Chapter Forty-Four
Kiyah
Soft whispering pulled me out of a nightmare that made me want to never close my eyes again.
It was Chicago all over again, but this time, the elevator doors didn’t close after I boarded.
Todd stood at the end of the long hallway wearing a gruesome smile.
He approached as my fingers stabbed at the button designated to close the doors, but they wouldn’t budge.
The closer he came, the more frantic I became.
My finger snapped, sending the bone splintering and tearing through the skin right as Todd planted himself in front of me.
And then I woke.
My heart slammed against my chest, sweat dripped down my temples, and my stomach felt like I just jumped out of a Cessna.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling while Grant finished his hushed conversation.
“I can’t cover for you, Casey. I’m still technically on leave,” Grant hissed. “No. No. Listen, Case. I’d love to, but I can’t.” Grant paused briefly. “What’s the emergency?” He snorted. “Of course, you won’t tell me.”
I slid my hand into his when the conversation grew heated. He squeezed my hand, unaware that he was providing me more comfort than I was giving. Grant’s tone dropped.
“I’ll be there. Don’t let it happen again.”
He hung up and tossed his phone onto the nightstand.
“So, that day we had planned?”
He rolled onto his side, propped himself on his elbow, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.
“You were restless in your sleep. Thankfully, I have quick reflexes and narrowly avoided an elbow to the eye. Bad dream?”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I am,” he confessed. “What was your dream about?”
“My husband abandoning me on the day we were supposed to bake bread from scratch and use our new $325 bread knife.”
“This level of passive aggressiveness before the sun is up should be illegal,” he joked, leaning down to kiss me.
“It should, but it’s not. What’s going on with Casey?”
“Who fucking knows,” he muttered, smoothing his hand down my stomach, which still hadn’t settled. In fact, the nauseous knot in my stomach sent bile up my esophagus. I swallowed it down, praying it was a one-off and I’d be fine after breakfast and a hot shower. “He’s been distracted lately.”
“We’ve all been distracted lately.”
Grant shook his head.
“Not like this. He’s been shifty—like he’s hiding something. Now, all of a sudden, I have to cover for him in court. Dad has a doctor’s appointment, Daisy is still out, and Kieran is meeting with opposing counsel to discuss a settlement for a case.”
“Do you think it’s drugs? Gambling debt?”
“Knowing him, it probably has something to do with a woman,” he said, easing out of bed with a sigh of an elderly man who’d seen it all and had grown weary of the world.
“I’ll make breakfast,” I offered, slipping from under the comforter.
I closed my eyes when the room seemed to tilt and took a few grounding breaths. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, and a heaviness settled in my stomach.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I answered, keeping my eyes closed. “I was making fun of you, but I think the food from the party is participating in a conga line in my stomach.”
He chuckled as he moved into the walk-in closet.
“Are there maracas?”
“Maracas, Taiko drums, and a bagpipe.”
“Sounds lively. I’ll get ready for work in the guest bathroom.”
“No need. I’m fine now,” I insisted, noting the slight relief.
“Are you sure?”
“Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes,” I answered before entering the bathroom to relieve myself, brush my teeth, and wash and moisturize my face.
* * *
I sliced open a packet of bacon and frowned when the smell hit my nose. I lifted the package to my nose and sniffed.
“Oh, God. That’s foul.” I checked the sell-by date and was shocked to find it was still a week away.
“Must’ve been a bad batch,” I mumbled, scouring the refrigerator for something to replace it with.
I found Canadian bacon and tossed that out, too.
Eventually, I settled on making waffles with a berry compote and eggs.
Grant powered into the kitchen with his tie draped around his neck and his face glued to the tablet screen.
I grabbed a tangerine from the fruit bowl and tossed it at him.
He smirked when he caught it without breaking his focus or stride.
“You’re gonna have to try better than that, darling,” he taunted, tossing it back. I caught it and dropped it into the fruit bowl. I leaned against the island and watched him pour his coffee, keeping it as black as his soul.
“You’re coming to the office with me today.”
I raised a brow.
“I am?”
He nodded, sipping from his mug. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you home alone until we get security sorted. Eat, dress, and be ready to go in half an hour. We’ll take a late lunch with Granddad.”
“That sounds perfect, actually.”
He hummed in agreement and sat at the island. I fixed my plate, joined him, and picked his brain about the case. Wordlessly, he slid the tablet over, and I read the case notes.
“Say what you want about Casey, but he takes immaculate notes.”
“You are correct. The compote is immaculate, Ki.”
“Thank you, Grant,” I replied, rubbing a hand up and down his thigh as I immersed myself in Casey’s case. “Why is opposing counsel insisting on taking this to court? This is a slam dunk for us.”
The victim, Jasmine O’Dell, was minding her business on a jog when a pack of dogs nearly mauled her to death.
The owner of the dogs received prior citations from the city about their aggressive dogs breaking out of his fence and roaming the neighborhood.
Animal control had threatened to take the dogs, but the owner agreed to reinforce the fence within 48 hours.
A week had passed, and the fence remained unchanged.
The victim was admitted to the ICU for two weeks due to her injuries and an infection she contracted.
Ms. O’Dell is suing for gross negligence and recklessness, premises liability, PTSD and emotional distress, disfigurement and scarring, medical expenses beyond immediate treatment, loss of enjoyment of life, loss of wages, loss of future earning capacity—the list went on.
“Look who the defendant hired as their attorney.”
I scrolled and refrained from rolling my eyes.
“Really? O’Reilly Justice Group. They’re just running their client’s tab up.”
Every horrible stereotype you knew about attorneys could be applied to O’Reilly.
Their fees were outrageous—far above industry standards.
They weren’t transparent with their clients about how they conducted business, had a few judges in their pockets, and pushed their clients to go to court to rack up billable hours.
“Bingo.”
I shook my head and continued reading.
“Poor lady. She’ll never be able to use her right arm again.”
“I’m aware.”
“How much do you think you’ll be able to secure her?”
Grant shrugged, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and tossed it on his plate before clearing his place setting.
“Low-end, she’s looking at anywhere from $1.5 to $7 million, and if the jury is being extra generous, then she’s looking at $8 to $20 million.”
I let out a low whistle.
“Are you gonna make Casey split the pot with you since you’re subbing for him?”
“No. He did all of the casework; he deserves it. On another note, I wanted to bring something up to you since you’re woefully unemployed.”
“I’m not unemployed. I’m a stay-at-home wife,” I mumbled around a mouthful of waffle.
Grant smiled and refilled his coffee mug.
“Thank you for the correction, my dear. But since you have more free time than I, do you mind planning the yearly employee wellness trip?”
“No.”
“No?” he said, surprised by my rejection.
“You heard me. I know how this goes when the company gets audited. I’ll go down as the scapegoat.”
“Kiyah, don’t be selfish. You’re the most expendable out of all of us. Plus, Burgess will get you out in 1-3 years if you’re on your best behavior.”
He said it so seriously, I almost believed him until his lips twitched.
I flipped him off and told him to go fuck himself.
“I’ll put money on your books, and we can have conjugal visits.”
“Conjugal visits are not allowed in federal prison.”
“Good to know.”
“Am I allowed to go on the trip?”
“Are you on payroll?”
“I am the event coordinator. Sorry, I can’t give you references. My last boss was a freaking psycho.”
Grant massaged his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“Don’t remind me. I don’t want my mood ruined. Get moving, Ki.”
“Do you need assistance with your tie?” I asked in a way that implied we might use his tie for extracurricular activities.
His heated gaze slammed into me, and I could tell he was undressing me with his eyes, stripping off the oversized T-shirt that belonged to him. Eventually, the logical side of him won out.
He cleared his throat and finished knotting his tie.
“Please get dressed, Ki.”
“You’re the boss,” I proclaimed, leaving the kitchen. It wasn’t until I was climbing the stairs that I said, “But I do expect you to bend me over the desk in your office.”
“Kiyah,” he said sternly.
“Don’t be boring, Granny,” I taunted.
“I’ll show you boring,” I heard him mutter from downstairs.
Do your worst, Grant.