Bossy (13 page)

“He threw the first punch. What was I supposed to do?” This is ridiculous. What fucking business is it of his?

I can’t believe Claire said something, but I’m more annoyed at getting dragged into Dad’s office like I’m twelve and brought home a crappy report card. At twenty-seven we should be past this sort of thing. Sometimes I think he wants me working here just to be able to police my life for as long as possible.

“What were you doing there in the first place?” He pushes his chair back so he can stand and pace back and forth like a tiger getting ready to pounce.

“It sounded like a good party. I heard the punch was delicious. How could I stay away?” Rolling my eyes, I make as if to leave. I don’t have time for this shit.

“Don’t you fucking turn your back on me, Declan,” he thunders behind me. He must be pissed as hell if he’s swearing. I can count the number of times I’ve heard that on one hand. “I’m sick and tired of your shit. The fights. The parties. The embarrassment, over and over. When are you going to fucking grow up?”

I throw my hands out. “I’m me, and what you see is what you fucking get. Don’t act like you didn’t know that when you hired me. I’m damn good at what I do, but I’ll never be a good little boy scout.”

“Don’t I know it.” He sinks back into his chair and sighs. “Declan. You’re a brilliant lawyer when you want to be. You’re smart, you’re aggressive and you can do the work when your mind’s on it. But every time you do something crazy like this, you’re one step closer to no one taking you seriously. And so long as you’re working here, not taking Riordan & Flynn seriously.”

“Just spit it out. Are you firing me?”

He sighs again. “Cooper complained, you know. I’ve had to bend over backwards, promising that threats like that will never, and I mean
never
, happen again.
And
that we’re giving him a discount. I don’t like him any more than you do, but really? Threatening to break his face?”

“Did he mention what he said about Claire? Right in front of her? I’ll win his fucking case, but he can show at least a little bit of goddamn respect.” I stare into my father’s eyes, refusing to back down about what happened with Cooper. “She’s your employee,
and
about to be your stepdaughter, remember? Or,—I’m sorry—did I miss the meeting about how it’s okay to crack blowjob jokes about the women who work here?”

Dad has the decency to wince. “I didn’t write you up, did I? I know how much you hate the idea of this wedding, so I appreciate you taking an interest in Claire, but there’s been some talk and I need to ask. Is there something going on between you two?” He arches an eyebrow at me.

“Oh yeah, a lot of really hot and heavy... overtime. She’s my new stepsister, and I’m treating her as such.” My fists clench involuntarily, and I force myself to relax them. He doesn’t know anything, and even if he did, we’re grown adults and we can handle our own fucked up shit.

“That’s not what I hear. I hope it isn’t necessary to remind you that I’m getting married in a couple of weeks and this isn’t a girl you can toss aside and forget about.”

“No, Dad. I know that all too fucking well.” If I didn’t forget her in four months of no contact, I’m sure as hell not going to forget her now. Life would be easier if I could. “Don’t expect me to be over to give you and Annette a housewarming present though.”

“She’s not that bad, you know. Annette, I mean. You could at least give her a chance.” His voice is unusually gentle. “We’re getting married either way. As much as you frustrate me, you’re my son. I want you to be happy for us. Hell, I want you to be happy, but you’re not making it easy on yourself.”

Right. “I know I don’t live there anymore, but excuse me if I’m being a little sensitive about some woman coming into Mom’s house and taking over like she already owns the place.” My words sound whiney even to me, but he just doesn’t seem to get it. “Don’t you care about Mom at all? Letting Annette just piss all over her memory?”

“Jesus Christ, son. It’s not like that at all. You don’t think I miss your mother?” He shakes his head at me sadly. “Caitlyn was the love of my life. It killed me to watch her go like that. Watching her waste away was... If I could’ve taken her place, I would’ve. Maybe you would have been happier if I had.” His gaze captures mine, and this time it’s my turn to wince. “But it doesn’t work that way. She’s gone, and there’s nothing—
nothing
—I can do to bring her back. I never thought I’d meet someone new, but life goes on. Annette’s a wonderful woman if you’ll just talk to her. Get to know her. Is it so hard to be happy for me?”

I look away from his beseeching gaze. There’s a tightness in my eyes I don’t want him to see. That’s for me and me alone. If he’s looking for my blessing so he can stop feeling guilty, he’s going to have a long wait. “So, am I fired, or can I go back to my desk now?”

Dad draws a deep breath and releases it slowly. “You’re not fired. But we can’t keep doing this. Got it? Any more fights, any more scuffles with clients, anything, and you’re out of here. I’ll hate losing you, but I’ve got a business to run. You’ll always be my son, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll always be my employee. Do you understand me?”

I run my tongue along the inside of my teeth, forcing back a smartass reply. Sometimes even I have a little willpower. “Yeah. Loud and clear.” Forcing a calm I’m not feeling, I leave the room quietly and close the door behind me.

It takes several moments before the tightness in my chest eases up. When I’m composed, I stride back to my office.

Claire should be in by now, and as much as I’d love to take my frustration out on her, fucking her angrily against the glass wall of her office or making her day a brand new type of living hell are probably both on Dad’s list of unprofessional behaviors.

And anyway, one of those is probably a bad idea. I’m just not sure which one yet.

“D
o you see this?” I spread the pages out on Declan’s desk, pointing at each highlight as I list off offenses. “Look. Cooper’s not even paying his required insurances. Unemployment. Disability. Worker’s comp. No wonder everyone gets fired. If they were laid off, the authorities would wise up.” I look right into his eyes not caring that this isn’t good for our case. Some things are too important to ignore. “There’s stuff here that they haven’t even put in the lawsuit.”

“And they won’t,” Declan snaps. For a moment, his office is silent while he looks over the documents before handing them back to me. He sighs. “I agree. The guy’s a creep, but we’re not working for the plaintiffs.” He leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. “We’re here to defend him, not string him higher.”

I stamp my foot in frustration. “How can you even say that? Don’t you see what he’s doing? And we’re just going to let him get away with it?” God, he’s so frustrating. We should be joining the other side, not fighting them.

He shrugs. “Imagine a system where people just take everyone else’s word that something is true. Like it or not, even scumbags deserve a defense. There are rules to be followed to make sure judgments are based on facts, not emotions.”

I try again. “How about this then? These records show thousands of overtime hours logged in the last year. I don’t even know why he’s hanging onto these records, but the payroll documents show that he’s paid thirteen of them. Thirteen. Think about that for a second.” I throw the pile of documents onto his desk, where they land with a thump. “This guy should be behind bars.”

“And I’m saying it’s not our fucking problem. He’s paying us to do a job. If we don’t do it, we’re the ones who get fucked instead.” Declan is holding his pen like a twig that’s about to snap but I can’t stop pushing.

“He’s ruining people’s lives, and all you can say is that it’s not our fucking problem?” God, I want to punch him right in that arrogant face of his. I’m biased. I know that. But anyone who’s got even a tiny shred of decency should see how big of a deal this is, right? “Are you even human?”

Declan glares at me. “I get it, Claire. It’s horrible. He’s a fucking dirtbag. No arguments here, but some of us aren’t done after three months.” He stands, slamming his hands onto his desk so hard I jump. “You skip off back to school, while I’ve got my job to worry about.”

His job? Seriously? “You say that like your dad doesn’t own the whole company. Do you seriously think he’d fire you?”

He laughs, a short, humorless bark. “In a fucking heartbeat, babe. And everyone out there?” Declan waves his hands towards the door. “How do you think their bills get paid? Would you like to decide who gets to stay and who gets to go because business slows down as word gets out that we’re loose cannons in the courtroom?”

Defeated, I sit. I know what he’s saying makes sense from his point of view, but all I can see is how horrible this case is. All those white collar office workers out there would be treated fairly and probably find new jobs easily, but I don’t really know that. Could I look someone in the eye and tell them their paycheck wasn’t important enough?

No, probably not.

A vision of Dad flits before my eyes, just a brief moment where I see his face, his sunken eyes, his expression defeated. I know exactly when that moment was. Only a couple of weeks before he jumped, just before I invited him home. I’d smelled the booze on his breath. He’d gone home with me that night, but all he could talk about was how he didn’t want to mess up our lives like he’d messed up his. He’d looked a wreck.

That moment is indelibly burned into my memory.

And then two weeks later he was gone. Why hadn’t I watched him more closely? If I’d really loved him, I would’ve done more. Something. Anything. Maybe if I’d kept him home, he wouldn’t have jumped. Maybe not. But maybe.

I’ll never know.

Sagging back into my chair, I drop my face into my hands. There’s not a minute in every day where I don’t want him back, but until this case, I’d thought I’d gained some distance. Not gotten over it. I’ll never
get over it
. But past it in a way, at least enough to think rationally about what happened.

For years I’ve had one dream. Study hard, finish school, make a difference. Except here I sit, and in the span of a couple short weeks, I’ve started to doubt if I have the strength to see it through.

My lip quivers. Crap. I can’t cry here. Not now. Not in front of
him
.

I keep my head low and try to take some deep breaths, but tears leak out, and when I take in a lungful of air, it comes back out in a ragged sob. I hear Declan get up, but I refuse to look, afraid that seeing his face will make me lose what little control I still have.

His arm goes around me. He’s kneeling, pulling me against his chest. My resistance is token at best before I let him. Right now, in his arms I feel safe. Maybe it’s the way he holds me. For once he’s not squeezing or prodding me anywhere, or trying to get his hand into my shirt. He just holds me and lets me cry.

“Your dad?” His question is soft, right next to my ear. Not trusting myself to speak, I nod. He squeezes harder. “Yeah, I figured.”

I have no idea how long we sit there, but he holds me quietly without rushing me. Just giving me a shoulder to cry on. He brushes a lock of hair off my face, and suddenly I can’t hold it in anymore. With a wailing cry, I let it go in a way I haven’t since we got the call that Dad died.

When he finally speaks, it’s with a low, thoughtful tone. “Mom passed from cancer. I was seventeen when it happened. By the time she got the diagnosis, it had already spread into several organs and there was nothing they could do but keep her comfortable.” He sighs deeply, and I think the crushing hold he has on me is as much for him as it is for me.

“One day, she was all smiles, energetic, carefree. Then it was like we watched the light die in her eyes a little bit each day until she passed only two months later.” He’s so close I can hear him swallow, and his voice is tight. “Just so you know, you’re not alone.”

Tentatively, like he’s going to burn me if I touch him, I reach around and, closing my eyes, clutch him back. I’m not even close to getting all the way around, but I hug what I can.

This moment, full of pain and loss for the both of us, feels more real than anything we’ve had together in days. Maybe ever. Sometimes he’s such a jerk that I think hating each other would be easier. Instead, we’re caught in this emotional purgatory of want and need and hope and anger.

His heart beats strongly under his shirt. With my head against his broad chest I can feel it, loud and strong. I’ve stopped crying, but I don’t let go. Not until he finally pulls away, slowly, as if he’s reluctant to do it.

When we separate, his face is calm but his eyes are bright. I’m sure mine are bloodshot all to hell. I grab a tissue off his desk and blow my nose. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bringing my private life to work. Give me a minute, and I’ll be back to normal.”

He runs his hand down my arm with a light touch. “You know what, how about we call it for today? I’ll think about what you said, but no promises. If there is anything we can do short of sabotaging the case, maybe it’s worth a shot.”

I sniffle, trying to get my emotions back under control. I’d love nothing more than to make sure this case goes right into the crapper, but with that, my internship would follow right behind. And do I really want to start my career by subverting the court process? Yes, but no. “Thanks for at least listening.”

He starts to say something, then stops.

“What?” I sniffle again, but even though my face is tight and my eyes are stinging, I seem to be all cried out for the moment.

“I don’t want to like you,” he says with such simple honesty it makes me nervous. “Fuck, your mom represents everything I hate right now.” He grins, like that’s supposed to make me feel better somehow. “But you... I don’t know. I love how you’re passionate about this shit. I love how you’re all proper, and I
love
how you look drenched in the rain.” He leans in closer, the compassion in his gaze replaced by just plain passion. “You make me want to do bad things to you.”

I swallow, his words making me shiver. “We tried that, remember? It just keeps messing things up.” It’s hard to even look at him without remembering the feel of cold, wet brick at my back, and his body moving against mine.