Chapter 12
James Sterling is punishing me.
I’m sure of it as I sit in my office, scanning the endless list of tasks he’s assigned me.
Weeks have passed in a never-ending cycle of impossible deadlines, my nights and weekends swallowed whole. I haven’t had time to see Nash outside of work, and even at the office, James has kept me so busy that I’ve barely seen him.
It’s been brief smiles, quick touches, and hurried promises of seeing each other soon. But even those moments are overshadowed by James’s demands, his constant presence filling every gap.
He’s had meetings with me each morning and every afternoon, scrutinizing every detail with a level of micromanagement that seems unnecessary for someone he claims to have so much faith in.
The only logical explanation I can think of for his actions is that he’s punishing me for our kiss.
The office is empty tonight, except for James and myself. He’s worked just as many late nights as I have this week.
Nash had been staying late with me. But several times this week, I’ve noticed James’s eyes bounce back and forth between the two of us with as much curiosity as James ever allows himself.
So I told Nash he shouldn’t stay tonight, and he complied, albeit reluctantly.
I sigh heavily, trying to focus on the documents in front of me. The words blur together, despite the caffeine pumping through my veins.
The longer I look at the Wilkinson case, the less I understand why the firm took it on.
The facts aren’t favorable. The applicable law isn’t favorable. It’s a bad case, plain and simple.
From what I can see in the file, this case has had three other firms before it finally came to us already set for trial. Three firms that gave up on this case and didn’t see it through, leaving my client high and dry to find a new firm that would.
I sit with that thought for a while until it finally hits me.
James lost his mom at sixteen, the same age as my client’s son. He watched his dad struggle with the loss of his mom, just like my client is now struggling with the loss of her husband.
And our firm is her only hope for closure, no matter the outcome at trial.
Sympathetic to my client as I may be, it still feels like I’ve been set up for failure.
I see James from the corner of my eye, his tall frame moving toward my office. I brace myself, unsure if he’s here to add more to my plate or just to remind me how far behind I am.
He stops at my door, his expression unreadable. “I’m going to order some dinner. Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m just finishing up here and heading home,” I say, my voice sharp.
He nods, a slight dip of his head, and turns to leave.
“So when are you going to stop punishing me?” I blurt.
He stops cold, then slowly turns back to me. I can see him working to interpret my words.
I let out a breath, steeling myself.
“I’ll elaborate since you look so confused.”
I probably shouldn’t take this tone with my boss, but there’s something about James that has always made me stand a little taller, be a little bolder, even when I shouldn’t be.
He folds his arms over his broad chest and quirks a brow, clearly disapproving of my attitude, but I push on.
“These ridiculous deadlines you keep giving me. All these meetings you’re always calling me into. It feels a lot like I’m being punished for something we both willingly did that we still haven’t talked about.”
He unfolds his arms and slowly stalks toward me where I sit in my desk chair. I feel a flicker of heat rise up my neck as I squeak the wheels of my chair back an inch.
It doesn’t stop him.
He looms over me, planting both hands firmly on the armrests, trapping me there. His eyes lock onto mine, daring me to speak.
I can hardly breathe, his presence overwhelming in this small space. I catch the faint, familiar scent of his cologne and sink back into my seat, trying to distance myself just enough to regain some composure.
He tilts his face down close to mine, his proximity making me squirm in my seat beneath his unrelenting gaze.
“You think this is me punishing you?” he asks.
I swallow, not breaking eye contact. I’m not going to let him intimidate me.
“No,” he continues. “Seeing you come into work every day in your tight little skirts and blush at everything your fucking paralegal says is a punishment. Meeting with you in my office, sitting close enough to smell your perfume, is a punishment. Being here late with you most nights and keeping my hands off of you is a punishment. For me. Because I want what I can’t have. ”
My breath hitches at his admission.
“Why not?” I ask barely above a whisper.
He breathes out, frustrated.
“I’m your boss, Avery.” He pauses, the weight of his words hanging between us. “If you want to think this is punishment, fine. But know it’s not even close to the way I want to punish you,” he growls.
He stands up straight, looking at me with an intensity that makes my heart beat faster. I’m not sure if it’s anger or desire simmering beneath his cool exterior, but I can feel the heat of it, the way it unsettles me.
I watch him leave my office, his shoulders tense. He doesn’t look back.
I gather my things, closing my laptop and stuffing it into my bag. Then I leave without looking anywhere close to James’s office, my mind a jumble of thoughts I’m too exhausted to sort through right now.