Chapter 1 #2
“So what’s the situation here, then?” Morgan asks, and I prepare to go through my presentation again when John starts talking. Great. He’s the barrister, sure, but this is my meeting.
“And are we representing Accu-care Systems Limited, or the…” Morgan paws at my briefing notes. “The community care nurses?”
“The nurses,” I tell him. Again.
His eyes pass over me like I'm the ghost at Macbeth's banquet. Steady. Don’t snap. He’s the boss. Even if he is a prat.
Morgan grunts, sliding the papers back. “Would be better if we were representing Accu-care; they’ve got deeper pockets.”
Heat flashes up my limbs in a wave, my shirt too tight and too restricting. Fucking asshole.
Thankfully John continues talking, and I smooth my hair down. I hope no one saw anything. What if my cheeks flushed, or I shot him a glare? I can’t be unprofessional and let my feelings interfere.
“Thanks, John,” I say when the barrister stops for breath. “Adding to that, I’m sure the precedents set in Casey vs Insuracare will—”
“Who are you?” Morgan grunts.
Did someone crank up the AC? The temperature in the conference room definitely drops. The other lawyers look up from their notes, intent on hearing what the boss says next.
I flash him a winning smile. “Laura Thomas, senior associate.”
“Oh, thought you were the paralegal.” His gimlet eyes narrow at me, but I never lose a staring contest.
“I’ve just gone through the overview, so we can pick up at the specific questions for the lead developer,” I continue.
“God, you’re pushy,” Morgan says, with a familiar edge to his voice. One that I've encountered again and again. Half jokey, half critical, it signals what this dinosaur thinks of blondes. Or women in general.
‘You have no idea how pushy I can be,’ is what I want to say. But I must stay professional, even though he isn't. I’m not a helpless child: I can do this.
I carry on talking, calming myself with deep breaths whenever I pause to let John ask questions. Morgan doesn't volunteer anything and gets out his phone, so who knows what he's doing.
At the end of the three hour debrief my throat is dry but my mind is still clear, on high alert. John slams the mug down like he’s taken a shot, even though it has to be empty by now. “Thanks, Laura, I've got it all under control now.”
“Wonderful. I'll be there at the first hearing, and we can adjust the strategy to one of the eventualities—”
“We've got it handled, Lisa,” Morgan says, finally looking up from his phone.
“It's Laura,” I remind him, voice even and firm.
“Good stuff, John, see you tomorrow!” Morgan says, and he's up and gone.
What a jerk. I file my notes as everyone else leaves, making sure they’re all in order, stroking my plastic index cards back and forth. I keep a small smile in place, but my stomach rolls, like heated snakes are having a wrestling match in there.
John leaves last. At the door, he shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Good work, Lisa.”
“Fucking don’t,” I hiss under my breath.
Grunting, he raises his hands, releasing the glass door. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I don’t know why you put up with that kind of treatment.”
Wrapping my fingers around the papers, I slide them into my laptop bag, protecting their edges. “For the case.”
“Seriously?” John’s hands fall to his sides. “Huh. Well, free piece of career advice, cases like this are everywhere. Never stay in a bad work environment for a case.”
Everywhere. My hands tighten on my strap as I lift my shoulder bag into place. “This one is important.”
“They’re all important, sure.” His eyes take on a calculating look. “You know you could go into business for yourself, right? Choose your cases, hours.”
“And the rate,” I remind him with a grin.
He smirks back. “The rate is pretty tasty, yeah.”
Still smiling, I shake my head. “I can’t go into business for myself. I’m a solicitor, not a barrister.”
“Alright, sure, but I know some freelance solicitors.”
“Some. Not many.”
“So retrain, be a barrister. I can totally see you sparking off in a courtroom, setting fire to the opposition’s defence and dismantling them at every turn.”
I hold up my free hand, the other pressed against my bag protectively. “Thanks for the career advice. If Clark and Gibson found out you’re trying to encourage their employees to leave, they may reconsider your contract.”
“Then let’s take this offline. I’ve got your work number; give me another one that doesn’t stink of this place.”
My chest clenches. “I suppose…” I’ve got a burner phone for potential dates. Don't want any of them to have my real number. At the same time, I haven’t been on a date for years.
I've barely got enough time to eat and sleep, let alone for love. Guys may say they’re progressive, but they hate coming second to my career. And me.
I’m demanding in the bedroom, as I’m demanding everywhere else.
I pull out my dating phone. There’s a bunch of notifications from the dating app Bristol Meet, but I should just delete it.
I don’t have time right now. Giving John my number, my mind spools back to the inquiry.
I hate the waiting before an inquest starts.
Until John gets up there and speaks, I’ll need to keep pushing.
Is there a detail I’ve missed, an element I should emphasize more, a witness yet to come forward who could totally change everything about this?
Closing my eyes, I try to think of what I'm lacking.
“Right,” John says, bringing me back to now. With a jaunty salute, he leaves the room, saying, “Speak to you soon.”
“Sure.” I busy myself, checking when my next meeting is. Wow, I have three hours.
And a reminder. Check on Ellen.
Shit. I haven't heard from her in a while.
Sliding out the third phone from my laptop case, I scroll into texts and call log.
This was my number for my friends and family, on silent but vibrate just in case they needed me.
I'd last texted Ellen last week, with no reply.
That would be normal and nothing to be worried about, but that was before everything with the aliens went down.
Sometimes it’s easy to forget aliens are real and crash landed on my best friend’s farm.
Everyday life hasn’t changed, except now we know for sure we’re not alone in the universe.
The scaley guys haven’t been threatening at all, but we need to keep an eye on them.
Their reverent demeanor could be an elaborate ploy to get us to lower our guard.
Given Ellen’s alone and secretly experiencing first contact with an alien race that crash-landed into her barn, I need to check in with her regularly. Scrolling on my phone for her number, it says I last spoke to her… forty days ago. Not acceptable. That's way too long.
Punching dial, I pace. The phone stays silent in my ear for a long time. My chest ratchets tighter with every buzz of the dial tone. Then a cheery automated voice says, “I'm sorry, the person you're trying to contact is out of range. Please try again later.”
“Plague sores,” I mutter to myself. “Okay, don't panic. She often loses signal when she's in the fields.” And who's definitely going to be in range, snug in the house at this hour? Arabella.
This time my phone purrs when I hit dial, so at least she's contactable. Whether or not she's awake this early is up for debate.
“Mmmmorning, Law!” Arabella crows.
I drop into a chair. “Good morning to you, too. How's things?”
“They're, well, pretty cool.”
“Mm. And Ellen's first bed and breakfast guests, are they behaving themselves?”
“First bed and… oh! Oh, yeah, they're pretty cool too.”
“Uh huh.” I can usually tell when Arabella's distracted. Granted, it happens fairly often. But she's being… a little overly sunny.
Like she's having to cover for something.
“I'm coming over for lunch. Can you let Ellen know when she gets back?” Although I'll text her too, just in case Arabella forgets.
“Uh… sure. So… Nicole told you?”
“Told me what?” What’s Arabella hiding now? My fingers drum on my laptop case.
“That she’s, uh… Ellen’s gone on holiday.”
Holiday? Ellen never goes on holiday. “Is that a joke? What about the—” I lower my voice. “Bed and breakfast guests?” I grate out.
“Ah. Right. So. Nicole didn’t tell you, then.”
The resulting beat of silence drags on way too long. I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes. “Where’s Ellen? Really?”
“So, uh, don't panic, but she, uh, she… She kind of went off with Ilia. In another spacesh—another car.”
Putting my elbow on the table, I sink my head into my hand and press my phone close to my ear. “What the fuck?”
“The guys say she'll be okay—”
“Of course they say that. I'm coming over.”
She sighs. “Really, it's fine, but sure. You can see progress on the barn. Ooh, and the new marketing account I set up.”
“Progress? They've kept building?”
“Yeah. You're gonna be impressed, it's really taking shape. Gara's been helping me stay organized and—”
“I'll see you in half an hour.” It'll take that long to run back to my apartment, but then I'll drive like a madwoman.
“Really, Law, it's been five weeks since Ellen left. It's okay.”
Five weeks? I suppress a shriek. “Why didn't you call me? I guess you may have been busy, but this is a pretty big thing to keep to yourself.”
“I called Nicole. For help with the animals.”
Nicole didn't tell me either?
Why?
Don’t they think I can handle it?
Arabella continues, “You're busy with the inquiry. I didn't want to add to your plate. I've got this, Laura.”
She does sound confident, more than usual. “You and Nicole have been managing the farm animals, too?”
“Just me and the guys,” Arabella says, pride ringing in her voice.
“Well… okay.” It’s so not okay. Those aliens could be up to something.
I busy myself, double checking my diary. Wow. I’ve got three hours before my next two hour conference this afternoon. Plus, it's a remote meeting. I can get to Ellen’s and back in time.
“I'll bring lunch,” I say, and hang up. I open a delivery app with shaking fingers and place an order for pick up on autopilot. My head swims. Ellen’s gone, and Arabella didn't want to tell me. She sounded okay, but I need to see her for myself. Smack her over the head, maybe, albeit gently.
Do they think my… issue is coming back?
My stomach clenches. Regardless, if those extraterrestrials have so much as looked at her the wrong way, even once, I won’t need the army. I'll blast the fuckers back into space myself.