Give Me a Chance (BYC #2)

10. Matt

10

MATT

T he first day didn’t go terrific, so what? The sound of my thoughts blends with the sound of the treadmill in the otherwise silent gym.

I’ve been looking forward to this ever since Connor sent me the BYC’s job ad for a lawyer. Not a big believer in destiny, I still felt this was some sort of sign.

I was done with my soul sucking job. I was done waking up each day to count the hours before I could go do something I actually like, like teach kids hockey.

Also, I’ve been envious listening to Anne and the girls talk about their job. Even Connor, who was a bottomless pit of despair only a year ago, found purpose in their cause and now focuses his projects on building rent-controlled buildings for the BYC’s proteges.

Starting a relationship with the love of his life certainly hadn’t hurt, but finding a career he could dedicate himself to had a big impact as well.

So, it was a no brainer. This job was meant for me.

Mitigating circumstances were numerous. I was volunteering with them for over a year, and I was good friends with the HR rep. Not that I wasn’t the best candidate—there isn’t a surplus of lawyers trying to climb their way up the non-profit ladder.

There was only one dilemma I had during the whole process. Natalie Barnett.

5’7” of fire wrapped in a captivating package. A package you can’t look away from even when she’s spitting the fire directly at you. If she could, she would have burned me down on the spot.

After forty minutes on the treadmill, my calves start to burn. I welcome the pain, as well as any distraction from her. It’s short-term, unfortunately, as my brain races back to Natalie. Next to her, I lose all decorum, becoming an angry, horny teenager, unable to get a grasp on my temper.

I hate it.

I hate the way she makes me lose my hard-earned control. I hate the way she thinks she’s always right, even when she’s dead wrong. I hate the way she thinks she deserves my friendliness when she made it clear she doesn’t want to be friends.

She’s used to the world bowing at her feet, but I won’t be one of them.

When the treadmill’s display reads an hour and ten minutes, I hit stop. I’m done with the gym with still plenty of time left before work. After taking a shower, I call my mom, knowing she’s looking forward to hearing about my first day yesterday.

“Mattie! I was hoping you’d call! Going to the gym today?” Her voice is kind and sincere.

I’m a momma’s boy. It wasn’t much of a choice since my father left us when I was three. She was my everything. Raising two kids as a single mom wasn’t easy, but she made it happen. She made sure we had everything we needed and ensured we felt loved and cared for equally.

“I just got back, and I wanted to hear from you before I head to work.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

“You know I’m proud of what you’re doing, right? I was proud either way, but it makes me so happy to know you’re making changes to feel more fulfilled.” Without a non-profit, not much unlike the BYC, I would never have had a chance to play hockey. Hockey equipment is notoriously expensive, and a single mom of two could hardly afford it.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m feeling pretty good about it, too.” She probably thinks I’m too excited to sleep. Rather, what was keeping me up is the question of how long I have to work there before they could forgive me if I poisoned Natalie’s coffee.

“Have you spoken to Sarah?” she asks.

“I called them on Sunday. Benji’s getting bigger by the day.” Benjamin, my nephew, is one-year-old and just took his first steps.

“He is.” She sighs wistfully.

Sarah, her husband Adam, and baby Ben live in Sacramento, meaning we get to see them just a few times a year. It hurts her to be so far away from her first grandchild, but her work is here in Seattle. She’s been a secretary at the same law firm ever since Sarah and I were little kids. There were times she didn’t have a choice but to bring us to work with her, and it’s where I decided to become a lawyer.

She’s an incredible grandma, and I’d love to give her more grandkids, but unfortunately, I’m missing a couple of key puzzle pieces.

“Will I see you Saturday? I want to hear all about the new job,” she asks.

“Sure, Mom. I’ll be there around noon.”

The workout and talking with my mom helped me relax, so I walk into the office with a smile on my face. Today, after yesterday’s fiasco, I’m dressed appropriately in dark blue slacks and a light blue shirt with a few top buttons undone.

Just my luck. The first thing I see walking in is her, and my pulse picks up immediately. My dick and brain battle to solve the dilemma of whether I’m horny or angry. She’s telling a story to a few coworkers, and they laugh, infatuated by her. My brain wins.

How does nobody see her as anything other than perfect?

“Good morning,” I say politely, walking to my desk.

“Good morning, Matt,” the two girls talking to Natalie respond in unison, while she shoots me a fake smile.

Anne walks up to me, following me to my desk.

“Morning, Mattie.”

“Morning, Annie.” We both hate the nicknames, so it’s a running joke between us.

“Want to grab lunch later?”

“Sure, I haven’t brought anything.”

“Great, let me show you the best lunch place around.” She bows theatrically, eliciting a chuckle.

“Thank you so much for helping us,” a teary-eyed mother says, holding her baby boy on her hip.

“Save your ‘thanks’ for when I actually do that,” I joke, shaking her trembling hand.

“You good?” Kiara asks when the mom leaves our office.

I exhale a long breath.

“In one morning at the BYC, I helped more people than probably a year in Jones & Williams.”

“That’s what we do around here.” She smiles.

I had three client meetings, two of them Palestinian families. One of the families has been in the U.S. for a while, and the other came just recently, fleeing the brutality currently happening in their birthplace. It’s humbling hearing the horror stories they’ve shared. It’s also nice to know you can do something to help them.

I can’t make it all stop. I can’t solve decades’ worth of systemic oppression they’ve endured. But I can make sure they have the support here in the U.S. We plan on how they’ll apply for the refugee status and enroll the kids in our programs so they can start living a life closest to normal in these circumstances.

We also offer them an apartment in one of Connor’s buildings, but the families would rather stay with their relatives for now.

The amount of help the BYC offers people is amazing. Help with accommodation, job seeking, childcare, and now, legal counsel.

Holding my head high, I walk into the break room to refill my water bottle, but the sense of accomplishment is cut short.

“...and then he completely changed the pace, as if I haven’t just said just like that...”

Natalie is obviously retelling the story of her latest adventure to Rina sitting across from her. I fake cough to make sure she notices me entering the room, but she continues talking.

“...and poof, it was gone. I tried to help him and rub it myself, but it had mysteriously disappeared.” Finishing the story, she takes a sip of her coffee.

I slam the door on the way out after the quickest bottle refill ever.

“What’s his deal?” I hear Rina ask through the door, but I don’t wait to hear the response.

There’s a tiny, tiny part of me glad to hear she couldn’t orgasm with this unknown man. But the bigger part of me is split between the primal jealousy of this man who’s touching what he isn’t supposed to and blinding rage because she can’t spare me the basic decency of not talking about it in front of me.

Lunch time is close, but my appetite is completely gone. So, I ask Anne for a raincheck and get back to work.

Anne refuses to take no for an answer, so I humor her and join her for lunch the next day. We enter a cozy sandwich and salad bar after a short walk. Warm lighting illuminates the place, chalkboard menus decorate the walls, and mason jars are used for everything, from drinks to décor and to-go salads, giving it a rustic feel. Everything on the menu is either artisanal, organic, or homemade.

I order a club sandwich, while Anne orders a salmon salad. Just as we get our orders, the door opens, and Natalie walks in. Anne waves her in, and she pretends not to notice me.

Between her spot directly across from me, and her flowy, open necked blouse, I have a perfect view of her mouth-watering cleavage, which only pisses me off.

“So, how do you like working with us so far?” Anne asks me, breaking the silence.

“It’s been good. I love the work we’re doing, and everybody’s been super nice.” The sandwich is phenomenal.

“I think you quitting your soul sucking corporate job is awe worthy,” she responds between bites, and Natalie scoffs.

“Thanks, but I was bored at my old job. So, it was for selfish reasons, actually.” It’s the truth.

“Sure was.” Natalie mumbles under her breath. It’s getting harder to ignore her snark. By the time Anne leaves for the restroom, I’m ready to pounce.

“What the hell is your problem?” My tone is cool and collected, a contrast to my insides.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact you’re celebrated as a goddamn hero for being here five days, while some of us have been here from the start.”

“Well, sorry for not hearing about the BYC sooner. Maybe public relations are to blame. Wait, that’s your job.” I tap a finger to my chin.

“Don’t even start down that road. I’m amazing at my job. Some of us knew we wanted to help people from the very start and didn’t need to get bored at our devil’s advocate gig to decide to care about the little guy suddenly.”

“You should be happy the devil’s advocate is here to help your little guy. You can hardly help him with your job.” She’s seething. If telekinesis were a real thing, I’d be dead right about now.

“Better hurry to help them before you get bored again and leave.”

“You think I’m the one who gets easily bored? Funny. Maybe we should ask some of the guys you’ve dated. What’s the rule? One date and done? One fuck and done? Or is it one and the same?”

Hurt flashes in her eyes and before the signal gets to my brain, she’s picking up her purse and leaving the place.

“Fuck,” I mumble, just as Anne comes back.

“Where did she go to?” she asks.

“I fucked up.” Big time. I don’t treat women that way. My mom taught me better.

But this one woman breaks all my fucking rules. Typically, I don’t curse much, and I’ve used fuck ten times in the last minute. I slide my hand through my hair, messing it up in the process.

“Don’t you think it’s time you tell me what’s going on with you two?”

“I may have acted like an asshole, but this is something you need to ask her, not me. In the meantime, please don’t ask me to lunch if she’s coming.” I drop a couple of bills on the table, and we head back to the office.