Chapter 11
Derrick’s cell phone is sitting on the long conference room table and Kara can’t keep her eyes from drifting to it every time a text or call comes through.
Her nerves are on edge, constantly dreading that a certain asshole is going to call Derrick to tell him where she ended up last night. Kara came into work practically sweating with fear, wondering if she still had a job. She’d spent the night nearly dry heaving into the toilet, terrified that she’d just let her career get flushed.
When Derrick called her over to one of the meeting rooms, she thought it was all over for sure.
Instead, he’s sitting calmly, gesturing to the conference room phone in the center of the table. His cell phone lying idle. “Want to call our mysterious woman and set a time to interview her this weekend? Sunday, was it?”
Kara blinks, feeling like clutching her poor heart, the one that has been banging around her rib cage since last night. The woman that the private investigator had found, the one who had been to The Room. “Uh. Yes. Absolutely. I’ll dial her now; I got the number the other day.”
Anything so that you won’t give me a stern talking to. Anything so you won’t fire me for something so utterly asinine.
Leaning over the table, Kara dials the number she’d been given by the private investigator. The phone rings and rings before hitting voicemail. Derrick gestures for Kara to dial again, so she does. This time someone picks up, voice dull and sleepy.
Kara introduces them as the lawyers prosecuting the Dark Mirage. “I understand you were prepared for us to call?”
“Oh. Yes. Hello.” The woman sounds like the saddest being on earth, like every word is far too much for her to speak. “You wanted to ask me…about before. I remember. Yes.”
Feeling her face shift, Kara stares at the speakerphone. The woman just sounds…disturbing. Like she’s mentally not there anymore. Any empty shell with a voice. “Yes. We have a few clarifying questions for you, but we’d like to set up a time to meet. I understand Sunday is good. What-”
Derrick is leaning over the table now, interrupting her, voice calm and soothing. Like xanax in human form, because Kara has likely jumped to the punchline too fast, like a bull in a china shop. Derrick’s so subtle and precise; Kara’s always liked that about him. He says, “Let’s start with something simple. Can you please confirm your name? For the record?”
There’s an uncomfortable pause, so long that Kara fears the woman has hung up on them. Then, there’s a soft response, “Number Ten. Like the roman numeral. The X.”
Pin pricks of discomfort travel up and down Kara’s flesh. Derrick’s brow furrows, his head tilting to the side. His gaze flickers over to Kara and she shares a vaguely troubled look with him. “We understand the need to protect your name, due to the NDA, but wouldn’t you prefer an actual name?”
“That’s what they called me,” she replies, her voice almost robotic. “You aren’t cops, are you?”
Derrick replies no. “Just lawyers. We understand there is a group of abusers who have found refuge in the Dark Mirage . There are likely others like you. We just want to put an end to it.”
Silence. Then, “Not everyone at the Dark Mirage is bad. The…Room isn’t there. But you have to know the right people at the Dark Mirage to get inside. It was a bad mistake. I thought I wanted it. I didn’t realize-” Her voice cuts off sharply, stifling a sobbing noise. “The Room is not a nice place.”
“It’s alright,” Derrick says calmly, despite his expression looking vaguely troubled. “We understand. We just want to help.”
After a few more moments of silence, X gives them an address and a time on Sunday before hanging up on them.
Derrick sits back heavily in his chair, looking upward. He’s silent, likely mulling over what they just heard.
“That was worrisome,” Kara says, trying to fill the empty room with sound.
He nods. “She could be an interesting nail in the coffin. The question is, which coffin? And how does that change this case? If Max Dotaire isn’t even involved in this ordeal, it may not be relevant to Debra’s case. However, if Paxton Brooker knows about it, which I assume he does…that implicates the club itself.” Derrick pins Kara with a serious look. “Are you sure you want to come with on Sunday? I can take Bob. This might be…disturbing.”
Always the resolute gentleman, worrying about female sensibilities. It would have been thoughtful if Kara actually had any of that. Sensibilities.
Kara shakes her head earnestly, ready to prove herself. “I can handle this. I want to go with.”
His cellphone beeps again and Kara glances at it nervously. Derrick doesn’t seem to notice, already shifting to make a note on his laptop. Derrick sighs. “Alright. Just…be prepared for something unpleasant. She’s afraid. The whole thing reeks of something bad.”
Oh, Kara’s been prepared for unpleasant things her whole life.
Then, Derrick’s phone rings and Kara feels her heart seize again.
At that very moment, an enraged scream cuts through the office air. Kara tenses and turns to glance out at the main floor through the glass window of the conference room. Derrick is already on his feet opening the door, cursing under his breath, leaving his phone on the table.
Looking down at his phone, Kara sees the name she’s been dreading all morning. Glancing up to make sure no one sees her, she screens the call with glee. “Not today, bell end,” she mutters caustically.
She can’t believe Havenwood-Calais actually called Derrick before noon! Well, she can; it just infuriates her. The fucking nerve.
Another screech pelts Kara’s eardrums and she turns to look at the commotion happening on the main floor, in between all the cubicles and desks.
There’s a woman that Kara doesn’t recognize, facing off with their other named partner, Gale Clarke. Just as Kara follows Derrick hesitantly out of the conference room, she gasps when the woman she doesn’t recognize hauls back and slaps Gale across the face, practically spitting with fury as she yells, “How does it feel, homewrecker?”
What-
Derrick reaches them and is starting to pull the raging woman away, Gale staring on in horror, face red before she retreats to her private office with haste. Derrick is wrangling the wild cat away, who now starts yelling at him, hissing, “You told me she was leaving!” For good measure, the woman pounds on his arm, trying to pull away.
Oh . Ohhh boy. Kara feels her eyebrows rise precariously. She’s sure everyone else in the office is listening and watching with guilty interest; think of the gossip! Not wanting to continue witnessing this extremely uncomfortable exchange Derrick is having with his wife, it has to be his wife, Kara sneaks away to go join Gale in her office.
Gale Clarke, prestigious named partner and apparent homewrecker. Whatever Gale Clarke may be, one thing rises above it all for Kara; Gale is her mentor and she looks to her for everything. Inspiration. Advice. A perfect career role model.
Kara has tried emulating Gale any time she’s working with clients. Cool. Polite. Cultured. Polished. Gale is perfection in her eyes and...well. Kara isn’t anything like Gale, but she can pretend.
Quietly, she knocks on the large wooden door, hearing Gale shakily say, “Not now,” behind it.
Kara doesn’t listen, simply slipping in, closing the door behind her. Gale looks up, wiping at her blue eyes angrily, looking like she’s about to yell before she recognizes Kara standing there in front of her glamorous desk. Her face softens, emotion filling her gaze. “Oh. Kara. I thought-”
Perfect Gale Clarke looks like her world isn’t all together and the very idea of it has Kara’s throat tightening, like a hand is squeezing it closed.
“So, it’s true.” Kara feels a certain panic wash over her. “You are leaving the firm.”
Gale Clarke is a handsome woman, dark blonde and statuesque. She’d just turned forty earlier in the year; Kara knows because they had thrown her a party in the office, celebrating Gale and all her successes. She’s widely loved and commands respect with ease. It kills Kara to see the woman she so admires looking utterly downcast and defeated.
At the same time, Kara feels betrayed. Miffed. Gale is…was having an affair…with Derrick? What the hell, Gale?
Clearing her throat a bit, as if to erase the emotions about to spill over, Gale glumly says, “As I’m sure you’ve figured out- along with everyone else in this office- I’ve made a foolish mistake. I’m not proud of it. My husband has given me an ultimatum; I’m to leave the firm or else he’ll leave me.”
Staring in shocked silence, Kara tries and fails to remember anything that would have given hint to this secret affair happening in the office. She’d never even noticed. All this time, Derrick had been going around with Gale. Both of them, outwardly happily married. This is why Kara doesn’t trust romance! “What about…what about all of your clients? And I…I learned so much from you, working with you. This is a surprise. I…I don’t know what to say. Most of my workload is with you…”
What does this mean for Kara? Does she have to build a new relationship with someone else in the firm to keep building herself up and gaining much needed experience? She can’t just rely on Derrick…this is the first time she’s even gotten a chance to work with him, after all.
“The majority of my clients are coming with me.” Gale gives Kara a weak smile with watery eyes. “You’re my girl, you know. My clients trust you; I enjoy working with you and mentoring you.” She sighs with regret. “I’d looked forward to helping you move up quickly. That’s why I suggested you to Derrick for the Debra Mills case. I wanted you to shine. Now…I hope he doesn’t hold it against you.”
Gale recommended me? She…put in a good word on my behalf? God, why does she have to leave?
Derrick wouldn’t hold anything against Kara in regards to her being close to Gale. Kara knows that he wouldn’t; he’s as fair as they come. Though, perhaps he won’t work with her as much going forward, knowing she was Gale’s golden girl. The idea of favoritism makes Kara feel a little ill, but in truth, it really is all about who you know and how far they will help you go. The thought makes Kara’s stomach sick. As if she didn’t already have things to worry about. “You know he won’t do that, Gale.”
Sighing, Gale sits back in her fine leather chair, looking around at the boxes already piling in the corner of the office, out of sight. She steeples her long, elegant fingers, decorated with lovely amethyst gemstone rings. “You could maybe come with me. My clients would be happy with you staying on their accounts.” Her voice goes quieter as she speaks more to herself, “I can ask Nicholas about it.”
Kara almost swallows her tongue, going pale. “You’ve already found a new firm? You don’t mean Calais, Vickers, the Debra Mills case. Whatever did you do to him in court to make him dislike you?”
Spluttering over the absurdity of it, Kara says, “What did I do to him ?!”
Gale waves the outburst away dismissively, her mind apparently set on something. The woman is a force of nature, after all. Her tears are momentarily forgotten. “Never you mind. I’ll fix it. We went to Yale together. I’ll call him.”
The image of melting into the floor while screaming, ‘ please don’t ’ flashes into Kara’s mind. There and gone. The urge to vomit returns, stronger than before. What if he disparages her to Gale?! Telling Derrick she’d overstepped her bounds is one thing, but telling Gale that she’d screwed up? That would put the lid on Kara’s mental coffin.
“Gale…you really don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to risk your new role.”
Her mentor smiles at her, pink lips soft and kind. A wisp of hair elegantly falls over her left eye, giving her a mischievous look. “It’s not your job to worry about me, Kara. I’m a big girl; I’ll be fine. I have to deal with my own mistakes, as public and humiliating as they are. Now, let me get back to packing up. We’ll do lunch in the next few days to chat. I’m still here through the end of next week.”
Kara nods glumly, sadness falling over her as she exits Gale’s office. Of all the places Gale could have chosen…she chose the one that Kara will not follow her to.
When Friday comes, so does the festivity. Friday always means a night out with Bianca.
Ever since college, neither girl has been able to shake the habit. Even when Kara attempted to kick alcohol for all eternity, it didn’t work. Even when Bianca had walking pneumonia, the bar hopping didn’t stop. It was dangerous, stupid, yet the habit never seemed to die a final death.
Tonight, one of Bianca’s friends is celebrating her dirty thirty. The young woman is an acquaintance of Kara’s through Bianca, so naturally she’s invited along. It’s in one of the more popular dance clubs and the irony is not lost on Kara that it’s the same nightclub she got drugged in the other week.
“Well, maybe we should get you one of those baby sippy cups. With a cover and all,” Bianca quips as they all stroll inside, dressed to kill. “It would take a dedicated man to drug you through a capped drink!”
The birthday girl, smooshed between two of her other friends that Kara doesn’t recognize, gasps, drunken valley-girl style. “Oh, you got drugged here once? That’s not alright! Did you set your drink down?”
Kara doesn’t have the patience to tell Birthday Princess that she learned not to do such stupid things way back in college. All it likely took was her looking away from her drink in her hand for five seconds. Anyone can reach over and drop something in with a harmless grin when you aren’t looking.
Kara was lucky enough to slip away before whoever drugged her could really engage with her. She probably had disappeared into the crowd too fast to catch.
“I’ll just do three shots at the bar to be good for the night, then hit the dance floor, no cup needed,” Kara replies instead. “Are you game?”
Bianca squeals and pumps her fist. Ack, a holdover from their favorite reality tv show from when they were nineteen. Frankly, the goofy charm of it never gets old. The girls all line up at the bar and order a few different shots to be poured in front of them in a row.
Kara gets a definite headache just looking at her overflowing glasses. Patron, Patron, and a redheaded slut shot for kicks. Vodka drowns her sorrow, but Tequila makes her dance . “Bottoms up, bitches,” Bianca says loudly as they all take hold of their first glass.
They quickly sing out a raunchy drinking chant, smiling.
Kara upends one glass and then another into her mouth without pause, trying to not focus on the taste, because it’s far too fast and she’s far too sober to drink like this. Hopefully she won’t be sober for long. It burns in her mouth and down her throat. The tequila is smooth, but it still kicks violently in her belly, revolting. The redheaded slut shot is sweeter and she chose it for her last shot by design. Someone makes a gagging noise to her left, trying to keep the alcohol down.
Birthday Princess wipes her glistening lips and gives them a slightly green stare. “I think this is it. I’m too old to do this anymore. It’s all downhill from here.”
Bianca laughs and Kara disagrees, because she has no intention of going downhill. She’s already been as low as she can go, there isn’t anywhere lower. All she can do is go up and dammit, she will.
They dance shortly after, the alcohol coursing through their veins, pulling them to greater heights of excitement as they move to the beat. It doesn’t take long for the high alcohol content to soften the edges of Kara’s vision, to make her feel loose and uncaring. Her limbs flow and everything slows down.
The dancefloor is overheating quickly, packed with moving bodies. Kara feels lightheaded and eventually decides that she needs air and a bottle of water. The party lights flash over her head and Bianca grasps Kara’s hand as they aimlessly dance around amidst the throng of people around them.
Time swirls by to the sound of the music, blasting from the DJ stage. Bianca’s friend, the birthday girl, comes up behind Bianca and tries to pull her away to dance together. Kara figures this is a good chance to go take a breather on the sidelines and get some water in her. “I’m going to get water and step outside to get some air,” she shouts. “Want to come with? It’s suffocating in here.”
Bianca blows her a kiss and winks. “Water already? You’re a party pooper, love. Stay by the bouncers outside, k?”
Kara waves her off, “Yeah, yeah…”
After buying a bottled water from the bar, Kara gets her hand stamped by the host and saunters out to the front, eager for some fresh air to cool her down. The club is in the fun section of town, so multiple bars, high end liquor stores and clubs all surrounded the area. Well lit, mostly safe. Kara sits down on a stone bench and cracks open her water, gulping it down. Groups of people smoking stand outside, some just cooling off from the dance floor.
Club-goers are always amusing to people watch. The drama. The drunks. The terrible pick-up lines.
The two bouncers are large men, giant arms crossed over their barrel chests. They guard the doors, checking ID’s or looking for glow-in-the-dark stamps on the wrists of those who have just come outside to relax. They watch over the collection of people with serious eyes, making sure no one causes trouble in front of the club.
Kara is left to her own devices safely, the sweat in her hair beginning to cool as she sits and watches her surroundings with a pleasant buzz.
As she’s cooling off, she sees a limo pull up across the street, idling beside the over-priced upscale liquor store. For a moment, Kara stares at it, one eye narrowing as something pokes at her memory. She’s never noticed limos before; now she does.
A girl in a short little dress gets out, extremely scandalous, followed by two men. She has loud, obnoxious giggles that Kara can hear from across the street. Annoying. The trio disappears into the liquor store for a few minutes and Kara really thinks nothing of it.
At least, not until one of the men comes back outside the shop rather quickly with a brown bag, a familiar stride and a familiar face. The other two must still be browsing for whatever they intend to purchase. Maybe the girl is using the bathroom. That doesn’t detract from the fact that Kara knows the man who is about to get back in the limo, opening the door to hand in the brown bag.
Nicholas Havenwood-Calais. In the fucking flesh.
Kara feels her hand clench around her water bottle, crunching it loudly.
I could just walk over there. Right now. I could give him a piece of my mind. On my own terms. I can’t go to the Dark Mirage. I can’t talk to him in court. If I go over there right now while he’s out with his friends…oh, I bet he’d hate that. I could be the ultimate cockblock while I’m at it. Maybe he successfully got through to Derrick today. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe Gale called him. I won’t know what happened unless I get him to talk straight.
The last thing I need is for him to move forward with making a complaint to the judge before Monday.
Her teeth are grinding together as she pulls her nerves into place. This is a sign. A chance for her to save face and her career. He can’t avoid her if she flat out confronts him while he’s right here in front of the club, in clear view of the security.
Kara smiles darkly. She quickly texts Bianca that she changed her mind, she’s going home, then strides across the street. The closer she gets, the more her heart pounds. He’s leaning against the limo, looking at the doors of the liquor store, waiting on the other pair to come out.
He looks rather powerful, with his slightly mussed hair and his perfect suit. Irritating .
In a stealthy fashion, Kara comes up beside him, just in his peripheral. “Run out of fun juice so early in the night? You’re ambitious.”
Calais straightens and his head turns to look at her. His jaw slackens in shock, seeing her standing there just beside him, her arms akimbo on her hips accusingly. He opens his mouth to say something in response, but a loud cackle interrupts them, the pair from the store heading their way.
The woman, caked in makeup that appears to be slightly…messy at this point, gives her an interested glance before drunkenly giggling and sliding into the limo, saying, “Oh, hi sweetie.” As the limo door opens again, Kara is hit with the scent of alcohol, perfume, and cologne. She nearly coughs.
The man is tall, with midnight black hair and a fierce goatee. He claps Calais on the shoulder and says, “Is she coming with? The more the merrier.”
Calais grits his teeth, “She’s not.”
The man laughs, deep in his throat. “Don’t be boring. Come on.” He slides into the idling limo after the girl.
Kara gives her nemesis a hard look, noticing the hazy way he’s looking at her. “I’m not leaving until we talk. So, you might as well let me get this over with.”
Rolling his eyes, Calais growls under his breath. “Unbelievable.” With those words, he ducks down and crawls into the limo, leaving the door open for Kara in a telling fashion before she can stop him.
Kara stands in front of it, suddenly wondering if she really wants to get in and talk to him or not. Perhaps he’s trying to make her lose her cool. She meant to talk to him right there, on the sidewalk! Not in the limo!
Asshole!
It isn’t overly bright inside of the limo, but the small little party lights give off a certain glow from within. The sound of voices are white noise in her ears as she meets his gaze where he’s sitting.
There’s an alcohol haze about him, soft and glowy. His bright, Caribbean blue eyes are gentled by the liquor, but his face still has that stony aspect to it, like he’s carved from granite. Though the many others that Kara can hear inside the limo are laughing, there is no laughter in his eyes. Havenwood-Calais drawls with a hint of irritation, “I’m beginning to think you’re stalking me, girl.”
At his flat tone, the other voices inside of the limo go silent. The others that Kara can’t see are likely listening, curious about her. She wonders if any of them will recognize her face. Unlikely, seeing as Calais didn’t even recognize her in court that initial day.
How many people are in this limo, exactly?
“Don’t flatter yourself, old man. I have a bone to pick with you,” Kara says archly, hands still on her hips. “Seeing as you so rudely tossed me on my ass, not once, but twice now.” She shakes two fingers at him.
Okay, so he never tossed her out of the limo that blank night in her memory, but she’s counting being tossed at the elevator the night before at the Dark Mirage for sure . Which also was technically not on her ass, but Kara did get ejected rather physically from the establishment. Which, was embarrassing. He’s to blame, for a lot of things actually.
Calais is staring at her, a bit of a drunken flush on his cheekbones. Not attractive in the least. Nope. Not at all. There’s a different woman sitting next to him, practically glued to his side now, her neon mini dress going high up her thighs. Calais doesn’t even seem to notice her as he stares down Kara with displeasure.
In fact, he looks pissed at Kara. She’s the peasant that just won’t go away, he’s the licentious nobleman that wants to forget she exists.
Tough luck, boyo. This time you can’t have your way.
“You owe me a civilized chat after that accidental debacle the other night.” She raises both her eyebrows at his silence. “Well? What say you, Lord of the Limo? Are you prepared for your vessel to be boarded?”
His lips tighten, but in the way that he’s trying to stifle a smile at her blatant attempt to appeal to him with medieval literature verbiage.
Ha. I’m not illiterate, you arrogant toad.
“I thought you were done riding in cars with boys?” Calais says it with that smooth, conceited tone of his. Music is playing inside the limo, something resembling 80’s synth. Absurd!
Liquid courage is making Kara bold. “I mean, hasn’t it been a long…long…looong time since you were just a boy?”
The other men in the limo all hoot at that. “Oooh…she’s got a mouth on her! She just called you old! Guess she’s not worried about you getting it up, Nicholas.”
His face hardens, lips tightening as he shoots an accusing look at the other companions further inside.
Someone closer to the front of the limo, where Kara can’t see inside from her angle, squawks loudly, “Who is this wench? I have to see, move, move , ladies get off my lap. I might be making a trade here.”
Charming. Is she a playing card to be acquired?
A man appears in the opening of the door, peering around to see her standing just a few feet away. He squints at her, clutching a beer bottle in his hand. His eyes scan her, head to toe. Kara honestly can’t tell if he likes what he sees. Eventually, he drawls, “Look at you. Even the tits look real.”
Kara’s mouth drops open and her palm itches to connect with his face. What is he, the gatekeeper? “The tits are real!”
Sitting in the rear, Calais idly drinks from a large glass he’s just filled, clear with bubbles and ice. Hello, Mr. Gin and Tonic, we meet again. “She’s not here for you.”
The extremely blonde man staring at Kara looks over his shoulder at Calais and says, “Is that so?” He turns back to Kara and waves her in. “That’s a shame. Whatever. Welcome, tramp!”
Blondie is stunning, really, with vivid green eyes and a big drunk grin. It sounds cheesy, even in Kara’s head, but his gaze almost burns up the air in her lungs. He’d made her breath catch when he appeared in the open door, unusual for her. His bright peridot eyes are nearly eaten by yawning black pupils, strangely attractive. Hot, even. The effect likely coming from drugs he’s already done.
Kara thinks she likes him better with his mouth shut.
He disappears back towards the front of the long stretch limo, going back to his seat.
Once again, Kara is faced with the knowledge that she’s put herself in this position to confront Calais, but now she’s not so sure she wants to. Sure, she wants to hash out their crap, but she certainly doesn’t want to get in his damn limo again! The scene of the hazy crime. Which, perhaps isn’t entirely a crime, the more Kara dissects it. She’s spent a few nights telling herself it was her fault anyway, how was he supposed to know Kara wasn’t one of the working girls he usually pulled off the street?
Because, I never said yes to him.
He instructs the working girls to say no, dimwit. Try again.
I never said that either.
Clearly, she is not going to be given the chance to chat to Calais on the sidewalk tonight.
Calais looks at her with half-lidded eyes as he takes a drink, noting her sudden hesitation. “I thought your intent was to storm in here and chew me out. Lost your nerve?”
It’s clear in his eyes; he doesn’t want her there. She’s been a fun little drama for him, but now he’s fucking bored of her. She’s a mistake that’s gotten out of hand and won’t go away. A little girl hanging off his suit coat, mad that she can’t control him the way she wants. How he won’t bend and cower like all the other boys always did.
He can’t make you do anything you don’t want. Not this time. This time, you’re in control of yourself.
“Not on your life,” Kara says finally, grimly. With steely resolve, she ducks down and enters the limo.