Time Served (21 page)

Chapter Nineteen

We get back to the office at three o’clock. Only one of our four remaining interviews had agreed to meet with us, and the case wasn’t strong. Still, we’d signed her up for the class action, taken notes and smiled the whole time, as though our spirits really weren’t in the doldrums as Parker had predicted.

Baxter’s waiting in the garage when we pull in, leaning up against his garishly colored car. “Howdy,” he says, saluting us.

“Hey,” Parker and I mumble, depressed.

“Heard about the payoffs.”

He leads the way to the elevator and pushes the call button.

“Any news about the other interviews?” I ask, stepping into the elevator when it arrives. “Has Fowler fucked all of them, or is it just us?”

Baxter arches a brow at my language. “You’ve all been fucked. It’s like an alien invasion. We’re getting reports from all over the globe. Well, the east coast. And it’s not pretty.”

“Any idea how the partners are responding?”

“As you’d expect.”

We reach the thirty-second floor and exit, Parker and I heading to his office, Baxter disappearing down the hall to do whatever it is he does. I flop onto Parker’s couch and resist the urge to wrap myself in his cozy homemade afghan and sleep, instead sitting primly, as though today’s news wasn’t a major emotional setback.

We spend the next four hours consulting with the associates in the other states, all of whom have had the same shitty morning. Fowler laid in wait, plotted carefully, then struck all at once, deftly settling the most serious cases. There were a few holdouts, mostly the families of people who had died from their exposure to the perchlorodibenzene and saw more value in punishing Fowler than taking the money up front, but not many. If I have to say one nice thing about Fowler, it’s that they’re being surprisingly generous with the settlements.

Lee Haines is reassessing the case and coming up with a new plan, a decision that leaves everybody who’s been working on the case for months in jeopardy.

At seven fifteen Parker hangs up the phone, having followed up with the interviews we’d already completed, determining who Fowler bought off and who remained in our class action. “And that one’s gone,” he says, drawing a line through the next name on his list. The paper is, sadly, full of crossed-out names. Even sadder still, I have a similar paper in front of me.

“We’re twins,” I crack, holding up my tattered page.

Parker high-fives me without his usual enthusiasm. “Hungry?” he asks.

“Starving.”

He reaches into his desk drawer to pull out a handful of our favorite takeout menus, fanning them for me to take my pick. “We’ve got Thai,” he announces, like a carnival barker. “We’ve got Chinese, Mexican, Japanese, Vietnamese, Italian.”

“Hmm,” I muse.

“You’d better order fast before Fowler gets in there and buys it all up,” he warns.

I laugh and have one hand halfway extended toward the Japanese menu when my cell phone rings. “Sorry,” I say. “Hold that thought.” I dig my phone from my bag and glance at the display. Ten digits, no name. But I know the number. And when I glance up to find Parker watching me shrewdly, I remember why I haven’t programmed it in.

I stand up and answer, heading for the door. “Hello?”

“Don’t go on my account,” Parker says, folding his hands over his stomach and looking on with interest. I step into the hall and close the door as he sticks out his tongue.

“Where are you?”

“Hi, Dean.”

“Sorry. Hello, Rachel. How was your day?”

I laugh. “I’m at work, so...not terrific.”

“You eat yet?”

I peek in at Parker, who’s perusing the menus. “No,” I say.

“You know that burger place around the corner from your office? The one with the lanterns out front?”

“Yes.”

“I’m there now.”

I hesitate. “Are you asking me to come out?”

“You want a formal invitation or something?”

“No, just checking.”

“Then yeah, I’m asking.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“You want me to get you a drink?”

“Just water. I have to come back to work after.”

“Fine.” Dean hangs up and I creep back into the office, looking just as guilty as I feel.

Parker’s as astute as ever. “You’re bailing on me, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“He must be special if he’s pulling Rachel Moser away from the office.”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Parker puts the menus back in his desk. “Take as long as you need,” he says, standing. “Today was shit, there’s nothing to hurry back for. I’ll give you a call if the third doctor’s note magically turns up. It’s the only thing that’ll save us now. Maybe. Sort of.”

“I know it’s rude of me to do this—”

“That’s fine. I’ll find my new best friend Adrian and ask him to eat with me. Gosh, I hope he thinks I’m cool enough.” We’d forgiven Adrian for telling Caitlin about the doctor’s note, and he now works with us when he’s able to escape her evil clutches.

“Parker.”

He fairly shoves me out the door. “I’m messing with you, Rachel. Enjoy your booty call. Lord knows accountant Todd didn’t make you blush this way.”

“It’s not a booty call!” I hiss. “It’s dinner. And I’m not blushing.”

“Whatever you say.” Parker follows me into the hall and cups his hands around his mouth in his best Rocky imitation. “Yo, Adrian!”

* * *

“Hey.”

“Hey.” I slide into the corner booth across from Dean and slip out of my suit jacket, aware that he’s watching my every move. The small burger joint is busy, and the aroma of grilled meat and cheese makes my mouth water. “Good choice,” I say, shooting him a smile. “I’m starved.”

“Me too.”

A server comes by to drop off menus and glasses of water, and I skim the options, though I already know what I want. A massive burger, all the fixings and fries. And a milk shake. Wine can’t help me today; it’s time to call in the big guns.

“How was your training?” I ask after the server has returned to take our orders. Dean had listened to my meal request with a raised eyebrow, then copied it.

“Fine.” He drinks his water and scans the room.

I purse my lips and nod, irked by his reticence. “Okay.”

Suddenly Dean leans forward and folds his hands on the table in front of him, looking at me intently. “Listen,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

I frown. “What?”

“I really want to fuck you. Right now.”

I barely manage to keep my jaw from coming unhinged. “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s not why I called,” he adds hastily. “I just thought we could eat together before I went back, but watching you walk in...” He trails off, the rest implied. I say nothing for a moment, even though I know he’s waiting. Dean no doubt thinks I’m incredibly offended by the statement, but after the day I’ve had, a quickie sounds perfect. And I’m kind of flattered. I feel my nipples tighten and my blood thrums with anticipation.

“Okay,” I say, enjoying the way he blinks in surprise. “Where?”

“You serious?”

I lean out of the booth to look down the dark hall marked with a sign for the bathrooms, then glance back at Dean. Wordlessly I stand and head for the hall, feeling his heated gaze on my back. Part of me can’t believe I’m actually doing this, while another part of me can’t believe I
get
to do this. No way would Todd Varner tell me he wanted to fuck me in a restaurant. And to be honest, I don’t think it would turn me on the way it does hearing it coming from Dean. I want him to want me.

I pass the men’s bathroom and pause in front of a door stamped with a little pink cow, then squint at a third door a few feet past it. I check over my shoulder to confirm that I’m alone before twisting the handle of the mystery door. It swings open to reveal a cramped supply closet. If there’s a light I can’t find it, but in the nearly nonexistent glow from the hallway I can see that it’s lined on three sides with shelves of paper towels and cleaning supplies.

A big hand splays itself across my back and shoves me inside, then Dean stalks in after me, shutting the door and enclosing us in darkness. I feel his fingers wrap around my neck, holding me in place as he slants those soft lips over mine, sliding his tongue into my mouth, hard and seeking. I don’t waste time with pleasantries, dipping a hand into his sweats and finding his cock through his boxers, already impressively stiff. I reach through the slit in the fabric and wrap my hand around his length, jerking him roughly, feeling him swell against my palm. His tormented growl makes me wet, and I fumble with my free hand to lift my dress over my hips.

Dean turns us so my back is to the door, then drops his hand between my legs, finding my panties and forcing them down. I step out of the scrap of silk and lift a leg over his hip, whimpering when the searing tip of his cock slides over my damp folds.

“Condom,” he grunts, pulling away for a second. I hear a package tear, a pause as he rolls it on, then he’s at me again, pushing inside without prelude.

My breath catches as tender tissues part, and when he squeezes my breast with one rough hand, I realize this is very much like our first night together, up against the door in his apartment. And then I realize that even though the positioning is similar, nothing else is: I trust Dean. I’m a lawyer who trusts the ex-convict who’s fucking her in a restaurant supply closet. I don’t know what this says about my mental state, but it turns me on even more.

Dean’s breath rasps in and out as he pounds into me, almost brutally. He cups my ass in both big hands, holding me away from the door, tilting my hips for deeper penetration and absorbing the blows so my tailbone doesn’t bruise. He’s going too fast to get me off, but I don’t mind. He’s taking what he wants for once, and I’m surprised by just how much it turns me on to let him, knowing it’s just for a little while. That I can trust him to return the favor, with interest. That I can trust him, period.

After a couple of minutes I hear him groan low in his throat, the sound he makes when he’s close. “Come on, Dean,” I murmur. “Let me feel it.”

He frees one hand to stroke my face, holding my head as he kisses me, then swears softly as he comes, jerking into me three, four times with his release. With our chests pressed together like this, I can feel his heart pounding against mine, thudding against my ribs like an out-of-control stallion. “Okay,” he mutters, pulling out. “Okay. Your turn.”

I can’t see him but I feel him drop to his knees in front of me, and more than anything I wish I could turn on the lights and watch this big man kneel at my feet and bury his face between my legs. Dean parts his lips and sucks me into his mouth, making my knees buckle. I stifle a cry and balance my hands on his shoulders as he strokes up the back of my thighs, helping me stand.

He plunges his tongue deep inside, again and again, the wettest, most thorough tongue-fuck of my life. His thumbs reach around to pull me open, exposing my clit to his lips and teeth, dragging out an orgasm I’m all too happy to surrender. I clamp a hand over my mouth as I come, hearing Dean’s satisfied groan as he eats me, then the soft sound of him swallowing my release.

“Oh God,” I moan as the pleasure abates. “Jesus.”

Dean stands and tugs my dress down. I feel his elbow brush my chest as he lifts a hand to wipe his mouth, laughing quietly. “I’ve got your panties,” he says. “You good to go?”

Ha. Hardly. But I nod, though he can’t see it, and say that I am. Dean returns to the table as I duck into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror I expect to see tousled hair, swollen lips and guilty eyes. Instead all I see is myself, work-appropriate dress, smooth chignon, flushed cheeks. Nothing that says “Just fucked.”

I wash my hands and return to the table as the server sets down our plates. “Looks good,” Dean says. He’s talking to the server but his eyes are on me.

I smile and pick up my milk shake, drinking through the straw. “Thanks,” I say after a moment.

“You don’t gotta thank me.”

“I needed that. More than I needed this milk shake.” I take another sip. “And I really needed this milk shake.”

“Rough day?”

“The worst.”

“Caitlin? I told you, take her down.”

I laugh. “Bigger than Caitlin.” Over dinner I tell him about Fowler, about Nunes, about how I can’t decide if I’m happy or infuriated by the settlements.

“You like what you do?”

I chew on a fry. “Yeah.”

“You ever think about downsizing?”

I stop eating, midfry. “What do you mean?”

Dean shrugs. “I mean, you seem to like the little things about your job, not the big things.”

I bristle. “I like the big things.” I like the thirty-second floor, the private cars, the embossed business card that says Rachel Moser, Attorney. I like the trappings of success, even if I don’t always have time to enjoy them.

“What about that little house you always wanted? Nice backyard, yappy dog, apple tree?”

I haven’t thought about those things in a long time. “It’s different now.”

Dean studies me for a moment, then shrugs again. “Okay. Forget I said anything.”

I shake off a vaguely unsettled feeling and finish my fry. “What about you then?”

“What about me?” He polishes off his burger and wipes his fingers on a napkin.

“Do you ever think about upsizing?”

“To what?”

“You said they’re making you do this training, that it might be for a promotion. Why don’t you want it?”

Another shrug. “It’s not for me.”

“And working in a warehouse is?”

“You got a problem with it?”

“Stop answering questions with questions. Do you like the warehouse?”

Dean sighs. “It’s fine, Rachel. I do what I’m paid to do, I don’t have to deal with people, everybody leaves me alone. If I get a promotion, I’ll be the warehouse manager, have to wear a suit and tie, answer to the higher-ups. It’s not worth it.”

“Why not?”

With his plate clean and mine still half-full, Dean reaches over and snags a fistful of fries. “That’s enough,” he says. “Finish your meal. I’ve gotta go.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

I push away my plate. “That was abrupt.”