Whipped, page 7
Anwar was cut in the fifth round and Cheyenne only made it to the third, which was better than being dead last. Cheyenne had the speed and passable balance but stopping on a dime was her Achilles’ heel.
“Go, Big Red!” Anwar cheered as all but three of the skaters stood on the sidelines. It was down to Big Red, Four Fingered Fran, and Trauma Queen.
After a wayward elbow to the face knocked Fran out, it was a heart-stopping grudge match between Red and Trauma that looked more like wrestling than skating.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to punch other players,”
Cheyenne whispered to Anwar when Red caught a fist with her face.
“Don’t try to pull that during a bout. You’ll get tossed,” a woman explained from behind her.
Cheyenne nodded but didn’t say she’d already committed the league rules to memory on top of having watched hours of videos on YouTube.
When Big Red emerged victorious, the skaters congratulated her before starting the tedious task of pulling up all the tape around the floor. Cheyenne was on her knees and picking at a corner that was all but super glued to the ground when Fran rolled up next to her.
“Hey, meat,” Fran said, prompting Cheyenne to look up.
“If you’re paying attention to the schedule, you’ll see we have a bout against the Give’em Hells this weekend. It’s not mandatory for you to volunteer to help out at the event, but if you ever want to join the team, it’s something we take notice of. Shows you’re willing to go the extra mile and invest your time and energy.” She offered a smirk. “Plus, we have a pretty awesome barbecue afterward at Trauma’s stepmom’s condo.”
Cheyenne’s stomach sank. If she wasn’t going to be playing yet, she didn’t want Erica to see her with the Losers.
“If I can’t make it to the game, is there some other way I can contribute? I make some badass wings. I can bring those.
And I can help clean up after too.” Cheyenne hoped it would be enough to show she wanted to be part of the team.
“Yeah, okay. We’ll see you then,” Fran agreed as she rolled away, probably to remind the rest of the scrubs picking at tape on the floor about the weekend.
Cheyenne took a deep breath and tried not to wear her excitement on her face. It was her first real team thing outside of practice. If only she could cheer her Losers on. She discarded the notion. Her time would come soon. In a couple of weeks, they’d play the Gainesville team and she wouldn’t have to worry about Erica.
CHAPTER 12
SANDWICHED BETWEEN ERICA AND BLAKE, a family law associate wearing enormous round glasses, Cheyenne practiced what she was going to say in her head. She’d never been a fan of public speaking, but sitting around the conference table with seven other lawyers, including Toni, two partners, and her impossible-to-please mentor, Cheyenne couldn’t will her racing heart to slow.
After Toni went over a fair amount of housekeeping, including plans for a Friday ice cream social, they turned to the thing creating a pit in Cheyenne’s stomach. One by one, they went around the room.
Starting with Toni, each attorney discussed something they had coming up in the next couple of weeks. The partners shared some wins while the associates, apart from Erica, took the opportunity to ask the brain trust questions.
As her turn neared, Cheyenne’s pulse danced in her neck.
She was only half sure that when she opened her mouth something logical would flow. If Erica weren’t as warm and cuddly as an iron maiden, she would have asked her if what she planned to say was okay.
She could only imagine what that conversation would’ve been like.
Cheyenne: Hi, Erica. I don’t really have anything notable to mention at the meeting, but I’ve been at so many without talking that I worry Toni is going to think I’m too meek. What do you think I should do?
Erica: Why are you in my office? Can’t you see I’m too busy being perfect at everything to help the likes of you? Why don’t you already know everything even though I’ve never tried to teach you anything? I suppose that’s not true; I’ve taught you a thing or two with pain and mild humiliation.
“Cheyenne,” Toni’s voice ripped her from the scene unfolding in her mind. “You have something coming up next week, don’t you?”
It was the question she’d been expecting, that she’d been preparing for while she talked to herself in the shower this morning. Yet Toni’s attention still sent heat flashing violently through her body. She felt as bright as lightning disturbing the night sky.
“Yes,” she responded so loudly that she heard it over the nearly deafening pounding in her ears. “Sharnice Raymond.
It’s the case we took pro bono. I believe she worked here as a file clerk a few years ago.”
“Oh, yes,” Mario, a man with fluffy white hair and perennially sunburnt cheeks, rapped his knuckles against the table. “She was a real cute girl. I think the husband used to deliver packages here,” he said with a revolting wiggle in his thick, white eyebrows. “A shame she couldn’t keep that together.”
Cheyenne’s jaw twitched. She hadn’t shared more than a passing greeting in the hallway with him before. It hadn’t been enough to warn her that he wasn’t just detached, he was a douche.
“Where are we with that?” Toni asked, dragging the conversation back on track.
“It’s a very simple dissolution,” she explained, still feeing sort of bad for the two people who promised to love each other forever now just stepping back and disappearing from each other’s lives. It made her stomach sink like a stone. “No assets. No children. No real appetite for a fight. He doesn’t even have his own lawyer—”
“Make sure he signs that waiver—” Mario interrupted, but Cheyenne didn’t let him finish.
“Erica took care of that on our first meeting. We have his notarized signature on the affidavit explaining his rights and warning of the disadvantages of proceeding pro se where the other party is represented.”
Next to her, Erica stirred. Was that a warning? Was Cheyenne’s irritation at Mario’s abrasive energy and unwanted commentary showing?
Cheyenne leaned back in her chair and forced her shoulders to relax, or at least appear to relax, as she unclenched her muscles. “They’ve signed the marriage settlement agreement so we’re—”
“If it’s really that simple, just schedule it for a UMC
hearing. That’s Uniform Motion Calendar. The judges hold them twice a week. You’ll be in and out of there in five minutes. No need to drag it out,” Mario interrupted, apparently oblivious to her mounting frustration or merely unable to stop his unnecessary mansplaining.
Or maybe he was delighting in it. Getting a thrill out of making her shut up and listen. She was getting sick of being tested. Of having to show what she was made of. If she were on skates, she’d slam into him at a high rate of speed just to knock the smug expression off his face.
The words escaped the confines of Cheyenne’s mind as if propelled by their own desire to shut Mario up. “If you let me finish a sentence,” she started, her entire body vibrating with nerves and impatience, “I would have told you that it’s already set for next week. I don’t have any questions. I’m just giving an update on my case.”
Still holding Mario in her gaze, she crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap. In the icy silence that followed, Cheyenne could have sworn she heard something like a muffled chuckle escaping from Erica.
Before Mario could open his mouth and say anything else, Toni cleared her throat. “Okay, great job. I’m sure it will go
smoothly, and if you need help, you’ve got your mentor’s support. Blake,” she said, turning to the man on Cheyenne’s left. “How are you doing with that motion to hold depositions over video rather than incurring the unnecessary travel expenses?”
Blake’s response was indiscernible white noise. As Cheyenne’s rush of anger wore away, she was left with shock and embarrassment at having told a senior partner to shut the hell up. Her stomach churned and her skin buzzed with electricity as the adrenaline fled more quickly than it came.
I should apologize, she decided. Maybe I can explain that I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I practiced drills until nearly midnight while listening to a lecture on complex mediation.
Will he understand? Will Toni? She had a sick feeling in her stomach that they wouldn’t.
By the time the meeting was over, Cheyenne had practiced several iterations of her apology. She leapt to her feet the moment Toni signaled they were finished. Maybe she could get to her before she decided to fire her.
The sensation of Erica’s surprisingly warm hand on her wrist stopped her in her tracks. Looking down first at the fingers grasping her and then to the dark brown eyes alive with mischief, Cheyenne furrowed her brow.
Erica released her like she was radioactive and then unnecessarily straightened her trousers. “Do you have a few minutes for me?”
It might have been the first actual question Erica had ever posed. At least to her.
Cheyenne glanced at the door where everyone but her and Erica were filing out. She watched Mario disappear and then Toni. She looked back at Erica feeling torn. Would Mario complain to Toni if she didn’t try to make it right first? Would this be a black mark on her record?
“If you’re too busy to get a new case I understand.” Her tone bore the usual dry, sharp edges. She was used to that. It was the playful curve to Erica’s full lips that Cheyenne didn’t
know what to do with. The unexpected expression was the tipping point in her predicament.
“Okay,” she replied, her hands still trembling and her mind racing. “I have time,” she decided before following Erica out of the conference room.
THERE WAS something distinctly less Golden Retriever-like about Cheyenne. It wasn’t just at the meeting, although watching her stand up to Mario’s bullshit had been an unexpected delight. It was the way she’d been carrying herself lately. Almost like she was standing a little taller.
As Erica sat behind her desk, she let her attention linger on Cheyenne. Her cheeks were still a little flushed from refusing Mario’s attempt to steamroll over her, but in this light, it looked more like she’d experienced a rush than been flustered.
Forcing herself to stop paying so much attention to Cheyenne’s objectively attractive face for fear of turning into the kind of misogynist she hated, Erica turned to the matter at hand. “I have something that’s at once straightforward and complex,” she started with an air of drama.
“What is it?” Cheyenne grinned, revealing the kind of smile that could only be accomplished by years of orthodontia.
“You sound so mysterious.”
Erica’s lip twitched but she resisted the unnatural desire to smile. “It’s a child support case,” she explained, not letting herself get sidetracked by the levity in her chest. “We’ve been litigating this for over a year, and I finally forced a hearing to resolve it.”
Tilting her head to the side, Cheyenne appeared mildly confused. “What is there to fight about? It’s just a formula based on income and percentage of time spent with the other custodial parent.”
“That’s right,” she agreed. “And which one of those two things do you think contains the opportunity for loopholes?”
Understanding brightened her already luminescent eyes.
“So, which one of them is trying to stash their cash?”
Without expressing her amusement, Erica turned to the laptop angled at the corner of her desk and pulled up the Zambrano case file.
“Hiram Zambrano owns about a dozen companies that in turn own a few more companies.” She started clicking documents on their electronic docket to email to Cheyenne.
“Sourcing all of this has—”
“Been a pain in the assets,” Cheyenne joked.
Only Erica’s eyes drifted from her computer screen to Cheyenne’s amused face. “Something like that.”
Cheyenne’s lips were full and glistening from the dregs of this morning’s pink gloss when she smirked. The gesture, little more than a twitch, amplified the flutter steadily replicating in Erica’s gut.
What the hell?
“You know, I used to have this professor in law school,”
Cheyenne started, her head tipped back and revealing her long, slender neck. “He always used to say that everybody hates lawyers until they need one, then they want the biggest shark money can buy.”
Instead of smiling, Erica dug her blunt, polished nails into the palm of her hand. She was not going to do this. She was not going to notice the hot new lawyer fresh out of law school and dripping with excitement. Absolutely not.
“It’s true,” Erica agreed, shifting in her seat before straightening. “And this guy is Jaws in pinstripes. Make sure you go over his proposed child support figures carefully.
There’s a mountain of financial disclosures. Think you can get this done by noon tomorrow?”
There was that smile again, lifting Erica’s tired heart against her will.
“Absolutely,” she declared without an ounce of visible hesitation as she leapt to her feet.
In a flash, she was on Erica’s side of the desk. “Is this everything?” Cheyenne asked, leaning closer as she pointed at the computer screen.
Erica’s mind and body froze. Cheyenne was suddenly so close, the soft floral scent of her perfume making her dizzy as the warmth from her bare legs burned her like a wildfire.
When Cheyenne pulled her arm back, she grazed Erica’s forearm, sending a rush of electricity coursing through her skin. She willed her body to stop reacting.
“I’ll send you a link to the file,” Erica managed despite her tight, dry throat.
“Great,” Cheyenne replied as she stepped away, taking the fragrant warmth with her, much to Erica’s simultaneous relief and disappointment. “I’ll start now.”
Erica allowed herself to watch Cheyenne’s advance toward the door, but only for a moment. When she turned back, Erica’s attention snapped to her computer screen.
“Thanks for this opportunity, Erica,” she said over her shoulder, her hazel eyes gleaming.
Caught off guard by the openness in her face and the sincerity in her tone, Erica didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing and let Cheyenne slip out of her office.
The moment she was gone, Erica stood and closed the door. Cheyenne’s perfume wrapped around her like a silk scarf before dissipating. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and forced herself not to be attracted to Cheyenne. A new test for her disciplined willpower.
CHAPTER 13
HIGH ON LIFE, Cheyenne skated so fast that her sweat-soaked hair matted under her helmet as she rolled through the breeze she was creating. With the track vibrating beneath her wheels, she crossed one leg over the other to negotiate the turn at the top of the track.
The crossover move had been the hardest thing to master so far, but the most satisfying too. Maintaining her speed as she whipped around the turn without tripping over her feet was exhilarating. After trying and failing for weeks, she’d managed to get a good feel for her weight on the skates. It was getting easier to know how far she could lean in any direction without falling. If her feet would just stop hurting so much at the end of the day, life would be perfect.
“Nice job, meat!” Big Red shouted as she clapped. “You all are actually starting to look like a bunch of skaters. I can see the effort.”
Satisfaction made Cheyenne’s skin tingle. She resented the thrill praise triggered in her body, but she couldn’t linger on the feeling. Big Red wasn’t done with them yet.
“Now, let’s step this up, shall we?” Big Red barked before signaling to the handful of Sore Losers volunteering to help with practice.
Anwar, breathless from the exercise, rolled up in his black skates and pristine red laces as he adjusted the straps on his elbow pad. “Do you think she’s going to have us do it backward and in the dark with one leg tied behind our backs?”
Cheyenne chuckled as she regarded their fearless leader.
“That’s probably how she takes it easy on a Sunday morning.”
Anwar’s gaze remained fixed on Big Red as she dropped little orange cones all over the track. His eyes widened when Fran skated in the opposite direction placing larger obstacles.
“Are those our bags?” Cheyenne asked when she was sure that her duffle bag was now taking up the outside lane on one of the turns.
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure that’s a spare tire,”
Michelle, a woman with a buzz cut and knuckle tattoos, said as she rested her hands on her hips.
Big Red skated backward to the center of the blue lines forming the rink. Despite being in constant motion, she never lost the slightest bit of composure. “Since I’m confident you all can now skate your way out of a paper bag, it’s time to up the stakes. Break up into two groups of four. Four Fingered Fran and Dora the Destroyer will each join a team so we can have five and five. Team One will go first and skate in a pack while getting around the obstacles. The point is to avoid them without skating into your teammates, okay? This is a no contact drill. Team Two, you’ll go second. If you get this right, we’ll do it again, but the obstacles won’t be stationary, they’ll be the other team, okay?”
Cheyenne stretched her lower back to get ready for the action as the teams formed around her. By default, she ended up on the first team, which suited her just fine. She was in the mood to take a little risk.
“You three in the front,” Fran indicated to the others with her eyes. “Skate with me,” she added, her attention on Cheyenne.
Without being told, Cheyenne understood that she’d been asked to hang back for a reason. Does she want to watch me?
