Whipped, page 1
WHIPPED
J.J. ARIAS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
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Also by J.J. Arias
About the Author
Copyright © 2021 by JJ Arias
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my wife. Always.
CHAPTER 1
CHEYENNE GRIPPED the steering wheel of her red Mini Cooper, tossed back her shoulder-length light brown hair, and pulled into the parking garage. Her relief at getting out of the rain waned as she circled the first several floors trying, and failing, to find an open spot.
Like all the other relatively tall Spanish-style buildings in Coral Gables’ business district, nine floors of office space sat above four floors of garage. There’d be nowhere for tenants to park otherwise. The area surrounding Cheyenne’s new job was overflowing with little restaurants and coffee shops but almost no parking. They were technically within walking distance to some great places, if Miami wasn’t unbearably hot most of the year.
Taking deep breaths to keep her heart from racing, Cheyenne struggled to settle herself. It was all she could do not to blast some music and sing at the top of her lungs. If she wasn’t worried about being seen by her new colleagues, she would have done it to expend the excitement building up in her body.
With mild motion sickness, Cheyenne arrived at the top floor. Creeping along, she scanned every space painted blue and bearing the white letters RVHS. The only empty ones had people’s names on them like Toni Rollins-Jones. She was the managing partner for the firm and Cheyenne wasn’t about to steal her spot.
Cheyenne glanced at the time on her console. Shit. She was a few minutes away from being late for her first day. Not
the tone she wanted to set.
Like an oasis in the desert, an opening appeared in the thicket of gleaming cars. Hoping it wasn’t a mirage, or worse, some tiny scooter hogging a whole spot, Cheyenne hit the gas and barreled forward.
Breathing a sigh of relief that the spot was open, Cheyenne threw her car into park and raced to the elevator. Pushing the button for the fourteenth floor, she chuckled. As if calling the thirteenth floor by another name would change its luck.
As she ascended, Cheyenne straightened her black suit and adjusted the pearls resting over her mint silk shell. She tried her best not to feel like a little kid playing dress up.
When the highly reflective, polished metal doors of the elevator parted, Cheyenne was greeted by a curved reception desk. Rollins, Velasco, Hoffman and Sanz, LLP was etched into the blue glass with precise, thin letters.
Crossing the modern waiting room, she started for the receptionist talking through the AirPod in one ear. Her advance was stopped by a tall man with thick black hair piled into a high, neat square, darting out in front of her.
“You’re not an April Fool’s joke,” he said with a beaming smile before sticking out his slender hand for Cheyenne to take.
“What?” she asked with a chuckle as she shook his hand cautiously.
“Well today is April first and,” he waved as if pushing away his thought. “Never mind. Bad joke. I’m Anwar Patel.
You’re Cheyenne, right? The new attorney over in Family, yeah? I’m not accosting a new client here, am I?”
“Nope. I’m Cheyenne.” She smiled, hoping to put Anwar at ease.
“Whew!” He put his hand to his chest. “I’m sorry. I got a text from Toni. Apparently, all the lawyers in your division are unexpectedly out of the office this morning. She asked me to show you around and settle you in.”
“Great,” she replied, wishing she’d had an extra cup of coffee to match his energy. The adrenaline surge in the car had left her a little depleted.
Anwar introduced Cheyenne to nearly a dozen support staffers as they made their way from office to office. The firm occupied the entire floor so there was plenty of room for the three practice areas to have their own smaller enclaves. Anwar took her through criminal first, then immigration where he worked, and finally beyond two glass doors to family law.
“You guys have the best conference room,” he said as soon as they crossed into the place where marriages came to die.
Cheyenne turned her head toward the long, glass-encased conference room that easily fit twenty around a modern, oblong table. Broad windows offered a view of Spanish architecture until bleeding into the skyscrapers of the distant downtown Miami skyline.
“Everyone has their weekly meetings in there,” he explained, slowing so she could admire the view. “Criminal on Mondays, immigration Tuesdays, and you guys on Wednesday.”
Cheyenne didn’t have a chance to respond before he was introducing her to an assistant and three paralegals.
“Toni is in here,” Anwar said as he pointed to a huge corner office.
On her desk sat a large portrait of a family. Toni sat next to a bald but jovial looking man and three teenagers standing behind them. Given that Toni’s now salt and pepper hair was all black in the photo, she guessed it was at least a few years old.
“Two partners here,” he pointed at two more window offices that were nowhere near as grand as Toni’s. “A few associates,” he added as they rounded the corner. “And here’s you.” He pointed to a glass door with a little gold sign.
Her heart skipped a beat, but she refrained from touching the embossed lettering. Cheyenne Flores-Moore. Associate.
“Not bad,” Anwar decided when he stepped into the modest office, its small window offering a less glamorous but much appreciated view.
Cheyenne was more overwhelmed by her name on the door than she expected. Forcing herself to be present, she walked into the office and toward the glass desk angled in the corner.
Anwar plopped down on the modern, gray loveseat positioned next to the desk and under the window. “So, did you bring all your degrees to hang as really expensive wallpaper? I’d have my kindergarten diploma up if my sisters hadn’t drawn all over it when they were toddlers.”
“Sisters? How many?” she asked before easing into her brand-new, white leather desk chair and spun around in it just once. She loved the coolness of the material and the new car scent.
“Three. All younger.” He smiled. “I became a lawyer just so I could get away from all the arguing and conflict.”
Cheyenne laughed, relaxing her shoulders. “I’m an only child, but I do have an overbearing single mother. Can I offer you one of those?”
“I’ve got my own, but if you ever want to compare demanding mother stories, I’m your guy. Nothing like being a first-generation,” he added with a shake of his head.
She could relate, but her mother was the first-generation immigrant. All her life Cheyenne could never forget how lucky she was, how easy she had it by comparison. She was constantly reminded how much she was expected to achieve given the generational sacrifice of her grandparents.
“What’s your instrument?” Cheyenne took an educated guess.
“Cello.” He chuckled. “You?”
“A highly sought-after string to get you into a good college,” she said with a nod. “Piano for me.”
After exchanging stories of how they’d failed to honor their respective families by not becoming the next Mozart before puberty, Anwar slapped his knees and stood. “Come on.
Let’s go grab what you brought.”
“It can wait. I’d much rather get to work. I don’t want to make a bad first impression.” She imagined Toni or any of the lawyers strolling in to find her decorating instead of working.
They hadn’t hired her to play Martha Stewart.
He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and smirked.
“Your mentor must be in court or something. Until they assign you some cases, there’s nothing for you to do but wait. You might as well take the break while you can get it. You’re going to be swamped soon.”
Cheyenne cocked her head to the side. “Don’t you have work to do? Or are you stuck babysitting me?”
“I wouldn’t say stuck,” he replied evasively.
After retrieving two boxes full of stuff from the trunk of Cheyenne’s car, Anwar insisted on buying them both some espressos from the little coffee cart in the lobby. He swore the jet fuel would be conducive to perfect diploma placement.
When they’d hung Cheyenne’s small mirror, two bachelors and a law degree, they scattered her small cacti around the bookshelf and perched a drooping fern at the top.
“So, now that we’ve spent all morning together,”
Cheyenne said as she glanced at her phone, “how about I treat you to lunch and you give me the real lowdown on working here.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said seriously.
“Here,” Cheyenne grabbed the only cactus with a little red flower blooming at the top. “I’ll sweeten the offer since you’ve been so awesome.”
Anwar accepted the tiny offering. “Deal.”
One block from the office, Anwar led them to a cute little sandwich shop. Over lunch, he told her what he’d learned in
the last nine months. The law offices of Rollins, Velasco, Hoffman, and Sanz was his first real job too.
“It’s a lot of hard work, but they give us a ton of perks,”
Anwar explained between bites. “Breakfast on Fridays.
Catered lunch on Tuesdays. Ice cream trucks in the summer.”
He took a swig from his soda bottle. “Gym memberships.
Really badass holiday party. Halloween party where they give away prizes. There are even three retreats. One for the partners. One for the associates. One for the staff. It’s pretty cool.”
“With all these festivities, when do you work?” Cheyenne joked as she finished her chicken Caesar wrap.
“Oh,” he laughed, “you work alright.” He wiped the dark stubble on his chin. “When I was interviewing, I was pumped we didn’t have a minimum number of billable hours.” He laughed again. “Little did I know that it was because you’re so busy that you’ll easily log over two thousand.”
Cheyenne’s eyes widened.
“But, hey, they really try to keep us happy while they take ownership of our lives,” he said in consolation.
As soon as they returned to work and turned down the hallway leading to her office, Anwar’s infectious good mood evaporated. When he winced, Cheyenne focused on what had caused the chill in the air. A woman was sitting in Cheyenne’s office. The glass walls were half frosted, so she could only see a head of cropped dark hair.
“Who is that?” she asked.
Anwar stopped walking and turned to her, his dark eyes wide and glistening. “I think that’s your mentor.”
“Okay, but—”
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly before turning on his heels and darting for the double glass doors leading back to the reception area.
Sorry for what?
As Cheyenne walked toward the woman sitting very erect while she waited for her, she considered a different question as dread squeezed her lungs.
Sorry for who?
CHAPTER 2
SITTING ALONE in the new girl’s office, Erica checked her watch as she drafted an email on her phone. If she’d known her mentee wasn’t coming right back, Erica would’ve left her a note and gone to her own office. At least there she could strap a heating pad on her aching lower back while waiting for someone who didn’t value her time.
Behind her, the door creaked open. Erica turned to see a breathless young woman, her slim cheeks flushed bright pink with either embarrassment or exertion. She hoped for the former until noticing her light, honey-brown eyes radiating with panic.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was waiting for me.”
Erica glanced down at her extended hand, or more specifically, the trembling fingers. Instead of putting her at ease, Erica let her squirm. In family law, seasoned attorneys ate green ones for breakfast. How would the newbie react to a less than warm and fuzzy reception?
“Erica Torres,” she said stiffly while taking her warm, albeit lightly perspiring, hand in hers.
Cheyenne’s nerves replicated. Even though she was standing in the middle of her own office, she was obviously unsure what to do with her body.
That’s not a good sign.
“I’m Cheyenne.” The belated introduction was unnecessary. “I went to lunch with Anwar from immigration,”
she hesitated, looking at Erica as if debating how much
explanation was required before deciding to ramble on. “It’s funny,” she said with the high-pitched squeal of an anxiety-ridden laugh. “When I got here, I was so worried about being late that I almost parked at a metered spot a block away and ran, but when I finally made it, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. So I figured it was a good time as any to put my stuff up. That’s what I have to look forward to, right? A lifetime of hurry up and wait.” She sucked down a breath after assaulting Erica with her machine gun cadence.
Erica watched Cheyenne fidget for a second before connecting to a phrase at the center of her word vomit. “Do you drive a red Mini Cooper?”
Cheyenne knitted her nicely sculpted eyebrows together.
“Yes.” She searched Erica’s face for clues. “How do you know?”
A bolt of irritation struck Erica fast and hard. With her pained body, she’d had to park in one of the first-floor guest spots and take the stairs all the way to the top. Everyone knew she didn’t do elevators. The space near the stairs was hers.
“Because you parked in my spot today,” she explained with a twitching jaw.
Cheyenne’s face transformed from rosy flush to sickly pallid. “There wasn’t a name— I didn’t know—”
“Now you do,” Erica snapped. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you know about family law.”
As if marching to her doom, Cheyenne slipped behind her desk and crossed her legs. At least she knew enough to wear a black suit on her first day. There was no harm in the conservative route. Erica decided not to tell her that unless she was going to court or meeting a client, formal dress was optional.
“Well,” Cheyenne pushed back her light wavy hair before clasping her hands in her lap. “I studied it for the bar,” she offered with a smile.
Erica blinked and made no effort to hide her lack of amusement. “Is that the breadth of your experience?”
“Divorcing people wasn’t my plan,” Cheyenne admitted with an increasingly nervous laugh, the kaleidoscope of color changing on her face again.
Erica resisted the urge to make a joke about her having some cuttlefish ancestors. She didn’t want to get another call from HR because of a snowflake. Any amusement she’d felt because of the joke she’d made to herself was erased by the realization that she’d have to teach Cheyenne absolutely everything. She reminded herself to thank Toni for the test.
Crossing one leg over the other, and instantly regretting it thanks to the pinching pain in her side, Erica pressed. “What was your plan?”
“I wanted to do plaintiff’s work. Medical malpractice,” she explained. “But when I interviewed, Toni said they were closing that practice area and offered me a job here.”
Erica raised a brow. “And instead of simply applying somewhere else, you decided to start doing something you have no knowledge of?”
Cheyenne smiled, a tiny dimple visible on one cheek.
“Toni was really persuasive. She made it sound like this was half social work and half law. I really like helping people through tough times, and what can be harder than your family breaking up?”
Who the hell puts a positive spin on divorce work?
“Are you that easy to persuade or did you not have any other prospects?” Erica pushed, expecting a break in Cheyenne’s increasingly sunny disposition.
Instead of dropping her smile, Cheyenne chuckled.
Another shard of kindling to Erica’s mounting irritation. She was like the sun in her eyes while trying to drive.
“There was another firm downtown,” she explained, leaning back in her chair as she seemed to grow more comfortable. “They made me an offer, and when I told Toni, she matched it.”
The ease with which Cheyenne described getting an offer for a job she hadn’t really wanted made Erica disbelieve her
little Golden Retriever act.
“How about you?” Cheyenne asked while Erica was busy starting to seethe. “Did you always want to practice family law?”
“Yes,” she replied without detail and turned to the matter at hand. This wasn’t summer camp where they were going to braid each other’s hair and trade secrets.
Cheyenne opened her mouth, doubtless to ask a follow-up question, but Erica didn’t let her get a syllable out. “I need you to draft a motion to compel discovery. We have an opposing counsel who advises his clients to be rather evasive in their responses to our written interrogatories.”
