JUST CO-WORKERS WHO RANDOMLY MET IN A SHITHOLE AND NEVER SAW EACH OTHER NAKED
9
Evie : Girl! Jack told us you were already gone when he woke up.
Evie : I hope we did not freak you out or anything?
Evie : You got a little weird when we ordered our second drinks…
Prudence : Oh
Prudence : Oh my god no. I had a really great time with you guys.
Prudence : I just recognized someone, and I was not prepared to see him.
Evie : Oh, you should have told us!
Evie : We could have gone somewhere else, or invited him over.
Prudence : Definitely not invite him over.
Evie : Oh, then we could have asked the waitress to spill a drink on him. She totally would have done it.
Evie : Or asked the bartender to put sugar instead of salt if he took some tequila shots.
Prudence : Evil.
Prudence : I like you even more.
Prudence : My interview is about to start, I’ll tell you guys when I come back.
Evie : Good luck!
Evie : And be careful, I think the rain will be hitting us hard today.
PRUDENCE
My brain has decided to ignore what it saw last night. Hot Grumpy Guy was definitely not in that bar. Definitely not wearing a red wristband. And especially not smooching with a hot redhead.
I did not consider that the “universe was sending me a sign” like a gullible dumb little girl. Because of course, the only man I felt comfortable enough to have sex with in a really long time probably ended up being a cheating liar.
So no more thinking about this. I’ll just blame alcohol and a potential brain tumor for all of it.
I woke up before my alarm around 6a.m. this morning, took a shower and got ready with fairly professional clothes—a cute cream silk button down with a pencil skirt—light make-up and a simple high ponytail. When I looked at my reflection, I still felt like my boring self, but a tad more confident.
That’ll have to be enough.
Now, I’m sitting in my car in the underground parking of the LAPD. Music in the background, and my thumb tapping the wheel distractedly to the rhythm of the song.
Because of course, I arrived one hour early.
It’s not for lack of trying, honestly. I stopped to buy a—stupidly large—coffee in a Starbucks, some silly stuff at the mall—three scented candles, a few photo frames, a couple of pillows for the couch—and a damn bathing suit.
Speaking of which, what is the problem with bathing suits in this city? Why for a hundred different options, only one is a one piece, and about 80% of the rest are barely covering anything? Not to mention the weird ones that have more strings than actual material on them.
Anyway, I managed to find a simple black bikini that has enough coverage for me not to worry about flashing anyone. It still has stupid strings on the side to tie the bottom front and back together and shows most of my ass, but that was the best option I had.
I can hear the rain starting to pour outside. From what I’ve heard about the weather here, it’s probably going to be a downpour, but only lasts for about ten to thirty minutes. It should be over when I’m done with the interview.
I jump out of the car when the time shows 9:55p.m, and head straight to the front desk where a kind-looking young woman gives me a visitor pass and leads me to the Chief of Police’s office. I sit on one of the chairs facing her door.
Chief Kosby does not make me wait for long. She steps out of her office after barely a minute and she gives me a reassuring smile.
I knew from our phone calls that she had a kind but authoritative voice. But I was not expecting her to be a 5ft nothing, blond, forty years old woman.
“Miss Willow, thank you for meeting me. Please, come in.”
I stand up and join her inside. She closes the door behind me and takes her place behind her desk. I sit on one of the two chairs facing her.
Her office is minimalist. Other than her computer, nothing clutters her desk. The walls are painted gray and the floor tiling is the same dark as the rest of the building. In the previous precincts I worked in, the walls and doors were mostly glass, overlooking the open space where detectives were working. Not here. Doesn’t she feel the need to look and check on her employees even from her own desk? Maybe she is the kind of chief who either fully trusts everyone to do their job correctly or she simply doesn’t spend much time in her office, preferring to check on them directly. Or maybe she…
No storytelling.
Right. Fuck.
“My colleagues in Chicago and Atlanta had so many nice things to say about you,” she says, leaning back in her chair.
“I really enjoyed working with them too,” I answer with a smile.
“So, you mentioned that you moved here with your brother. Do you plan on staying for a while?”
Me moving a lot is always a concern every time I’m looking for jobs. I clear my throat. “My brother seems set on staying here for a long time. He mentioned buying a house, so I guess we might be here to stay.”
“Oh, that’s great.” She smiles, leaning forwards to fumble with some paperwork. “I didn’t ask on our phone conversations, but why did you not work with the police in Seattle instead of working in a bar?”
“I… The police precinct was in Seattle but we were living in Indianola. I needed to be in a less than thirty minutes driving distance from him in case of… Well, emergencies. With the ferry, it was…”
“Oh. Yes, I understand. You said on the phone that your brother had hired personal care workers here?”
“He did, yes.”
“That must be a relief for you.”
Barely getting used to the idea . “I guess, yes. You don’t need to worry about me leaving for too many emergencies, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
She stares at me for a couple of seconds, without saying anything. Then she smiles, and hands me the little stack of paper she’s holding in her hand.
“We’re really happy to welcome you to our team, Miss Willow. Let’s go over the freelancer contract together, and then I’ll go and introduce you to our detectives and officers.”
It’s basically the same contract that I’ve had before. They can call me up to six times a week for a total of forty two hours max. As a freelancer, the focus of my work will be on composite drawings but I can be called for a crime scene reconstruction if they don’t have anyone else available.
Chief Kosby—she told me to call her Jane—seems like a really nice lady but she’s also kind of terrifying. I guess you have to be when you’re a woman Chief of Police.
She leads me towards what looks like a little conference room and we are greeted by a dozen people sitting and talking to each other.
They all go quiet when we enter and I can feel their gazes on me, even though I try my best not to look at any of them too intently. The last thing I need is for my brain to start storytelling about my future co-workers.
“Good morning Detectives. I just want to take a minute to introduce you to Miss Prudence Willow. She’s our latest freelance Sketch artist.” She pauses and looks around the room for a couple of seconds, probably to look at each detective facing us. “She’s worked with the Chicago and Atlanta Police departments and is now joining us with strong references. She’ll do mostly composite drawings, and I’ll put her contact on the freelancer board.”
She turns to me with a kind smile and gives me a little wink before pointing at each detective in front of them, forcing me to properly look at them.
“So here are most of our detectives. Some of them are off, some of them are out on the field, and some of them are… Late. But you’ll get to meet and know them with time. So, here is Jacinda George, Matthew Edwards, Daniel Jones, Sam Colliard, Jude…”
The door opens and she stops, her focus turning towards it.
“You’re late, Ortega.” She snaps with a frown. “If you need more time to get your shit together, I’ll have to put you on sabbatical.”
“Sorry Chief. There was a car crash on the main road because of the rain. I stayed to help until the ambulances and officers arrived. Gomez and Morelli can confirm I was there until they showed up.”
My blood freezes in my veins as I glance in his direction, not daring to move the rest of my body.
Maybe his vision is based on movement. Maybe he won’t see me, next to his supervisor, facing the whole lot of them. Please, bookcase god, I call upon your invisibility gifts. Please?
“Alright,” Jane mumbles, “Anyway, so here is Prudence, and her contact sheet will be on the board.”
I force myself to stare at anyone or anything but him. Even though I can feel his gaze burning my whole stupid face. He saw me. Useless bookcase god .
I can faintly register her speaking but I’m too focused on not looking at “Not-so Grumpy Late Ortega” to hear anything.
And then, she places her hand on my back to lead me out of the room. I’m quick to follow, especially if it means that I get to escape him.
Fuck, how life can be a bitch.
Seeing him randomly yesterday was one thing. But him here ? A detective ? Probably a lying and cheating one? Fuck this. I need to go home. Now.
“We’ll see you one Monday for your first week,” Jane says, handing me her hand to shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, and I’m counting on my team to welcome you with open arms.”
I force a tight smile.
“Thank you. I’ll see you next week, then.”
I can’t walk out of here fast enough. I almost run to the front desk and stab the elevator button a few times, like it will make it go faster.
“Come on, come on…” I mutter to myself.
When the door chimes open, I jump inside and stab the underground parking button. Once. Twice. Ten fucking times.
The doors start to close and I release a shaky breath. But just as they are about to fully close, an arm stops them, and they open back up.
No. No, no, no, no, no…
My eyes are wide as I watch “Ortega” step inside and press the “close doors” button I did not see.
His breath is labored, as if he just ran ten miles. It makes me remember another time I heard him breathe like this and I cringe.
That’ll teach me not to have casual sex with strangers.
“Prue, can we talk?” he asks when the doors are closed behind him.
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore him, eyes focused on the numbers above the door.
3rd floor .
“Look, I know how it looks, okay? I should have come to talk to you yesterday. Explain myself. But I kind of freaked out. My wife was there, and…” I close my eyes briefly and exhale slowly through my nose. “I mean my ex-wife. Girlfriend. I don’t even know.”
2nd floor.
“Whatever you‘re thinking, I did not lie. And for the records, I was pretty upset to find out you left before I woke up and I tried to find you. But you weren’t working and your boss wouldn’t tell me how to reach you and…”
1st floor .
“Remember how I told you that I was missing the plane not to be with her? She actually missed it too because she was worried something happened to me, so when she saw me arriving at the airport the next evening and then she saw the marks you left…”
The door chimes open and I rush outside, side-stepping him. Hurried footsteps follow me.
“We fought. And she asked what happened, so I told her. And one thing led to another, we’re actually back together now, and I think we’ve never been so happy because in that fight we’ve actually talked and told each other what was wrong this whole time and…”
“There is nothing to explain, Ortega ,” I say casually.
“Raph,” he cuts in. “My name is Rapha?l. And yes, there is. I was single when we had sex. I swear. I don’t want you to believe that I’m some kind of wife cheating bastard, that used you and lied to you. I’m not. Prue, please, can you just look at me for a second?”
He grabs my forearm and pulls me back to a stop. I close my eyes and sigh.
Come on. I can be reasonable.
I turn around slowly and lift my eyes to look at his face. He actually looks miserable. Or is it fear? His shoulders are hunched, his eyes pleading, his posture tense and careful.
“I… Look, I’m probably going to sound like a douche, but I really need what happened to stay between us. My… Meredith can’t know it was you. She’d freak out.”
“Agreed. Let’s just forget it ever happened. I’m not a home wrecker and I don’t want… Whatever that was to interfere with my work.”
“Great, I’m so glad you agree. So, can you go back upstairs and tell Chief Kosby you want to join another station? You can’t work here it’s just—”
“Excuse me?”
He pauses, blinking a few times, lips parted.
“Well, I can’t work with you. It would be too distracting. Meredith would find out one way or another. You need to ask to be transferred to a different station.”
I’m seeing red. The nerve on this guy. Unfortunately for him, even though most emotions are hard for me to express, anger is not one of them.
“No,” I say slowly, coldly, and his face disappears behind a mask of annoyance. “This station is the closest to where I live, and I’m not going somewhere else because you’re unable to deal with the consequences of your actions.”
He’s standing still, blocking my way to my car on the other side of the parking lot. His eyes are dark, brows furrowed, lips pressed angrily together.
“What, do you want me to pretend that we’re just co-workers who randomly met in a shithole and never saw each other naked?”
“I don’t want you to pretend anything. As far as I know, we don’t know each other. I’ll come here and do my job and stay out of your way, as long as you stay out of mine,” I say through my teeth.
“Why are you even here?” he asks, taking a slow step towards me. “I mean, from all the places in the states, you end up here, where I work. I find it a little too big for a coincidence.”
“Not my choice, trust me.”
“Are you following me?”
I scoff. How can he believe something like this? I didn’t even know his damn name!
“Yeah, right! Two meaningless and orgasmless fucks and I already bought my wedding dress. Get your head out of your ass, Ortega.”
I sidestep him, hitting his chest with my shoulder and ripping my arm from his grasp. I start walking again towards my car. After only a couple of steps, I stop abruptly with a gasp.
“What the hell is happening to my car?”
“Oh, shit.”
Water is pouring over it. Not in a “it’s just a little rain” way. More in a “a pipe fucking broke down just above my car” way.
“Fuck, this side of the parking is usually blocked when they announce heavy rain.”
“And why was it not?” I screech, pulling at my hair. “It’s a police precinct, isn’t there anyone watching the cars? The rain has been announced for weeks for fuck sakes!”
He winces and looks around us frantically. But there is no one. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and quickly, someone picks up.
“Prudence’s car is flooded in the parking lot, why were the spots not blocked and where the hell are the guys watching over the parking lot? I’m telling you they are not, three fucking cars are parked there. Yeah well, get them here so they can take care of it.”
He hangs up abruptly with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“I’m so sorry. We’ll take care of everything and pay the bill. Can I… Drive you home?”
What the hell is happening?
“Oh, hell no,” I say, sprinting towards my car. He wants me to quit to save his relationship. What if he murders me to get me out of his way? He grabs my forearm before I can take three steps away from him.
“Come on, Prue. You can’t take your car, if you open the front door the water will flood the inside if it hasn’t already. Let me just drive you home, alright?”
“You can’t possibly believe it would be alright to, especially after what you asked me.”
“I don’t see why not? What am I supposed to do, just let you drown trying to get to your car?” He asks with a frown and a frustrated grunt filled with disbelief escapes me.
“Are you that clueless? Maybe that’s why you got divorced in the first place. Do you really think I want to spend just five minutes stuck in a car with you after all that? Do you think Meredith would be happy to hear all about you driving me home?”
“It’s different, you’re—”
“It’s not!” I yell, interrupting him. “And I am not a fucking home-wrecker, but I won’t transfer station just because you can’t keep it in your pants. So let’s get this straight right now, because I’m about to push you under the water flooding my car. We had mediocre sex and it drove your ex so jealous that you somehow ended up back together. If what you said is true, then good for you, I’m glad you got your shit back together. But if you ask me or make me transfer for a reason or another, I’ll fucking drown you in a bottom shelf whisky pool and fucking charge you for it!”
He’s staring at me with wide eyes and I pull my arm back with another frustrated grunt. I turn around and open the trunk of the car carefully to take the bag filled with my purchases of the day.
I stare at the trunk for a couple of seconds, considering reaching the front seat by pushing the back seat and climbing but I give up when I notice the water already inside in the front. Even if I manage to reach the driver seat, the car will probably not start. And how could it when water has been pouring over the hood for who knows how long?
I close the trunk, holding my bag in my other hand and turn back around to face a gaping and embarrassed Rapha?l.
I take the couple of steps separating us and slam my keys against his chest. “I’ll take an Uber.”
He catches my keys before they drop when I pull my hand back from him and I start walking to the elevator.
“You won’t find any Uber working with that weather,” he says, but doesn’t try to catch me again.
“Then I’ll fucking walk,” I snap as I climb in.