27. Mandy
27
MANDY
I try not to fidget in the swanky corporate law offices of Clarke & Turner. Even though I didn’t sleep at all last night because I’ve been too panicked about the meeting, now the adrenaline is churning, frying my nerves as if I drank three venti lattes.
Unfortunately, it’s clear that even though I spent thousands of dollars on my lawyer, Randy’s a hick compared to the huge law team Jaxon has been able to assemble. The Clarke & Turner offices are in a glass-and-steel building with a million-dollar view of the Seattle skyline.
Pepper sits on the leather Barcelona chair next to me while my lawyer slouches in his own, looking even greasier and more rumpled in the bright overhead lights in the private lobby.
Yeah, this is the type of company that has multiple lobbies and receptionists on each floor, ostensibly to keep people from wandering where they aren’t supposed to, but in reality, it’s just for intimidation.
And it’s not working, I tell myself firmly.
In reality, I am intimidated and scared.
Not for the first time, I wish that I was like Lauren and had no issue dumping all my problems on a man and making him responsible for my life. Salinger wouldn’t even blink at being in this type of high-end corporate office. Shoot, he would parade in with an even bigger team of lawyers just to prove he had the money to burn.
But Salinger has a big, important meeting today, and he has a temper, and the reality is that this isn’t his problem—we aren’t dating, and I’m not a member of his family. Clearly, based on this office, getting him involved would be a six-figure endeavor, and that’s if he would even go aboveboard to fight Jaxon on my behalf. He would be liable to just attack Jaxon in broad daylight and go to jail, then I would never get over the guilt.
Jaxon’s team is entering the conference room from a side door. Everyone is wearing a bespoke suit except for Jaxon, who’s in his expensive hip-hop T-shirt, blinding-white sneakers, and five-hundred-dollar jeans that are artfully distressed.
The receptionist finally stands up and waves us to the other conference-room door.
Jaxon’s lawyers have all lined up along one side of the table, identical leather portfolios in front of them. My lawyer sits down heavily in a chair and slaps his yellow notepad on the table.
One of the Clarke & Turner lawyers hits Record on a digital tape recorder. “Max, go ahead. ”
“Thanks, you two, for making the trip to our office. We thought it would be best to meet here.” Max gives me a syrupy smile. The lead lawyer is clean-shaven with reptilian eyes.
“Now, Miss Miller,” he says, “we understand that you do not want to turn over the dog to our custody.”
There’s a pause.
Max waits.
Now, I didn’t go to law school, but I did watch all of Suits on Netflix. Isn’t your lawyer supposed to answer questions on your behalf?
I wish I’d prepared better.
“No,” I stammer, hating how juvenile my voice sounds. “She’s my dog. She belongs to me, and the only reason she bit Jaxon the other week was because he assaulted me. He’s been stalking me.”
“So you do admit that the dog did bite Jaxon Pendleton.”
All the Clarke & Turner lawyers immediately scribble on their notepads.
“She was defending me,” I say.
“Incorrect. The dog bit Mr. Pendleton unprovoked. And it wasn’t just the other week. On Friday night, there was a second dog attack.”
“No, he definitely provoked her,” I argue. If my skirt wasn’t so tight, I would kick Randy.
“Did he touch the animal?”
“No, but he touched me . He chased me and threatened me.”
“Mandy.” My lawyer dabs a handkerchief on his forehead. “You have to tell me these things.”
“I told you he chased me,” I hiss at my lawyer.
“You didn’t tell me about the second bite,” he complains .
“There was a lot going on.”
One of the Clarke & Turner lawyer lays out several photos of bite wounds.
“That looks pretty bad.” My lawyer’s head bobs.
“You should have seen what Jaxon did to me.” Is no one on my side?
Lawyers truly are the scum of the earth. How can they defend Jaxon?
“Our client did not chase you or assault you, and if you continue to assert that, we will go after you for slander,” the lone female Clarke & Turner employee says. “Do understand that part of this settlement is that you, Miss Miller, must publicly retract all claims that Jaxon is stalking or harassing you. He’s agreeing not to sue if you give up custody of the dog and write a public apology.”
“An apology,” I choke out. “I’m the victim.”
“If you were the victim, then why didn’t you call the police, Miss Miller?” The head lawyer draws out the “miss.”
“I’ve tried to call them before, and they didn’t do anything.” My palms are sweaty as I twist them in my lap. “But I have evidence. I have text messages.”
“The only thing we have evidence of is that the dog has bitten our client twice now,” the female lawyer replies, because apparently we’re just going to fuck the sisterhood. “If he reports it to the city, animal control will take possession of the dog and euthanize it.”
A small sob escapes my mouth.
Jaxon looks gleeful.
“Our client is offering that the dog be remanded to our legal team, and we will oversee its retraining. Of course, you will agree to pay for the costs of this program.”
“Costs? ”
Next to his lawyer, Jaxon is smirking at me. Apparently when you’re rich, you don’t have to speak at your own legal meeting.
“These are the terms of the settlement Mr. Pendleton has generously agreed to.” Max blinks his reptilian eyes.
My lawyer is flipping through the settlement offer.
“Can she hand over the dog and not have to pay all these costs, maybe sixty-forty?”
“I’m not handing over the dog,” I force out. “She’s family. Pepper is my baby.”
“She’s not a baby—she’s a vicious animal,” the head lawyer insists. “If you do not cooperate and we cannot come to any sort of agreement, then we will be forced to turn all this evidence over to the police and animal control. We’ll ask that they take custody of the dog, at which point, we will be suing you for repayment of Mr. Pendleton’s medical bills and legal bills. Please, carefully consider our offer.”
I’m in shock as I make my way back to the elevator.
“This is a good deal,” my lawyer says after we exit into the noise of the city. “You can get a new dog, after all.”
“I thought you were going to help me,” I cry. “This isn’t helpful at all.”
Randy’s mouth drops open. “You can’t think I can do anything against those Clarke & Turner lawyers. They’re a huge law firm.”
“Then why did you take the job?” I’m sobbing now.
“Now, just hold on.” He fishes in his pocket and hands me a crumpled McDonalds napkin. “Look, you’re a pretty girl—you shouldn’t be crying.”
“You saw the law firm’s name on the letterhead. You should have told me that you couldn’t represent me and Pepper. ”
“You were such a cute little thing, and I didn’t have the heart to tell you no. We’ll work something out.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Now, as your lawyer I really shouldn’t be suggesting this, but can you get a different dog and swap them out? I don’t think they’d know the difference.” He chortles. “I wouldn’t.”
As I drive back to the office, I’m numb. In the parking deck, I park as close to the exit as I can and sit in my car, trying not to emotionally collapse. It’s still early by Rainier Equity standards. I have to go to my desk and try to get some work done.
All I want to do is go home and curl up under the covers. But I have to solve this. My lawyer clearly isn’t going to.
Can I get a different corgi?
Searching through Google, it’s clear that I cannot afford another corgi, and there’s a waiting list at the corgi rescues. Not to mention that I can’t in good conscience subject another dog to Jaxon. What if it was someone’s pet that was inadvertently dumped at the corgi rescue?
What am I going to do?
I wipe my eyes. “We’re just going to go into the office and deal with it tomorrow.”
Salinger’s on the phone, pacing near the exit, talking angrily to someone on the line. His head snaps up as I approach, and he ends the call.
“Hey, Salinger.” My voice is still raw from crying earlier.
Pepper wags her stubby tail at him.
I duck my head and reach for the door. His hand slams on it, shutting it. He’s practically pressing up against me. It’s too close. My heart is hammering .
“You’re afraid,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“Tell me who he is. You saw him today, didn’t you?”
“No,” I lie.
“Mandy.” His hand grips the back of my neck, making me gasp as he forces my face up to his. “I’m done playing games with you. I’m done watching you put yourself at risk for some bullshit reason. You’re literally driving me insane.” His voice is taut. “Trust me when I say I’m going to find out who he is, and when I do, it’s going to be worse for you. So tell me now.”
“Because that’s not creepy.”
With his large hand still on the back of my neck, he turns me back toward the parking deck. “You’re coming with me. Do not argue.”
I’m too tired to protest as he marches me to his car, opens the door, lifts Pepper inside. He drives out of the parking deck a lot less cautiously than I would have, pulling into the evening traffic.
Unlike the last time I was in his car after an incident with Jaxon, Salinger’s not sensitive today. There’s nothing nice about him. One hand’s on the gear shift and the other’s on the steering wheel as he whips through traffic.
I clutch the door. “Can you slow down?”
He responds by flooring it. The German engine roars, and I’m thrown back in the seat as he takes a hard left.
“You want to tell me where you went.” There’s a threat in his voice.
“I just had a meeting.” I force myself to sit up and stare straight ahead at the darkening streetscape.
He takes side streets to the penthouse, avoiding most of the evening rush .
“Can you please just take me home? I’ve had a long day.”
He ignores me, pulling up in front of his penthouse. The doorman opens my car door.
Before I can even think about scurrying away, Salinger’s there, his hand a weight on my waist, guiding me through the marble-inlaid lobby. He practically throws me in the elevator.
“None of this is your business.” My voice is shaking. I can’t control it. All I want to do is go home.
He crosses his arms as the elevator whisks us up to his penthouse.
I hug my arms around myself. I’m freezing. The dress is not warm like my usual pants and oversized sweaters. “I’m not your anything. I’m not your friend or your girlfriend. I’m nothing to you. I work for you. I don’t need you to—”
“Yes, you do.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say, Salinger.”
“Protect you, keep you from harm, watch over you when you sleep because you’re so damn spooked that the last time you probably got some rest was at my home?”
I don’t have anything to say in reply.
The elevator stops. The doors open.
His hand returns to the back of my neck, leading me into the familiar penthouse. Suddenly, the feeling of knowing that I am absolutely safe hits me, and I immediately want to curl up and sleep in his arms.
Wait, no… That’s not right…
We’re at a door to a bedroom now. It’s not his, is it?
“Get out of that dress.” His deep voice rattles me.
My brain is fried, which is the only reason why my hands immediately reach for the buttons on the dress front .
Salinger growls low in his throat. His attention is one hundred percent on me, one-hundred-percent predator.
Don’t make any sudden moves.
My fingers freeze on the buttons.
He’s drawn to me, fixated on my hands at the neck of the dress. “I was going,” he begins, his mouth inches from mine, “to suggest you change into something you can rest in. That dress is awfully tight.”
Move your hand! I internally scream.
My fingers drift down the rows of buttons to smooth the waist.
Salinger tears his gaze away from me.
“I need to go home and get my other clothes,” I whisper, staring down at the floor so I don’t have to drown in his eyes.
“I don’t think you understand, Mandy. You’re not leaving.”
“But I don’t have any other clothes.”
I can see his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows, like he’s wrestling with some sort of inner demon.
He disappears into a closet—it is his bedroom—and reappears to practically throw a shirt at me.
Mumbling my thanks, I turn to leave. Then I feel his hand on the back of my neck.
I don’t have time to scream as he crushes our mouths together.
This isn’t some hesitant, chaste, blush-of-first-love kiss. This is possession and ownership and “I am going to make sure you know you’re mine and make you taste the blood after I kill this motherfucker.”
I can’t even breathe as he kisses me. The swell of raw power is like being tossed in the ocean—where he loves to swim—in the middle of a hurricane. I have to just give in. His hands are everywhere, under the dress, squeezing my ass, tangling in my hair, forcing my head back so he can take my mouth. I’ve never been kissed like this.
I’m drowning in him.
I claw at his broad chest. Something surges in me, some sort of hungry monster from the deep. Suddenly all I want is him.
Salinger wrenches himself away from me. He’s breathing hard. In the dark, his eyes are pools of black.
“You,” he spits out. “You picked that dress on purpose.”
My tongue darts out to lick my lips. “I didn’t wear it for you.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He’s about to lose control.
He hooks two fingers in the little cutout at the bodice. They’re hard against the softness of my breasts. He yanks me toward him. My head snaps forward.
I feel him hard through his pants. “Not everything is about you, you know.” I force myself away from him.
Terrifying desire lights his eyes. “Don’t you dare say it was for Aaron, either. You were trying to fuck with me.”
My fingers drift up to the neckline of my dress again.
“Get out.” He lunges.
I scramble backward, tripping through the doorway. “Out of your house or…”
“Just out . Before I rip that fucking dress off you, throw you on the floor, and fuck you ’til you scream.” He slams the bedroom door in my face.
I stand there a moment, trying to catch my breath.
Then, one hand on the wall to support me, I make my way down the hall. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go. It’s a large penthouse. Does he want me to stay in the living room?
He only gave me a shirt, though. I can’t just lounge around in his living room in a thin T-shirt and no panties.
A few doors down, I creak open a door to reveal a magazine-worthy bedroom, like a set for a movie. The bathroom is the same, like out of Architectural Digest —beautiful, expensive, completely devoid of personality. Don’t think I’m complaining, though. It’s bigger than my entire apartment and has hot water. There’s even a chain cactus hanging in the window.
I step in the shower, and warm water cascades down my bare skin. Gasping, I run my hands over myself, thinking back to the kiss. So sudden. It was like my deepest, darkest fantasy come to life.
My slit feels full and heavy, ready to wrap around a thick, hot—
We’re not going there.
I turn off the water and step out onto the plush bathmat. As I towel-dry my hair, I can’t stop thinking about Salinger touching me. What would it be like to be thrown to the floor and fucked in my aching pussy?
I slip under the silky sheets, but I’m restless. It’s the lack of panties—it’s erotic, dangerous.
There are footsteps in the hall. They pause outside the door.
I pull the covers up to my chin. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
Maybe he’s going to sneak into my bedroom, rip the covers back, force my legs apart, and put his mouth on my soaking-wet —
Nope. I roll over, the motion sending thrills of pleasure through my stomach.
Life is already bad enough without fantasizing about my boss. Remember what happened the last time I had a little me-time with the fantasy version of Salinger? I would probably summon a demon or something if I did it now, with my world literally collapsing around me.
Maybe that’s why I kissed him, why I suddenly want him.
I lie there wracked with guilt for kissing him. I’m just as bad as my sister, right? Did I kiss him because I was attracted to him, or because I just wanted to use him for his resources?
Well, I want to use him for something , that’s for sure.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he stared at me, the way he said he would throw me on the floor and fuck me ’til I screamed.
Wrapping the blanket around me, I ease my legs off the mattress. My toes sink into the carpet.
Salinger’s not there when I open the door and peer out into the dark hallway. Chewing on my lip, I tiptoe down the hall, not sure what I’m doing or where I’m going.
This is stupid. I need a cold shower and sleep.
There are footsteps on the stairs. Before I can race back to the guest bedroom, Salinger comes up the stairs, in a white dress shirt and suspenders that look way more erotic than they have any right to.
I’m practically drooling.
“Sneaking out?”
I clutch at the blanket and let out some unintelligible stammering .
If I was Lauren, I would throw myself at him, grab his hand, push it between my legs, and let him know how much I want him.
I’m a scaredy cat.
“Um…” I wrack my brain.
He moves up on the top step, so he’s looking over me.
I lick my lips. His eyes watch the motion. “I just… I don’t have any clean underwear.”
That’s what I came up with?
“Er, sorry, not your problem. Just it’s, uh… weird. I don’t really do the commando thing. I’m gonna go try, though, I think I’ll survive.” I practically run back to the guest room and wince when the door slams behind me.
I can’t tell if I want him to chase me or if I’m terrified of the prospect.
Definitely terrified.
Then why am I secretly thrilled when I hear his footsteps outside in the hallway a few heart-pounding moments later?
The footsteps hesitate. Then he knocks. “Mandy?”
Oh my gosh, he’s here! Is he going to have his way with me? I’m being boiled alive with desire.
Get it together.
I rush to the door and try to seem presentable when I open it.
Unfortunately, Salinger doesn’t grab me and kiss me passionately and declare his undying love for me.
Instead, he holds out a familiar scrap of pale-pink fabric that I had been determined to pretend had fallen into a conveniently placed black hole so its absence would not haunt me.
“Fuck.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “You left these in the bathroom a few weeks ago.”
Double fuck. Glad that it’s dark so that he doesn’t see the embarrassment all over my face, I mumble, “Thanks,” and almost slam his fingers in the door, I shut it so hard.
Kissing Salinger was about as horrible a mistake as going to that singles mixer and giving Jaxon my number.
One thing’s for sure, I am never letting this happen again.