Page 4 of Bent, Not Broken

He shook his head at me. “My job as supervisor of the project dictates that I stop for takeout and then stand around and watch my sweaty sweetheart strip down to his running shorts, moving around boards. Not a bad deal.”

“You wouldn’t want to come out for celebratory drinks, would you?” I shimmied in place a little and he laughed. “Have a few brews. Bring your boy toy! If you’ve been putting him to work all week, it’s the least you can do.”

“He doesn’t drink,” West said sternly. His smile hadn’t slipped, however, his eyes told me he was done with the subject, so I gave him up for a lost cause and swung around to study River’s closed door. I shifted to my feet and walked over. Listened. Heard nothing through the wood. I knocked.

“Yes?” came an irritated, breathy reply.

“So, boss?” I said at the top of my lungs through the door. “Let me buy you a drink. I mean, if you’re broke, and that’s why you don’t want to go out for a drink—”

River ripped the door open and glared down into my face. Sometimes I forgot he was a lot taller than I was because normally he wasn’t this close to me. I swallowed at the crimson tint to his cheeks.

“Why do you think I don’t want to go? Or that’s why?” He bit the words out so they were almost each a question unto themselves and leaned close enough that I could count the pinpoints on his jaw where his afternoon scruff broke through the skin.

“I just assumed. Who could pass up an evening in my company? Must be money troubles.” I smiled, but he remained stone-faced. Maybe I’d finally pushed my luck too far with him?

He shook his head, but his eyes sparkled with fire behind his glasses. “You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”

“Most days.”

“Fine. That means you’re not a lightweight.” He glanced down my body, and I frowned at him. He smirked. “I’ll buy the first round, you buy the second.”

“Yes!” I pumped my fist into the air, and he reached out and flicked my ear with such horrible precision it stole my breath. “Ouch!” I slapped my hand to my head, but the sting stuck around.

“Hey, you two, stop that kinky stuff,” West said dryly from his desk, and River burst out laughing.

“Hurts,” I grumbled.

“You have a motion you were supposed to be drafting.” River poked my chest. “I want it on my desk in the next forty-five minutes, or no boss-sponsored dirty martinis for you. It’s a Wednesday. No decent boss would condone this clear dereliction of responsibility. And you know Jezebel’s runs out of those huge olives early, so you better get a move on.”

“Good thing you’re no good at being the boss, then,” West mumbled from somewhere behind me.

River flipped him off and then slammed the door in my face again, but I caught a short glance of his satisfied smile. With a little skip, I hopped over to my chair and slammed my butt into it, overshooting my desk so I had to walk it back. I opened my laptop, unlocked it, and stared miserably at my nowhere-near-finished draft for a second before I took a deep breath. I forced myself to start typing.

The boring work lulled me, almost hypnotic. I picked away at a motion to dismiss a trial. The motion was nonsense. The judge would give me squinty eyes over the trouble of dragging everyone into the courtroom for nothing and would then blast me for wasting court time, but the stunt was designed as a stall tactic. Since I was the youngest member of the team, I got to take that proverbial hit. Everyone had decided that I could smile and pull the I’m-not-very-experienced card. The time I bought would allow certain parties to convince a few witnesses they didn’t really want to talk. I was pretty sure there was some threatening going on, and maybe some bribery, but if I didn’t know specifics, I would sleep okay.

As I read over my motion again, I hummed a little. Not long later, I finished up my work and then emailed the document to River, and for funsies, printed it out also, just to be an ass. I made a stop at the printer in the corner of the room and then burst into River’s office to find him leaned back in his chair.

He’d tossed his suitcoat on his desk. His eyes were clenched closed and he had a cell phone pressed against his ear. He said “yes, sir” so many times I gave up keeping track around the eleventh one. I couldn’t see what he was up to with his hand tucked under his desk, at least not from where I stood. The way his arm steadily rocked, though, I could guess. I held up the motion and dropped it in the middle of his desk. It wasn’t heavy enough to make a big plop, which was disappointing. His eyes snapped open anyway, and he froze, sliding his chair guiltily closer to his desk. His face turned an inspiring shade of pink, and he slipped his hand onto the desk, splayed flat.

He mouthed, “I’ll meet you,” and shooed at me. “Sorry, sir. Interrupted,” he said into the phone, and he glared at the wall behind my right shoulder. Shocked, but not too shocked, I stuck my tongue out at him before I closed his office door. That was interesting. Good for him, the horny fucker.

Grinning, I mentally prepared for Jezebel’s with that feeling spiraling in my chest that I used to get at the end of the school year. I stopped to close my laptop for the night and then locked it and my briefcase in one of my desk drawers. I shrugged off my suitcoat, figuring it would be safer left here, and draped it over the back of my chair. I’d lost two coats in the last month and didn’t want to give my tailor any more heart palpitations. The building our office was in sat on Washington, just south of what the entire city referred to as Bar Row, which made these sorts of wins easy to celebrate. With one last glance around the office, I smiled and left.

The balmy summer night was perfect when I pushed my way through the glass-and-gold door that exited the small but classy first-floor lobby, and I raced down the short stone steps. The swell of triumph that had been on me in the courtroom earlier bubbled up again. I raised my fingers toward the velvety indigo sky dotted with pink glowing clouds and speckled off to the east with pretty winking stars that all seemed to be telling me “good job.” The sunset painted the tall buildings along the street golden and perfect. Today was a good day, not that this was much different than any other day. I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked, passing people frantically trying to get home to the rest of their lives.

One woman ahead of me in a red skirt suit had a little boy in overalls by the hand, and a man pulled up near her in a Beemer. The woman and boy rushed together to the car, clearly excited to see the man driving. A feeling of some sort that almost dislodged my win-high lanced through my chest, but I shrugged it off as they clambered into the car and drove away. Who had time for that fantasyland stuff? I could be brokering their divorce in two years. Hell, two months. That’s just how things went.

Lost in my head, I made my way to Jezebel’s and almost walked into a dark glass door when I got there. I grabbed the pewter handle, ostentatious with a dash of over the top, and shook it. Frowning, I stepped back and looked up at the refurbished bank. It had a stately old-world appeal, and the bar inside was decorated in the same white marble throughout. I glanced around. A dire sign the exact shade of a Creamsicle martini—what I thought I might order for dessert tonight, after my usual five or six dirties—had a warning about a Health Department inspection failure and hepatitis in lettuce. I snorted. Good thing I usually drank dinner when I hit the bars downtown. Now I just felt responsible for my lack of eating. I backed away and stuffed my hands in my pockets again, nibbling at the corner of my lip. Lights were coming up all along Bar Row, and the neon attracted booze hounds already, the sidewalk crawling with them. My people: I itched to join them.

Spirits dampened since my favorite bar wasn’t open, I turned a small circle. The Whiskey Barrel was close by, with a slew of motorcycles parked out front. I didn’t really want to take my life in my hands there. I turned and looked down the street farther south, and there was a crowd in front of Black Out. It was a place to go and drink until my eyes were fuzzy and let someone grind against my ass in the dark. Is that the kind of night I wanted to have? I took a deep breath and my good mood bounced back. Hell, that actually sounded all right. I strolled that way.

Black Out blazed into existence on the front of the building that housed the club in dark purple neon lights, almost like the universe was giving me a sign that my choice was a good one. The security guy on the door at Black Out was a man I knew of, more than knew. His name was Travis Hughes, and River had gotten his brother out of jail last year. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he was very man-pretty in a Mediterranean way, but from what I’d heard he had a boyfriend. He nodded at me when I got close to the entrance, and I gave him a soft “thank you” as he let me inside ahead of a line of other men and women that stretched back along the sidewalk. Some girls in skimpy party dresses sent snooty frowns after me. Sometimes there were perks for working with River.

The first ten feet inside the front door were pitch-black until my eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The dance floor was deep-sea blue right now, although that might change later. I’d seen lights flashing out there before. My heart thumped, and the mysterious dance floor had a special allure. Anyone could touch anyone out there.

One celebratory drink was in order first before I went fishing for sharks, however. The place wasn’t too crowded yet as I made my way to the spotlit bar. It hurt my eyes to approach the area after making my way through the gloom of the rest of the place. I swore some nights that Black Out kept a line out front just to seem cooler than it was. I smiled at a pretty lady in a black mini dress that barely covered her ass, sitting on a stool. She wrinkled her nose in my direction, giving me a quick once-over. Some women were like that, only wanted the tall guys, and that was fine twice; once because I didn’t give a damn if she liked me, and once again because I was kind of the same way. I loved men so tall I needed a box to stand on to kiss them. I loved muscles. Hell, that pissy cop earlier today was as close to a guy who ticked off all the boxes on my checklist as I’d seen in a long time.

Sighing wistfully, very Gone with the Wind, and then laughing at myself, I gave my best smile to the bartender when she finally got around to me. She had her hair shaved on one side, the other swooped over half her face in a magenta wave. Her glasses had no actual glass, but matched her hair, and a tiny septum piercing winked at me under the bright lights.