Chapter 9
Court crawls at a snail’s pace in the morning, despite ending by noon. The split defense has them working against Sunshine, Rugby, and their shady client, Debbie’s abusive Dom, Max Dotaire. It’s either good or bad that Paxton Brooker’s case has now been postponed due to hinging on the outcome of Max’s.
A motion had been made, apparently after hours, that the direct threat against Paxton Brooker and the Dark Mirage made it necessary for the defensive team split, along with time for the defense to re-align their defensive strategy due to this unexpected issue. Derrick had scoffed at the ruling; he didn’t believe Judge Canry should have given Calais such a large gap of time to prepare.
It seemed…biased.
“He’s got a fancy old name and knows far too many people. Not to mention his damn mother sits like an old dragon on her east coast judge seat. What did you expect, Derrick?” Bob, as it were, hadn’t been surprised in the least.
Debra Mills got on the stand to discuss her ‘sessions’ with Max Dotaire and for the most part, it went relatively well. Max ended up looking like a sadist on a power trip by the end of it. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, Debra had agreed to work with him continually. The jury still looked skeptical on the issue of rape, considering Debra apparently had an on-and-off sexual relationship with Max.
A sexual relationship…which came out on the stand. Awkwardly. Rugby was been bursting with joy as he pulled that painful little detail out of Debra. Bob had stifled a groan of dismay next to Kara, rubbing his eyes in frustration. Debra hadn’t disclosed this to them.
When Judge Canry finally closed the session for the day, Kara used the time to call a mechanic to come take her car away for fixing. One less thing to worry about. At least the sun was shining today. After her car got towed off, she went to meet Derrick and Bob for lunch to discuss the events in court earlier.
“That was a burning garbage dump, that’s what it was,” Bob says through his food stuffed mouth, still irritated over the little detail that their client had neglected to mention.
Kara pushes at the fish on her plate. “It wasn’t that bad. Dotaire doesn’t look like a saint.”
Derrick is texting, leaning back in his chair, his steak sitting untouched in front of him. He seems stressed and Kara can’t help but wonder what’s been bothering him so terribly these past few days. Derrick doesn’t look up from his phone when he says, “Neither does our client, Kara. This will end up being the dreaded ‘he said, she said’ flop if we don’t button this up fast.”
Biting her lip, Kara feels a little bad for Debra. It had to have been sucky to admit that she’d been with Max Dotaire before the allegations. But now her own prosecution team had doubts about her? “She was embarrassed to say anything to us. It’s an embarrassing situation.”
Bob scoffs, flopping his burger onto his plate. His belly pushes at the table edge. “Oh, bosh. I don’t care if she has to admit to fucking five dudes at once while on the stand; she just better tell us first before it comes out and we all look like we’ve been bent over a table.”
Derrick’s eyes flicker up from his phone screen. “Bob. Enough .”
The senior associate rolls his eyes dramatically. “Oh no, HR, take me away. By the way, Kara. Didn’t you mention that the PI actually found something useful for us to use?”
Nodding, Kara takes a bite of honey roasted carrot, humming her pleasure as she does so. Man, she loves when Derrick takes them out for lunch. “I’m not sure if it’s going to implicate Max Dotaire, Paxton Brooker, or both. The PI mentioned he found a woman that had signed a gag order. She had gone to a place called ‘The Room’.”
Derrick’s brow furrows and he pauses in writing an email on his phone. “Huh. That sounds ominous. Are we going to set up an appointment? Will she meet with us? Better yet, is she going to talk?”
Kara nods eagerly, desperate to give him some good news, desperate to make up for her failings the other day. “Yes. To all of it.”
Her boss smiles, the soft lines around his eyes crinkling. “That’s what I like to hear. Get it set up for the weekend.”
It’s like a weight is lifted from her chest; he’s finally pleased with her again.
Derrick’s gaze returns to his phone and his eyes harden a bit. It’s on the tip of Kara’s tongue to ask him if it’s about his partner, Gale Clarke. How Calais had mentioned offhand that Gale was breaking off from being partnered with Derrick. Kara looks at Bob and mouths Gale’s name silently.
Bob grimaces, shaking his head quickly. Don’t ask.
Afterwards, Kara returns home to change into something a little fancier for dinner with Bianca.
She meets Bianca outside the quaint little Italian restaurant and is quickly enclosed in her embrace. “I’m glad you could pull yourself out of work long enough to see me!” Bianca has a strong, vivacious hug and a loud voice, infectious with her outgoing nature. “Jeez, bitch.”
Kara rolls her eyes as they pull away and check in with the host of the restaurant. “Not all of us live our lives out of a club, you know. Besides; work keeps me calm.”
They sit down at their small, candlelit table and glance over the alcohol list. Bianca orders a white wine while Kara orders her usual dirty martini, extra, extra dirty. Blue cheese olives, yes please, okay thanks. Bianca looks at Kara over her dinner menu, something fancy that changes every week by the look of it. “Your idea of ‘calm’ is very strange, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Uhuh.” Eyes flitting over the main courses, distracted.
“Okaaay…since your idea of zen is talking about work and mine is about men, can we discuss that fine boss of yours? Oooh, he gives me the tingles. A little older than I like, but I can appreciate it from the distance.”
Kara frowns, setting the menu down. “Can we not talk about the married, unattainable man who happens to be my employer? Makes me feel dirty inside.”
“Says the girl drinking the dirty,” Bianca teases with a wide grin, bright and friendly. “Don’t lie; you think he’s handsome, too. I’ve seen his picture in articles before.
Aha. Yeah. Derrick is a good looking, traditional handsome sort of man. The boy next door, but grown up. Not that she’s going to admit it to anyone, but Kara had looked when she was first hired. She’d done the passerby glance at his ring finger, just to see.
There it was, the golden band, gleaming back at her mockingly. That settled that, of course.
Sipping her dirty martini once it arrives, Kara gives some ground. “Fine. Yes. He’s a very attractive man.”
Bianca raises one of her eyebrows, a playful look in her blue eyes. “Well, you could be working for a fat slob that eats cheetos while he looks down your shirt, telling you how you can improve, okay?”
Laughing, Kara leans forward and gasps, “ No . You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding!”
Adjusting her bra through her fancy, black and white silk button-down, Bianca twists her lips in disgust. “Just this very afternoon. It was lovely. So erotic. I almost asked for his number, he put me in such a mood.”
Kara cackles before taking another gulp from her martini. The burn is satisfying, crawling down her throat. “That’s awful. My boss is a perfect gentleman, so, cheers.”
They order their food and Bianca orders her second drink, always quick to suck alcohol down. Kara makes a conscious effort to make her martini last as long as possible, as she always does. She never orders a second.
Usually.
Not unless she counts that night that Havenwood-Calais cornered her in her favorite bar, trying to buy her vicious mouth shut. Dreadful man. Kara feels like a criminal, having willingly gotten in his car the other day.
How stupid can one girl be, after all? It’s almost like she’s a glutton for misery and danger.
He hadn’t done anything to her during the car ride and Kara can’t decide if she’s relieved or disappointed about that. It could have been far worse, aside from him insinuating she could ask a favor from him, even something awful. Because he had insinuated it. He’d insinuated that he was fine with her using him.
A wicked part of her knows exactly how she’d like to use him, to get him defenseless, suffocate him with her-
As if sensing Kara’s mind has suddenly gone elsewhere, Bianca narrows her eyes with harmless suspicion. “So…you never did tell me what happened to you last weekend. You vanished on me. Did you find a hookup for long enough to stop thinking about work?”
Those words pull Kara from her admittedly disturbing thoughts. Oh, was Bianca willing to acknowledge that she let Kara down? “B…”
Bianca leans forward, grabbing a piece of bread, dipping it in olive oil and parmesan. “Was he any good? Do tell. Please say there was tongue, down there. You know. Like that guy back when we were in college. Homecoming weekend. October, I’m sure of it. Shit, we’re getting old.”
Fuck it. Kara downs the last remaining inch of her martini as Bianca stares at her in open mouthed wonder. Gagging slightly around the acidic burn, Kara drinks from her water glass, nodding to their waitress that she does indeed want another martini. She refuses to examine why she shouldn’t drink more. “I didn’t find a hookup. I went home, like I told you. I was drugged, also like I told you. It was dreadful and you didn’t even text me to make sure I was alive!”
She gives Bianca an accusing look, because even though she never expects to rely on Bianca, the fact of what happened stung. The words themselves are not a total lie. Kara didn’t find a guy; a guy and a limo full of guys found her .
At least Bianca has the grace…or sense…to look like she feels bad about it. “Oh my. I didn’t…I’m sorry, alright? I’m an idiot. I thought you’d been exaggerating because you rarely drink anymore and are a lightweight. I mean…look at you right now. A second drink, Kara? That’s not you. Is something else going on?”
“Why do you think something is going on?” Kara tries to not sound defensive, tries to pass it off as bland and bored.
Bianca twirls a strand of red hair around her finger as she stares at Kara like she’s looking to unravel a particularly challenging piece of software code. Her profession, naturally. “Something’s wrong because your hackles are already up and you just pounded a martini. You aren’t drinking at home, are you?”
“Nope. I don’t keep alcohol in the house. You know I don’t.”
Lies lies lies, tell that to the empty vodka bottle in the recycle bin.
“Hmm.” Bianca isn’t impressed, nor is she buying it.
Their food comes shortly after and they begin eating in a short silence. Then, surprisingly, Bianca tries again to broach a touchy subject.
“Have you spoken to him lately?”
“Spoken to who?” Kara munches on a fancy bruschetta before taking a deep sip of her fresh drink. She balances it out with water, drinking deeply from that as well to stay hydrated.
Bianca waits to catch her eye. Once she has it, her shoulders do a little shrug. “Your dad.”
It’s like a bucket of ice being dumped down the back of Kara’s shirt. Those words make all the muscles in her body tense up and she feels the alcohol in her stomach begin to rot sickly. She sees an image of him in her mind, his head of dark hair, so similar to hers, the slash of his mouth, also like hers.
Shaking her head, Kara takes a deep gulp from her second dirty martini, briefly feeling the urge to vomit well up inside of her. She’s drinking too much too fast and the conversation is enough to make her feel off. “No. I haven’t called him in a while. Why? Do you think I should?”
That would be an awful idea, if that’s what Bianca is getting at.
The redhead purses her lips, looking confused. “Just…seeing if that’s what’s going on with you. He doesn’t call you? You don’t call him?”
There’s not enough alcohol in the world for this sort of conversation. Bianca would simply never understand. Her parents are still married, living together in a lovely suburb with their other two children. Their biggest concern has always been Bianca’s younger brother driving his car into a pole and getting the family insurance hiked. Or something to that note.
Suddenly, Kara doesn’t feel so hungry anymore. “He moved to Arizona to work for grandpa. It’s been, what, six years? I don’t even notice his absence anymore. Not really. It’s best if we don’t talk.”
The fact is, Kara had been the one to call her grandparents. She’d been twenty-two and tired, so fucking tired. Her mother had been dead for five years by that point and the full force of her father’s razorblade attention fell to her and her alone. “Papa. Please. Can you make a spot for him in your company? We need to be separated by states before the homicide squad gets called by the neighbors.”
Her grandfather had sighed. She was asking for something that would be a fight of a different sort. “I can, but there’s no guarantee he’ll want the job. You know how he is. He won’t take anything he views as beneath him. He’ll want a leadership role.”
“So, give him one,” Kara had gritted out. “Manager, Director of some made up business unit, I really don’t care. He’s killing me, Papa. He’s suffocating me.”
All code for, ‘Kara’s going to throw herself off a building soon if you don’t get him away from her’, Papa.
Her grandpa made a sad sort of noise. “Kara. Have you ever thought that he might not leave you?”
The words hovered like an illness. It was well known that Charlie Hayes felt that his daughter was an extension of himself. Not only that, he viewed her as a possession. However, he was fickle and self-centered.
“He’s left me before,” Kara mentioned, referring to when he’d left her mother all those years ago. “I’m sure if you make the offer attractive enough, he’ll leave me again.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but I’m making no promises. He’s unpredictable, despite being predictably egotistical.”
“Thanks, Papa. I’ll be fine without him, you know. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She knew when her grandpa had talked to him. Her father had gone suspiciously quiet for a few days, as if mulling something over. He’d look at her, as if trying to make a decision. When he said nothing about it, she knew she had to be the one to push his hand. Kara decided she needed to make sure his decision was as selfish as possible.
So, she went to the store, bought a dye that resembled the natural color of her late mother’s hair. She’d never been one to dye her hair, but desperate times called for desperate measures. With the new hair color, she almost looked like a younger version of her mom. As the act was intended to do, it set her father off.
He’d been pouring over paperwork at the table in the kitchen, chewing on the end of his pen. His eyes had looked up as she passed by. “What the hell did you do to your hair, Kara?”
She played dumb, like she had no idea what the problem could possibly be. Kara had touched her hair absently and forced a dull smile on her lips. “Oh, this? I figured I’d try something new.”
“Try something else then,” her father had said in that dangerously quiet tone, the soft growl in his chest, dark eyes going darker by the minute.
She’d met his gaze brazenly. “I happen to like it.”
He had reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to his side.
“And I happen to hate it,” he’d sneered in her face, fingers now buried in her hair.
With a wry grin, Kara had tilted her head innocently to the side as much as she could in his strong grasp and said sweetly, “Sorry, Charlie.”
Just the way her mother always would and the realization was in his eyes.
Her father ended up leaving for Arizona two weeks later, managerial position in hand. The beating he’d given her was well worth it.
She changed her hair back to its normal, rich brown color right after Charlie got on a plane, because she couldn’t stand to see her mom in the mirror almost as much as he couldn’t stand to see her in Kara’s face.
Bianca shrugs, twirling her pasta on her fork. Her blue eyes are inquisitive when she asks, “And…you don’t call your grandparents either? Do you seriously just like being an angry hermit locked up in your apartment all alone? They’re your grandparents!”
Sure, they are. But where were they all those awful years when it was just Kara and Charlie?
“Well, you know, they raised a monster and I hate myself for still loving him.” Kara snaps before covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide.
She hadn’t meant to say that. Bianca looks shocked and Kara coughs with embarrassment. “I mean. Talking to them is like talking to him. I don’t want the door open. That’s. That’s all.”
Charlie Hayes is good at playing games and playing with the emotions of others. He would twist it somehow that she abandoned him, that she wasn’t a good daughter, that he’s so hurt that she isn’t with him.
Ugh. Charlie , Kara thinks mutinously, a storm cloud hovering over her head.
Pursing her lips and nodding sagely, Bianca says, “Well! That escalated in a rather scary fashion. Deep, dark, and oh-so-dramatic! Part of your charm, I say.” She points her fork at Kara. “You need a distraction and I’m going to give it to you.”
“Please. Spare me,” Kara drawls, picking an olive off the skewer in her drink, mood souring fast.
“Not a chance, bitch. We should go,” Bianca says with finality, waving over their waitress, gulping her wine with a bit of a cough.
Uh, what? “Go where? Home?”
Bianca twists her face in vaguely tipsy disbelief. “No! To the fancy club, you big silly! The Dark Mirage ! That whole conversation we just had made me forget that I’m not actually an emo thirteen-year-old anymore, so I need a pick-me-up so I can forget that stage of my life, and fast.”
That certainly is the last thing on Kara’s mind. The absolute last. Her jaw drops open a little bit as she stares at her friend in horror. The Dark Mirage ? “Oh, God. Why?!”
Her friend smiles widely, that big smile worth seven glasses of wine and just as sloppy. “Are you making a dramatic statement or are you asking me why I’m asking you?”
“Probably both, you mad harpy,” Kara comments, blinking. “I am working a case against the owner, you know! They’re probably closed, anyhow. And, you need a passcode.”
“Oh, no. I checked. His partner or financier, whatever, has it open and running still while Brooker is under house arrest. Let’s just stop by. Quick, I swear. We can maybe flub a passcode.”
“But…it’s a Wednesday!”
Bianca pays her end of the bill and rolls her eyes with a devious grin. “Oh, do people not get freaky on Wednesday? I hadn’t heard that. Who wrote that shitting law? You? Stop being a bitch, bitch . We’re going now. I’ll even pay for the cab. Come on!!”
Grabbing her little black purse before Bianca yanks her out the door, Kara says incredulously, “I’m not dressed for a club! Let alone a sex club !”
“Excuses,” Bianca crows passionately. Her eyes drift up and down Kara’s form. “Look at you, tight black jeans and a burgundy blouse. The red heels are probably murdering you about now, but suck it up, buttercup.”
Glowering as they wait for a cab to pull up, Kara scowls up at her taller friend. “My blouse isn’t clubby. It’s just…elegant-ish.”
Quick, like a bird, the redhead undoes the top two buttons of Kara’s blouse. “There,” she says with a victorious look in her azure eyes. “Now the blouse is slut-ish in an elegant-ish way.”
“Oooh, thrilling,” Kara mutters as they crowd into a cab. “I have eyeliner on. That’s it, B. This is absolutely ridiculous. I look sixteen.”
Nodding in that falsely consoling manner, Bianca pulls out a dark red lipstick and attacks Kara with it. They scuffle briefly, but in the end, Bianca pins Kara against the cab door and applies it to her lips. “There!” She sounds out of breath. “Now, you look eighteen.”
Kara laughs so hard that she nearly cries. “I don’t have the aura of jailbait now? You saintly miracle worker.”
Bianca smiles and kisses her on the cheek fondly. “Yeah, the miracle is getting you to laugh like that.”
The cab pulls up to a very modern looking skyscraper in the middle of the financial district, the heart of the downtown. Bianca pays as Kara slides out onto the sidewalk, looking up at the glittering building in the dark sky.
Coming to stand beside Kara, Bianca puts her hands akimbo and stares upward as well. “So, this is it, huh? Very scary.”
“Bull.”
“I’m serious!”
“Sure, you are. Have you thought about how we are getting in? It’s not open to the general public.”
Bianca gets a gleam in her eyes. “Who did you say the owner was?”
Kara pales. “No. No way, B.”
They enter the shiny building, their heels clicking on the marble floors. Suddenly, Kara is glad that they aren’t in trashy clubby clothes. Instantly, she knows they would have likely been denied access. The elevators all require access from the security guards, hovering at the front desk.
The guards stare patiently at Kara and Bianca, gesturing for them to come forward. Tempering their anxieties, they both approach, Kara feeling the shakes coming on. They are going to get in trouble for this.
“What floor?” The burly guard says it, leaning forward slightly to try and look down Kara’s unbuttoned blouse.
Bianca leans on the counter, using her arms to push up her cleavage in her silk button-down. As if telling a secret, she whispers, “Floor forty.”
His eyes go hard, serious. “Do you have the passcode? Membership ID?”
Here, Bianca flounders, sensing the man isn’t interested in allowing her up in exchange for flirting. “Ah…well, you see, the thing is…” she turns her head to look at Kara, looking for help.
Ha. Poor Bianca. Discovering flirtation isn’t actually the answer for everything.
Thinking through what she knows about the club from court notes, Kara says, “This is our first time. A trial. On…recommendation! We’re…friends…of Paxton Brooker. Call on up. He’ll tell you.”
Even though he most definitely is not here.
With a stern look, the burly guard dials up, waiting and waiting for someone to pick up. “Yes. Hello Sir. I have two young women down here at the front desk, looking to come up to forty. Uhuh. Yes. Young.” He looks at their breasts again. “Very nice-”
Bianca gives Kara a sideways look in disbelief, hiding the look behind her hand. Is he discussing their attractiveness?!
“They say they are friends of Mr. Brooker. I guess he selected them for a trial run. On recommendation. Yep. Yep.”
He pauses and just as it looks like he’s about to give them a pass up, he looks up from their chests and asks, “Who recommended you to Mr. Brooker?”
“Pardon me?” Kara mentally cringes; not a phrase she would ever normally say. Sparring with that uppity ponce Calais is rubbing off on her.
“The member who recommended you. Who was it?” The guard looks unamused, the phone at his ear, waiting. Suspicious. Seeing through their ruse.
This would make or break them. Bianca sighs, because she certainly has no clue. Defeat almost crosses Bianca’s face, yet Kara feels like laughing.
Oh. It’s a risky guess. But Kara remembers it clear as day; Judge Canry saying that Paxton Brooker, owner of Dark Mirage , is close friends with-
“Calais.” Kara says it like she’s won a prize. “Nicholas Havenwood-Calais recommended us.”
The guard repeats the name to the person on the phone and after a moment, nods. He sets down the phone. Bianca is looking at Kara with questions in her eyes.
The guard hands them two black masks, meant to go over their eyes and leave their lips on display. A moderate, tasteful disguise. He gestures to the elevators, the turnstiles unlocking for them.
“Go on up, ladies. Good luck on your trial.”
Suddenly, it sounds far more ominous and Kara deeply regrets using her knowledge to gain access to this nefarious club.
With quick steps, they go to the elevator hall past the turnstiles. Bianca looks down at the mask and stares at Kara in shock. They enter the elevator, the number forty already selected for them. The doors ding and close.
“How did you know that name would work?”
Kara smiles and shrugs bitterly. “Just a guess.”
The elevator rises.