Layers (7 page)

“You know it’s not possible for me to work at Ryan.”

“Nothing is impossible if you really want it.”

“Crap, you sound like my grandmother.”

“That’s a little scary. I’m sure she’s great, but I don’t want to sound like anyone’s grandmother.”

I give him a slight smile. “Well, you sure don’t look like a grandmother. That would be scary.”

Jules catches up with us still cradling the de-heeled Louis.

We take one last look around then walk down the entry hall and out the door.

When we reach the street Jaxson reaches for me but I step aside. My feelings are all over the place, one-second I want to be held by him, then a second later I want nothing but space. What can I say? I’m overwhelmed.

Jaxsons car pulls up. He shrugs. “Can I at least give you a ride?”

“Jules and I can take a cab.”

He huffs. “Please let me do just one small goddam thing for you!”

I cringe.

“Sorry Alexia, I just…”

“No, I’m sorry. Things are crazy we’re both on edge, we’re both tired.” I give him a half smile. I think my right half. “We would appreciate a ride.”

I step to the curb, open the car door and slide into the back seat.

“Hey beautiful!” Lane, Jaxson’s driver, says as he turns and looks at me.

“You’re going to get me fired if you don’t give me a chance to open the door.”

“I think that’s just stupid.”

He grins. “Boss-man told me about your loft. Suck’s balls,” he says as Jaxson and Jules slide in.

Jules shuts the door. “I heard sucks and balls. What did I miss?”

“Jules, you have super hearing when someone mentions body parts,” I say and shake my head.

“Hearing about them is fine but I’m a touchy feely kind of girl.”

Jaxson coughs and slides closer to me.

Lane smirks. “Lane, you remember my friend Jules?” I say with a nod toward her.

“Could never forget. Hey Jules,” he says and gives her his cute- as-hell dimpled smile.

“Hey, Lane, you’re not so forgettable yourself” she says and raises her brows a couple of times.

“Do you come on to every man in Manhattan?” Jaxson grumbles.

“No. I have never come on to you,” she replies and gives him the once over.

I roll my eyes.

Jaxson scoots closer to me and Lane laughs as he pulls into traffic.

“Jules, Jules, Jules,” Lane sing-says. “You are somethin’.”


“Yeah, somethin’ all right,” Jaxson mumbles.

Lane snickers.

“Just do your job and drive, asshat.”

“Yessum, boss-man” he says as we make our way through Manhattan traffic.

I look out the window and take in all that is The Big Apple.

Jaxson puts a hand on my knee. “There are things we need to go over.”


“Okay.”

“The voting partners met last night.”

“And judging by your solemn look it’s not good news?”

“More like unexpected. We went over the evidence again. Then we took a vote. Seven of the ten partners voted to turn the case over to the DA.”

“Did you inform them about Will Harris?”

“That was my original plan but something was off. I suspect that Will has been communicating with some of the partners.”

“What do you think he’s been saying?”

“I don’t know. I suspect he’s disclosed that he discovered your embezzlement. He might be saying that he has information that’s not in the report. Whatever he’s saying, he seems to have gained influence.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“This morning I held a private meeting with four of my most trusted friends and advisors. John Green, Ryan VP—whom you know, two of the partners and my personal lawyer. I told them about Will. The setup, the outside audits and my suspicion that he is communicating and influencing some of the partners.” They advised me to keep this information confidential and conduct a private investigation. They believe that if we reveal our suspicion without evidence it will only make things worse.”

“I don’t know if it can get any worse. It looks like we were wrong about the partners wanting to settle this privately.”

“Alexia, I won’t let them turn you over to the DA. The partners are meetingagain tomorrow and I have a plan.”

Three weeks later Jules and I are mattress shopping.

“I can’t believe that you’ve had your loft cleaned, repaired and furnished in three weeks.”

“The power of the Internet, baby,” I declare proudly. “All I need is a mattress and I’ll be sleepin’ in my own bed, in my own room tonight.”

“What about this one?” Jules asks as her ass, then body molds into foam.

I lie down next to her and close my eyes. “Oh yeah, this feels great. These memory foam mattresses kick ass.”
I stretch out and close my eyes.

Jules clears her throat. “Did you replace all your clothes and shoes?”

I open my eyes and give her a sideward glance. “You know I haven’t. I dropped three grand at the Nike store. And another grand on high-tops—I’m good.”

Jules groans.

“What? It’s not like I need clothes for a job or anything.”

She huffs. “You might not be working but you’ll need clothes, shoes and stuff to go out.”

“I’ll just wear my yoga pants and a tee.”


“Yeah, if you’re going out for a Big Mac.”

“You know how much I hate to shop. If I need anything, I’ll order it online.”

“You can’t do that!” She gasps. “What if it doesn’t fit?”


“Then I’ll return it.”


“Have you ever thought about hiring a professional personal shopper?”


“Hmm, that’s an idea,” I say as my eyes close.

She taps my shoulder and I open one weary eye. “What?”

“You were saying…an idea?”


“Oh. Sorry, it’s a great idea. You don’t happen to know any professional personal shoppers, do you?”

Jules grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’re joking right?”

I laugh. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“Call your partner in crime and I’ll hand over my Amex.”

“Only if you insist.”

“Oh I do, I insist.”

“How did Marco and I get so lucky? I mean really. How many girls do you know, have a best friend who’s loaded and fuckin’ hates to shop.”

“Not a one.” I grumble. “Just go and drop till you shop.”

“It’s shop till you drop.”

“Maybe for you.”

“This is the best thing that’s happened to me in months.” Jules huffs.

“That’s just fucking sad.”

“Maybe for you.”

“I have some rules.”

She frowns.

“Only two.”

“Two I can do.”

I hold up a finger. “One: buy yourselves something fabulous.”

She grins. “I like that rule.”

“I knew you would.” I hold up a second finger. “Two: If there is no way in hell I’ll ever wear it, don’t buy it.”

“We know your style. It’s…well, not the most stylish, but we’re professionals darling. Don’t you worry; you’ll look kick ass. I’m so pumped.” She squeals, like a teenager high on Mountain Dew Voltage. “I can’t freakin’ wait!”

She sits up, grabs her bag then gets out her iPhone. She scrolls her calendar. “Hot, damn! I have no court this afternoon. I’ll text Marco and we’ll meet for lunch and map everything out.”

“You’re going to make a map?”

“Of course. Hello!”

“Hey, I’m not a fellow fashion-ho. I don’t know these things.”

“That’s why you have us professional shoppers. We downloaded the professional shoppers app last night.”

And you didn’t want to be presumptuous—girlfriend.

“There’s a shopping app?”


“Honey there’s an app for everything.”

“I guess.”
Who the hell needs an app to shop?

Jules chuckles and shakes her head.

“What’s so amusing?”

“I was just remembering the app that came with my cliterator.”

“What the fuck is a cliterator?”

Jules lies down and starts pointing at her girly part. “It’s a vibrator that you attach…”

I put my hand over hers, stopping her demonstration. “Never mind. I think I can figure it out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Very. Carry on.”


“Okay, so I bought a new cliterator then downloaded its app. The app was supposed to allow you or your partner discrete wireless vibrating control.”

“You said
supposed
? I’m guessing it didn’t work.”

“No, it definitely worked.”

“Okay. I think.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll start at the beginning.”

“That a good place to start.”

She rolls her eyes. “Smart ass.”

“That’s me. Please continue.”

“Okay, I was hired to mediate a settlement for the Bensons, Mark and Carrie—a divorce attorney’s nightmare. They drove me fucking nuts. They argued and fought over everything. EVERYTHING! For example—they debated for two hours over the cost of damn dog care. They tried to calculate the cost of the care by the amount of time they each spent with their pug, George. It went on and on. He took out his calculator, she took out hers—yada, yada, yada. After one hour I was spacing, and all but nodded off.”

“Were they accountants?”

“No, doctors.”


I laugh. “So what happened to poor George?”

“In the end they decided they would set timers for each visit, then calculated the cost by the hour.” She rolls her eyes.

“Poor Ralph. So what about the app and the cliterator?”

“I’m getting there.” She takes a breath. “After the dog argument I insisted that we take a time out. I needed a nap, three shots of tequila or a Red Bull. I decided on the Bull—being my only viable option. I was about to exit and hunt one down, and then I remembered I’d put my new cliterator in my briefcase. I thought an orgasm or two would wake me up. I mean you can’t sleep through an orgasm.”

“Why did you have it in your...Never mind I really don’t want to know.”

“Okay, so after ditching the Bull idea, I popped into the ladies room, put the cliterator on, then opened the app on my phone. Then I returned to the mediation. Everything was going smoothly until they started a major battle over a fucking toaster that had some kind of sentimental value because it toasted an image that resembled Bob Marley.”

“Really?”


 “That’s what they said. Friggin’ Bob Marley. So after listening to them fight over the friggin’ image-making toaster—I felt the need to discreetly turn up the cliterator. I reached for my phone and pressed the app as instructed and the damn thing froze on
high.
”


 “Oh my hell!”

“Yeah, after ten minutes on high I went from clitoral bliss to clitoral hell. I couldn’t get the damn thing to shut off and as I frantically kept on pressing the
stop
button, I’d gotten so involved and distracted that I didn’t realize they had stopped arguing and were staring at me.”


“Oh my God, Jules.”


 “Yes, it was an OMG moment, and it got worse.”

“Worse? No way.”

“Yes, way. As I stood to make my retreat to fix the damn thing—it fucking blew.”

“Blew?”

“Yes! Blew…as in blowout.” She huffs. “It made this loud farterific sound then puffs of smoke billowed from under my skirt.”

“For hell!”

“Yes, total hell.”


I laugh until I’m crying.

“It’s not that funny.” She pouts.

“Yes it is. When did this happen and why didn’t you tell me?”

“It happened about six months ago and I didn’t tell you because you always give me that
look
.”

“What look?”

“The look you just gave me. The one that says
what the fuck are you on and what planet are you from?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was giving you
that
look.”

Jules tilts her head. “Anyway, it was embarrassing as all hell.”

”I bet. What did you do after it blew?”


“What could I have done? I put on a phony smile and said, ‘That damn broccoli it gets to me every time.’ Then I made haste to the restroom, ripped off the fucked up cliterator and tossed it in the trash.” Jules looks over at me. “You’re giving me
that
look.”

“Sorry.”