”
Remiss? I’m a snob for being surprised by the word. Swallowing the urge to say yes. “Mr. Baldwin, I’m now in the role as your attorney in regard to dealing with Pentonie Properties. As such, as I stated before, I cannot become involved with you on a personal level.”
“Ethan bought me lunch when I was looking at whether or not I was going to hire him. Actually, it was lunch and drinks at a nice private cigar bar. I bet if he were the one I talked to yesterday and I asked him out for lunch to get to know him better, he wouldn’t hesitate.
“Are you not going to give me the same courtesy of getting to know the person who is going to handle a very expensive, very important suit with my name on it? Hmm...I wonder what Ethan would say? I found his card last night, I didn’t realize it had his cell phone number on it. Now that is a lawyer who cares about his clients, making sure they can always reach out to him whenever they need him.”
Asshole. “I never would have pegged you for desperate. Are you really threatening to run and tattle on me to Ethan? I wonder what he would say if I told him I’m simply trying to keep our interactions purely professional?”
“Amelia.” Why does the way he says my name in that soft, slow drawl of his cause my nipples to tighten? “I heard you. This is lunch, forty-five minutes, an hour tops. We’ll be out, in public, where I’ll need to keep my hands to myself. If you want me to bring you lunch, I can do that, sugar. Just you and me in your office, no interruptions...hmm, sounds good to me.”
I shiver at how appealing he makes it sound, the way his deep voice slides down my spine, touching me where no one ever has. The idea of him physically touching me the way no one has before has me squeezing my legs closed against the astonishing wet heat there. “Yes, okay.” I spit out the words, needing this to end, fighting for control of myself, of the situation. The fucker chuckles, he knows what he’s doing to me. I slam the phone down on him, cutting the tie he’s wrapped around me.
My head falls into my hands. What the hell was that? What just happened? Why are my breasts swollen and heavy, my core wet and hot, my whole body hot, my skin too tight?
“Amelia?” Mary’s voice brings my head up as I squirm in embarrassment, careful to avoid her eyes. Her concern is clear. “Are you all right?” Nodding, words are too hard to form. I run a hand through my hair, surprised it’s still smooth, not as tangled as I am inside. Doubt is clear on Mary’s face, but when I don’t say anything else she nods. “Coffee?”
Again, I nod. “Please.” The word escapes from my tight throat.
The door is barely closed behind her before it opens again. Karen usually sends a message to let me know she’s on her way to my office. Fuck. Face still, her eyes run over me. “What’s going on with you and Christopher Baldwin?”
A flicker of disappointment in her eyes stiffens my spine. “As he’s my client until Ethan gets back, not a damn thing. We will have lunch today to go over strategy for a settlement meeting on Friday. I’m not an idiot. I’m also not a girl who is going to lose her senses the moment a man looks at me. I am a seventh-year associate with a client roster that brings in seventeen percent of this firm’s profits, and higher billables on a monthly basis than two of this firm’s partners. I do not need a lecture on how to interact with any of my clients. Will there be anything else today, Karen?”
Slowly, she shakes her head as her mouth slides into a half smile. “No, that will be all. Ethan would be proud of you. Don’t forget, Theo Rochester will be in tomorrow for a checkup, he loves the challah bread from Katz’s Deli.”
“Already ordered, along with his latkes.” I’m stamping down the desire to scream while pumping the air in victory. With a nod, she’s gone.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I deflate. Holy hell. When Karen said Ethan would be proud of me, she meant it. It also meant she was proud of me. Of course, just as I’m the verge of walking away, I get the approval I’ve worked so hard for.
I’m sure even if Karen weren’t gay she would have gone with the tailored pant suits in the men’s style in black, gray, and tan and bob cut her sandy blonde hair. In law, and in business, you went bitch or Madonna. Bitch was the dark suits, the shoulder pads, the take no prisoners and drinking scotch even though it burned. I went Madonna because I never believed I could pull off bitch. Madonna’s had it harder despite what the bitches thought. Clinging to our femininity wasn’t easy, men doubted our skills, our intelligence, they grabbed our asses and breasts, assumed more was on the menu of services. Then there was the disdain of the bitches daring not to cover up the fact we were a woman, trying to succeed alongside men. It made it that much better though when it came down to settlements, to the courtroom when the Madonna could show she was still a bitch underneath. I know I had the Madonna thing against me from the beginning but slowly she’s seen I have what it takes underneath.
While I knew there were moments over the last few years where I impressed her, I never felt she was proud of me. I felt like I was the free gift with the purchase of Ethan. Yet, even as she gave me the better clients, the harder cases, the word “pride” never made it across her lips. Today is as close as it will ever get.
Mary taps on the glass. Unlike most of the offices, my glass walls facing the rest of the office are frosted, a holdover from the last lawyer who had it. I tell her to come in. Her relief is clear as she gives me the once-over. “What did Karen want?”
“To find out if I’m a dumbass. How does Christopher Baldwin know I lunch at Goldfinches and my schedule is clear from one to two?”
“Because I told him. I know you aren’t a dumbass. Ethan will be back in two weeks. It will take you that long to unpucker and give in to the gorgeous scoundrel.”
I gasp as Mary walks out with a laugh. Did she really just say that? Christ, and who the hell says the word “scoundrel” anymore? “Unpucker”? I cannot believe her sometimes. Mary used to be one of six admins who supported the associates on my old floor. She was here before I got here, she used to be a secretary to a partner.
Admins are employed by the firm, while the secretaries are employed by the lawyers, all salary and responsibilities negotiated between them. I asked Mary to become my secretary when I saw she was having problems keeping up due to her arthritis. It pissed me off people were saying her days were numbered when she knew more than half the attorneys in this building. I also love the way she doesn’t mince words and can sniff out bullshit from a hundred feet away. If Mary thought Chris was a good idea, it gives me yet another thing to think about.
––––––––
I’m buried in a file, trying to figure out how Ethan put up with a dick client, when the door to my office opens without warning. Mary not letting me know he was here is such crap. The sight of Chris Baldwin leaning against the closed door has me blinking fast. Is this a dream? Yes, I dreamed about the arrogant asshole last night. Best. Dream. Ever.
He’s clean shaven today, all the better to see his dimples, which don’t detract from the pure sin of his smile. Gone are the jeans and sweater of yesterday; how the hell does he look so yummy delicious in a steel-gray suit cut to perfection? His shirt is light blue, with his silk tie a tight checker of gray and blue. Am I actually beginning to like the diamond in his ear? Bizarre. The man is sexy enough to be an advertisement. “Ms. Bishop, let’s go.”
“Fine.” Saving my work, I shut down. By the time I’m up he has my coat open for me, and I warily step closer to him to slide my arms in. He wraps the coat around me, then uses it to turn me toward him. The heat of him is turning my bones, my spine, my resolve to mush. There are six large buttons, and slowly, very slowly he fastens each one. His large, long fingers are nimble—I can’t take my eyes off them—until one of those fingers tilts up my chin, just a soft grazing of his skin against mine. Yet, I’m gasping at the burning sensation, at how I want more.
Fear kicks me hard, and I pull away. No. He’s a client. “Are we going or not?” I shoot for bored, but the breathless wobble is laughable.
The slow slide of his mouth up is kinder than I deserve. “Oh yeah, we’re going.”
He opens the door for me; I try to get out ahead of him except his long legs eat up the distance. A large hand finds the small of my back. Even though we are both wearing multiple layers, his body against mine, the scent of him teasing me, turns my skin hot and tight. Once we’re in the elevator I try to put some space between us, but he doesn’t let me. His hand never leaves my back, bringing me back in contact with him. Two women in the elevator eye him hungrily; I’m not proud of the way it sends me closer against him.
All the way to the restaurant he says nothing to me, instead chatting to the cabbie about last season. I refuse to care that he’s basically ignoring me.
Inside the restaurant the heat is welcome after the cold wind blowing outside. My back is beginning to hurt from holding myself so stiffly. I sigh in relief as we are shown to the back.
Then I slow, I never sit back here, this area is usually reserved for use only in the evenings. No one else is here. Biting my tongue, I sit down in the large booth. This is just lunch, a half hour, forty-five minutes tops. He’ll figure out I’m boring as hell, then move on to the next stripper ho he belongs with.