Dear Stranger (Paper Cuts #3), page 4
Lisa looks up, laces her fingers together in front of her, and says, “Thanks, you two, for making time in your schedules to meet with me. I know how valuable our time is, so I’ll cut to the chase. As you may or may not suspect, you’re both in the running to be the next partner. We’d like to have our decision made sooner than later, but it’s been a little challenging for us… we’ve been splitting hairs and it’s a whole… well, I won’t get into the nitty gritty.”
Just like that I know where this is going.
The illustrious head of Foster and Foster is going to make us compete head-to-head for this partnership. Like The Hunger Games.
As if we haven’t been doing that every day already.
Except now it’s going to be even more vicious. The gloves are off. Blood will be spilled.
And I’m ready. I’ve been preparing for this all day. If they want me to plead my case, fine. I’ve been amassing all my wins. All my assets. Everything I bring to the table. I have running list in my head, and it’s impressive.
Brooks can bring it, but I’m going to slaughter him. I’m going to fight, and fight, and fight, beating my opponent until he’s just a bloody spot on the ground. There’s no way he’s beating me.
“I called this meeting because first and foremost, I want to convey our deep appreciation for your ongoing dedication to the success of this firm.” Her gaze lands on Brooks, and she smiles. “Brooks, your skills in the courtroom are second to none. You have a way of swinging everyone present to your way of thinking, almost effortlessly. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re a natural.”
He nods his thanks, but this is nothing he doesn’t already know. Vomit gurgles in the back of my throat, but I swallow it back as her gaze shifts to me. She doesn’t offer me the same warmth.
“Tenley, your skills at researching and picking apart the opposing counsel’s arguments have helped our clients win many cases, especially in the last year,” she says.
I wait for more. I, too, am skilled in the courtroom. I make things happen. I persuade. I’m a bulldog. I play hard ball. What about the number of times I’ve gotten a client’s child support payouts doubled, even tripled? What about the many ex-husbands I’ve sent home from divorce proceedings cursing my name? One of them even cried, which I have to say, was the highlight of my career thus far because he was one of the worst kinds of people. It was beautiful—he’d come into the courtroom all swagger, not unlike Brooks—and left a shell of a man.
But she seems to be waiting for me.
“Thank you,” I respond.
“Anyway,” she says, opening a folder. “A complicated case just landed on my desk. You’ve heard of James and Courtney Perry, right?”
I nod. But Brooks speaks first. “Yeah, the Perrys own Periwinkle’s, don’t they?”
“That’s right. The concept restaurant that’s impossible to get into. And they have over 1.3 million followers on their social media feed. At least, they did. They’re in the midst of a divorce, a very public, nasty, high-profile divorce, and Courtney Perry has hired us to be their counsel.”
I blink. This is news. But I suppose it makes sense. While the Perrys had painted themselves as the All-American perfect family on social media, the husband was caught red-handed having sex with his head chef in the alley behind the restaurant. After that, they’d gone suspiciously radio silent. I don’t follow them religiously, but the last time I checked, they hadn’t posted since the bomb dropped. Couldn’t blame them. No one likes to fall from grace and there’s not really a way to do it elegantly when the circumstances are so devastating.
“Good for her,” I say, under my breath. I’m already itching to tear James Perry a new one. And that’s just what I need—a case I can really get behind—to show my stuff. “I’ll take that case.”
They both look at me.
“Not so fast,” Lisa says. “That’s why I brought you both here. I want you two to tackle it, together.”
That vomit that was gurgling in the back of my throat before nearly spews out my mouth. I have to swallow it back first. “What?”
Brooks says nothing. He just sits there, a smug smile on his face, clearly enjoying that I’ve been caught unaware.
Unlike him. He knew this. Lisa already told him.
I imagine the partners sitting around a table in a closed-door meeting, Lisa advocating for Brooks. Disappointment floods through me as the unswerving role model I once idolized is reduced to just-another-attention-starved-woman-in-the-office falling under Brooks’s spell.
“Well, don’t you see?” Lisa says brightly, her eyes volleying between us. “You two complement each other so well. Brooks is so likable; he always wins over the judge. And you…”
She pauses just long enough to let me fill in the blanks. No one really likes you, but you’re great at being behind the scenes. You’ll make him look good, which makes our firm look good, so it’s win-win for everyone.
Like hell.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but is it really necessary to put your two best attorneys on a single case? I can certainly handle this case on my own. And—”
“—The Fosters and I have agreed that a case this complicated and high-profile would be best managed by a team,” Lisa says, speaking over me and putting up her hands to indicate this isn’t up for debate.
I stare at her, then at Brooks, wondering how he could be okay with this. He must like the idea of torturing me… because that’s exactly what this case is going to be.
Pure, utter torture.
Months, maybe even years of it potentially.
A divorce this high-profile could drag out for ages.
“But… what does this have to do with future plans for the firm?” I ask, the idea of becoming partner suddenly feeling so far away when just this morning I was so sure it was in the bag.
“Yes. Thank you, Tenley. As I was saying before, we haven’t been able to make a final determination as to which one of you would make the best partner moving forward, so we’ve decided that whoever wows us on this case will get the partnership,” she states simply.
All those long hours. All that sacrifice. All those cases I opened a vein and bled my heart and soul out to win. They’ve all been for nothing.
It’s down to this case.
I look over at my competition, envisioning spending endless hours in his presence, and my gut lurches.
Lisa hands us each a file. “Go ahead, you two. Don’t be afraid to dazzle me.”
Dazzle her? Gentry here can dazzle anyone by merely strolling into a room.
Me? It’s not so simple.
I know I’m going to be sick as I take my folder and rise from my seat. Even so, I remember who I’m dealing with.
“Thank you, Lisa,” I tell her before turning to Brooks. “I look forward to the challenge.”
I head for the door, trying to ignore the fact that he’s still lingering there, sitting all relaxed like he’s not in a hurry to go anywhere anytime soon. Knowing him, he’s going to attempt to charm her some more after I leave.
“Brooks, you have any questions?” Lisa asks before eyeing the door.
Miraculously Brooks takes the hint, grabbing his folder and standing to leave.
“After you,” he says, still smiling smugly when he meets me at the door.
“Thanks.” I remain stoic and professional. It’s best not to give him a reaction—positive, negative, or otherwise.
I power-walk in my heels to my office, trying to ignore that he’s right behind me. As soon as I get there, I’m going to open this folder right away so I can get a leg up. I’m planning for another three hours, butt-in-chair, getting familiar with the case.
Alone.
As I turn to close the door, though, he’s looking at me.
“So we’ll get started, tomorrow?” he asks, his voice thick with confidence.
“Sure.” By then, I’ll be so far ahead of him, he’ll wish he never locked horns with me.
“Great.” He gives me a thumbs up and starts to walk off, but a second later, he stops. “Hey. I know, this is a little awkward, working together to decide which of us gets the promotion. But you know, I think we’re both worthy of it. You’re a hell of an attorney, Bayliss. So whatever happens, happens, right?”
I freeze as he extends his hand out to shake mine.
And then I snap out of it.
“You might be able to bullshit everyone else in this office, Gentry,” I say. “But you can’t bullshit me.”
“Good luck,” he sniffs, turning to head back to his office. But as soon as I duck back into mine, I could swear I hear him add, “You’re going to need it.”
4
Dinner tonight is fried chicken from a place in Falmouth.
I swear, if the only thing I give Jace is high cholesterol, I’ll never forgive myself. But what can I do? I have work to think about—specifically a case that’ll decide whether I become partner at Foster and Foster. Career-wise, this is going to be the most important two months of my life.
But I’ll think about it tomorrow.
Tonight, though, after I shower and change into pajama pants, I sit in bed and open my phone to BLIND LOVE.
I only have one message. I’m expecting it to be the daily missive from my crystal loving Stranger581. But I’m wrong. It’s from Stranger7721, responding to my, “Okay. Only 89 days. I’m willing to wait if you are.”
Stranger7721: How do I know you’re worth that kind of time investment? I’m a busy girl.
I chuff. So that’s how it’s going to be?
Stranger88: I promise you… it’ll be worth the wait.
Stranger7721: Really? Just what do you have planned for me?
Stranger88: You’ll like it.
Stranger7721: Don’t be so sure. I can be hard to impress.
I smirk, imagining her there, just like me, lying in bed after a long day at work. In my mind’s eye, she’s pulled her hair from her professional ponytail, letting it spill over her shoulders. She’s wearing a lace camisole, silk stockings. Not much else.
For some absolutely insane reason, I think of Tenley from the office, probably because she’s the last person I saw today before I left. She’s easily the most buttoned-up girl, tightly wound person I’ve ever known, and much like Stranger 7721, she’s immune to my charms.
Stranger88: You want to know what I would do to you if you were here right now?
Stranger7721: Please enlighten me. And for the record, I don’t do sex in public places. Not looking to be on the sex offender registry.
Stranger88: Well, now I feel like a pervert… which I’m not. For the record.
Stranger7721: So was the delivery girl story a lie?
I smile. She doesn’t forget a thing I said. I wonder if she read over our transcripts the way I have, picking them apart to see if there was anything to read between the lines. Then again, there’s not much to read… yet.
Stranger88: I plead the fifth.
Stranger7721: Ah. So it never really happened. So what would you do to me, if I were your fantasy delivery girl?
There was a delivery girl. Once. Not at Foster and Foster because I’m not that stupid. I was just a nineteen-year-old college freshman working part-time at the university copy center and she delivered our weekly paper order. I liked that she was older, more experienced than me at the time, and that it took me months of flirting to finally get her to take me seriously.
I guess you could say I love a good challenge.
Stranger88: I’d start by offering you a tour of the office, stealing looks at you every time you turn away. Of course, I’d be flirting and dropping hints left and right the whole time, but you’ll be ignoring them because I feel like that’s the kind of woman you are. It’s not a bad thing. I’m just picking up on that from you. You want me to work for you. And I will. By the time we get to the unused cubicles, I’ll be so worked up that I’ll have no choice but to spin around, press you up against the wall, tell you how hot you make me, and kiss you. You’ll melt against me, giving in, knowing you’re about to have the hottest sex of your life with someone who wants nothing more than to fuck you so hard that you forget your own name.
Next, I’d unbutton your blouse as I kissed you, pulling down the cups of your bra and gently running my teeth along your nipples. You’ll moan, but I’ll tell you to be quiet because there are people right in the next row over. And then I’ll turn you around, lift up your skirt, pull your panties to your knees, and lick you.
While you’re pinned against an empty desk, I’m burying my face between your thighs, tasting you until you’re squirming underneath me. I’ll have to give you my hand to bite because you’ll be so close to coming, it’ll be impossible not to make a sound. When it happens, you’ll bite me so hard that I’ll have scars on my hand. A badge of honor to remind me that I found something Stranger7721 likes more than her job.
I have to admit, I got carried away, so when she doesn’t respond for a couple minutes afterwards, I think I’ve lost her again.
But then I get the message:
Stranger7721: That’s… quite the fantasy.
Stranger88: I told you I’ll be worth the wait.
Stranger7721: I’m actually pretty turned on right now.
Stranger88: See, I think there are other things you’d like. You just haven’t experienced them yet.
Stranger7721: Don’t get your hopes up. We still have 88 days and I’m not convinced yet.
I chuff, hardly surprised by her response.
The harder the hunt, the more satisfying the reward.
Stranger88: Challenge accepted.
“Brooksy?”
I look up to find Jace staring at me from my bedroom doorway. Without warning, he sprints across the room and launches himself onto the bed and into my arms. I quickly close out of the app and set my phone down.
“Hey, Bud. What’s up?”
“You said you’d read me a bedtime story forever ago!”
I blink and stare at the clock at my bedside. I guess it has been that long, in kid-hours.
“So I did.” I sit up. “Let’s go. You brush your teeth yet? Let me see.”
He grins wide then sticks his tongue out.
“Not good enough. I still see chocolate in there,” I say.
I lift him onto my shoulder and deposit him on the stool in front of the bathroom mirror, where I oversee a more thorough brushing. I’ve been doing a lot of that overseeing whenever I’m home. It’s not that Ellie’s slacking so much. It’s more that whenever I’m home, Jace attaches to me like Velcro. I barely get a breath when I get through the door because Jace finds me. The kid is like a heat-seeking missile.
I don’t blame him though. Jace never met his dad, and my father—a stereotypical absentee alcoholic—passed away when Jace was just a baby. I’m the closest thing he has to a father, a role I take seriously.
A role that also means that as much as I want to get laid, it’s probably not happening. Not anytime soon. At least not in my own home. For now, the best I can do is come up with hot fantasies, like the one I told Stranger7721.
I know she was blushing. I wish I could’ve been there to see it. To touch her. To do exactly what I said I would and then some. Instead, I’m here, playing dad. And what I didn’t tell her was that I don’t see that changing, even after 88 days.
After Jace does a passable job at cleaning his pearly whites, I carry him to his bed, pretending to be an airplane, and toss him in. “What story are we reading, tonight?”
“The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Porcupine.”
I catch sight of it on his nightstand.
“Ouch.” Grabbing it, I sit beside him and crack it open. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Leaning back against the headboard, I start to read, but in the back of my mind, I can’t help thinking about Stranger7721.
5
Stranger88: Challenge accepted.
A minute ago, I was lying on my bed, one hand in my panties, stroking myself, wanting more of this silly little fantasy when the messages just… stopped.
Half of me felt a little foolish. The other half wanted to continue more than anything, to see what other kinds of fantasies he’d conjure up. In a world where porn is a click away 24/7, sometimes it’s nice to not to browse for ages, to let someone else do all of the work for a change.
I needed it after the day I’ve had. I’d plummeted from the highest of highs—thinking I was about to be awarded the promotion of a lifetime—to the lowest of lows, having to work with Brooks freaking Gentry. Even though I wanted to stay and get up to speed on the file, I’d had to call it a day early after that devastating blow. All I wanted to do was come home and eat a gallon of ice cream and mope.
I’m not myself, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it.
The day wasn’t all bad though.
My internet stranger may not have been a promotion, but he’d at least made me feel wanted.
And then he was gone. Just like that. No goodbye. No nothing.
Given my profession, my mind wanders to a worst-case-scenario where he’s a married man and his wife came home from work early so he had to put his phone away.
Ugh.
I shove my phone away and pick up a book. Maybe some light reading before bed will do me good and get me out of my own head for a bit.
Except a few pages in, I’m finding it impossible to concentrate. My mind’s wandering all over the place. It’s a good book, but a sad substitute for the words my stranger wrote to me. And it doesn’t stop the ache I feel down below. My clit is engorged, throbbing. Begging for another release—again, this isn’t like me.
So I reach into my night table and pull out 'Old Reliable’ —my nickname for my pink vibrator with all the bells and whistles.
I switch it on, tug the waistband of my panties down, and slip it in, spreading my legs wide.
Closing my eyes, I start with the same, familiar fantasy that has done the trick, all through college and law school and my many lonely nights in this room. Roses, candlelight, a big king bed, and sensual sex with a man who looks an awful lot like Ryan Gosling.
