Egomaniac

Alexa had ruined my job for a long time. After my divorce, I found bits and pieces of my marriage in every client’s bitter battle. It reminded me how much time I’d wasted, how from that first night I’d let my dick make decisions when it came to Alexa, instead of my head. Everything in my client’s files became personal to me, and it was like reliving the worst nights of my life on a daily basis.

Eventually, I learned to separate things—somewhat. But I’d lost something along the way. My job became a source of money and not something I enjoyed doing. While I no longer dreaded going downstairs to my office, I also didn’t look forward to it anymore.

Until today.

I was up even earlier than usual. After hitting the gym, I was in my office by seven, reviewing a case file. Henry Archer was one of the few clients I truly liked. His divorce was even amicable because he was a genuinely nice guy. I had his settlement conference today at eleven. The entire gang would be here to try to hammer out a final deal. Miraculously, I didn’t despise his soon-to-be ex-wife either.

I was in the copy room when I heard Emerie come in. Her heels clanked as she came down the hall carrying a large brown box. I stopped what I was doing and walked to take it from her hands.

“Thank you. Do you know no one offered me a seat on the subway carrying that thing?”

“Most people are assholes. What the hell do you have in here? It’s heavy as shit.” I set the box down on her desk and opened it without asking. Inside was a glass paperweight, but it might as well have been made of lead. “This thing is ten pounds. Are you worried a hurricane is going to gust through the office and blow around all your papers?”

She swiped it from my hand. “It’s an award. I earned it for a paper I wrote that was published in Psychology Today.”

“It’s a weapon. Glad you didn’t have that thing when I found you in my office that first night.”

“Yes, I could have put a dent in that pretty head of yours.”

I smirked. “I knew it. You think I’m pretty.”

I attempted to see what else was inside her box, but she swatted my hand away.

“Nosy.”

“You unpacked my boxes.”

“That’s true. I guess you can look.”

“Well, now I don’t want to, since you told me I could.”

“You’re like a child, you know that?”

I’d left my cell phone at the copy machine and heard it ringing from down the hall. I went to answer it, but the caller had hung up. After finishing making my copies, I gathered the stack of papers and stopped by Emerie’s office again.

Standing in the doorway, I teased, “You’re early today. Did you take my advice on falling asleep?”

“No.” Emerie’s rapid answer was…too rapid. Years of running depositions had made me skilled at picking up on small clues—sometimes something ever so slight took me down a path I hadn’t expected and led to something interesting. I’d picked up a scent from her two-letter word and was about to follow the trail.

“So you didn’t have trouble falling asleep last night, huh?”

When she started to blush and attempted to busy herself at unpacking her box, I knew I was on to something. Curious, I walked into her office and around to the other side of her desk so I could see her face even though she was looking down and unpacking.

I ducked my head and looked up to catch her eyes. “You masturbated last night, didn’t you?”

Her blush reddened. “Did you?” she countered.

Deflecting. We all know what that means. I grinned. “I did. And this morning, too. Wanna know what I was thinking about while I did it?”

“No!”

“You’re not even the slightest bit curious?”

Even though she was red-faced, I loved that she pushed through it and faced me. “Don’t you have any marriages to desecrate, pervert?”

“Come on. Admit it. You masturbated last night, and that’s why you had such a good night’s sleep and got to work on time for a change.”

“Why do you care?”

“I like to be right.”

“You’re really a giant egomaniac.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Will you drop the subject if I tell you the truth?”

I nodded. “I will.”

She looked me directly in the eye. “I did.”

“What?”

“What do you mean what? You know what I mean.”

Of course I do. “I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you explain what you’re referring to?”

“Get out.”

“Say you masturbated, and I’ll get out.”

“Why? So you can get off on the thought of me masturbating?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear what I was thinking about this morning when I took care of myself?”

I chuckled. Emerie was trying to be tough, but her voice told me she was more embarrassed and amused than pissed off. Feeling unusually kind, I decided to let her off the hook before I pushed my luck.

“I have a conference at ten today that will probably turn into lunch with my client afterward. There are menus in the top right drawer of the reception desk if you want to order in.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I stopped just outside of her doorway. “One other thing.”

“Hmm?”

“Were you thinking of me when you masturbated?”

I’d said it just to be an ass, but her sudden deer-in-the-headlights face told me I’d actually hit the nail on the head. Well, shit. Coming to work just got even better. A part of me (a very large part of me, of course) wanted to stay and push that interesting tidbit of information even more, but I’d suddenly turned into a twelve-year-old boy and could feel my cock swelling. Thanks to her dirty thoughts, Little Miss Oklahoma with the great ass got a reprieve after all.

“That’s not the fucking problem. The problem is your inability to cook a decent meal without burning it.”

Hearing that type of statement yelled wasn’t new to these walls. Only this time, it wasn’t coming from one of my clients.

I’d just returned to the office after a late lunch with Henry Archer, and the sound of an angry man echoed through the hall. Emerie’s office door was slightly open, and I debated checking in with her, making sure everything was okay. Listening, I heard her ask the guy to settle down and then another woman began to speak. So I went back to my office to mind my own business.

Fifteen minutes later, there it was again. I was on the phone when that same guy’s voice carried down the hall and straight into my office.

“I was on the fence about marrying you in the first place. Should have called it off after you couldn’t even carry our kid.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose. What he’d said was horrible. But I’d heard spouses spit vile things back and forth at each other during a divorce. Not much shocked me anymore. Yet this guy—it wasn’t what he said but how he said it. His voice was laced with anger and intimidation, threatening while insulting. I hadn’t even seen his face, but my gut told me he was more than just a verbal abuser. Unfortunately, I’d seen physical abusers over the years, too. There was just something about the way the scumbags yelled that set them apart from your run-of-the-mill, I-hate-you-and-want-to-injure-your-soul spouse.

I rushed the client I’d been speaking to off the phone and went to check on Emerie. Before I could reach her office, a loud crashing sound sent me running.

When I got to the door, the guy was sitting in his seat while his wife knelt on her hands and knees to clean something up. Emerie was standing.

“What’s going on in here? Everything okay?”

Emerie hesitated and caught my eye when she spoke. She was trying to diffuse the situation. I saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice.

“Mr. Dawson was a little excited and knocked over a glass award I had sitting on my desk.”

The heavy paperweight she’d lugged on the subway in her box was shattered all over the floor.

“Take a walk and cool off, buddy.”

The asshole’s head whipped around. “Are you talking to me?”

“I am.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the guy telling you to take a walk and cool off.”

He stood. “And what if I don’t?”

“You’ll be physically removed.”

“You’re going to call the cops on me for breaking a piece of glass?”

“Not unless Emerie wants me to. But I will toss your ass out on the street myself.”

I folded my arms across my chest and kept eye contact. Men who abused women were pussies. I’d kick his ass and enjoy every fucking minute of it.

After a few seconds, the guy looked at his wife. “I’m done with this counseling shit.” Then he stormed out. I stepped aside to make room for him to pass.

Both Emerie and her client stayed quiet until we heard the front door slam closed.

“You good?” I asked.

Emerie nodded, and for the first time, the woman turned and faced me. Her cheek was purple and yellow with a fading bruise. My jaw clenched. I should have punched the fucker while I had the chance.

“He’s not usually like that. It’s just been tough at his job lately.”

Sure he isn’t.

Emerie and I locked eyes one more time, an unspoken exchange. We were on the same page.

“I’ll let you two talk.” I shut the door behind me.

For the next half hour, I worked on a case file at the empty reception desk in the lobby, not wanting that asshole husband to walk back in without my knowing. Eventually, I caught his face outside the front window. He was smoking a cigarette and waiting outside for his wife. Smart move.

Emerie walked Mrs. Dawson to the lobby as they spoke. “How about we talk on the phone tomorrow? Even if it’s just for fifteen minutes? I’d really like to hear from you after today’s session.”

Her client nodded. “Okay.”

“How does ten sound?”

“That’s good. Bill leaves for work at eight.”

Emerie nodded. “You know what? I didn’t give you an appointment card for next week’s session. Let me grab one for you, and I’ll be right back.”

After she walked away, I spoke to Mrs. Dawson. My voice was low, nonjudgmental, and cautious. “You gonna be okay?”

She briefly looked in my eyes, but quickly diverted hers to the ground. “I’ll be fine. Bill isn’t really a bad guy. Honestly, you just caught him at a bad time.”

“Uh-huh.”

Emerie returned and handed her client a small card. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

She nodded and left.

When the door shut, Emerie sighed loudly. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. You can’t help that your client is an asshole. Got plenty of ‘em myself.”

“I think he’s physically abusive to her.”

“I’d tend to agree with you.”

“I also don’t think I’ll ever hear from her again. She’s going to cut me off because I confronted her about what I suspected was going on.”

“You don’t think she’ll call tomorrow or show up at her appointment next week?”

“Nope. He’s not going to let her continue. Now that I know him a little better, I’m really surprised he ever agreed to come here at all. My counseling sessions have been with just her.”

“It’s tough.”

She sighed again. “I hope she calls you.”

“Me?”

“The appointment card reminder I gave her was your business card. Figured she needed a divorce attorney more than relationship counseling.”

My eyebrows jumped. “Nice.”

We walked side by side down the hall.

“I could use a drink,” Emerie said.

“Your office or mine?”

Emerie looked at me. “You have alcohol in the office?”

“I have a lot of shitty days.”

She smiled. “My office.”

“This tastes like turpentine.” Emerie’s entire face twisted.

I sipped. “It’s twenty-five-year-old Glenmorangie. That’s six-hundred-dollar-a-bottle paint thinner you’re drinking there.”

“For that price, they could have added some flavor.”

I chuckled. I sat in a guest chair, and Emerie was behind her desk. She must have unpacked the rest of her box because there were some new personal items on display. I lifted the glass coaster-like base that had gone with the award douchebag Dawson broke.

“You’re gonna need a new weapon.”

“Don’t think I need one with you around to threaten my clients.”

“He deserved it. I should have punched him in the face like he likes to do to his wife.”

“You should have. That guy was a real asshole. A fuckin asshole.”

She was cute working her New York accent, although it still sounded like Oklahoma doing New York.

There were two new frames on her desk, and I reached for one of them. It was a photo of an older couple.

“Help yourself,” she said with sarcasm and a smile.

I looked at her face, then the couple, then back at her. “These your parents?”

“Yep.”

“Who do you look like?”

“My mother, I’m told.”

I studied her mother’s face. They looked nothing alike. “I don’t see it.”

She reached over and slipped the photo from my hands. “I’m adopted. I look like my biological mother.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s not something I’m secretive about.”

I leaned back in my chair, watching her look at the photo. There was reverence on her face when she spoke again. “I may not look like my mom, but we’re a lot alike.”

“Oh yeah? So she’s a pain in the ass, too?”

She pretended to be offended. “I’m not a pain the ass.”

“I’ve known you barely a week. Day one you were stealing office space and tried to kick my ass when I caught you. A few days later you started a fight because I made an innocent comment about some bad advice you were feeding a client, and today, I almost got into a fist fight because of you.”

“My advice wasn’t bad.” She sighed. “But I guess the rest is true. I have been a pain in the ass, haven’t I?”

I finished my drink and poured two fingers more into the tumbler, then topped off Emerie’s glass. “You’re in luck. I like pains in the asses.”

We talked for a while longer. Emerie told me about her parents’ hardware store back in Oklahoma and was in the middle of some story about selling supplies to a guy who was arrested for locking his wife in an underground bunker for two weeks when my office phone rang. I went to grab it, but she reached for it first.

“Mr. Jagger’s office. How may I assist you?” She answered in a sexy, flirty voice.

The two drinks had loosened her up, made her playful. I liked it.

“May I ask who’s calling?” She picked up a ballpoint pen and paused to listen, mindlessly rubbing the top along her bottom lip.

My eyes followed. I bet they taste good. I had the sudden urge to lean over the desk and bite one. Shit. Not a good thought.

Yet I was still staring at her lips when she looked back up at me. I should have stopped, but the way they moved when she started to speak held me captive.

“Okay, Mrs. Logan. Let me see if he’s available.”

That broke my gaze. I waved both hands in front of me, motioning to her that I wasn’t available. She put the phone on hold for five seconds and then returned to the call.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Logan. He seems to have stepped out.” A pause. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to give out Mr. Jagger’s cell phone number. But I will tell him you called.”

After she hung up, she said, “You know what I just realized?”

“That your voice sounds sexier after a few drinks?”

She blinked. “My voice sounds sexier?”

I gulped a mouthful of my second drink. “Yeah. You were flirting answering the phone.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

I shrugged. “Whatever. I liked it. What were you going to say you realized?”

“I don’t even remember now. I think those two little drinks went right to my head.”

“And your lips,” I grumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh! I remember what I was going to say.” She pointed a finger at me. “I’ve taken at least twenty phone calls in three days and saw a ton of appointments on your calendar. That was the first Mrs. that called. You don’t have any clients named Jane, Jessica, or Julie.”

“That’s because I only take male clients.”

“What?” She looked at me like I’d just told her the sky was purple.

“Male clients. You know, they’re like women, except with less drama and bigger di—” I quieted mid-word, hearing the front door open. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. Why?”

“I just heard the front door open.” I stood and walked to the hallway. “Hello?”

A guy I’d never seen before popped his head around the corner from the lobby. “Hi. I’m looking for Emerie Rose?”

I squinted. “Who are you?” I was concerned that the Dawson douchebag had come back to start trouble. But this guy looked like the last trouble he saw was when the kids picked on him in elementary school.

I turned back to Emerie, who was already heading toward me. She joined me in the doorway.

“Baldwin? I thought that was your voice. What are you doing here?”

“Thought I would surprise you.”

The guy raised flowers I hadn’t noticed at his side; their color matched his crooked bow tie. They were lame—looked like he bought them at the Chinese market down the block for $7.99.

“That’s so sweet.”

Emerie stepped out of the doorway where we were nice and close and walked to the guy, giving him a hug and kiss. For some reason, I stayed put, watching it all.

After she took the flowers, she remembered I was behind her. “Baldwin, this is Drew. Drew, Baldwin is the friend I told you about the other day.”

I was confused, and she read it on my face.

“My TA in college. Remember, I told you all about him?”

Really? That guy? “Oh. Yeah.” I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you. Drew Jagger.”

“Likewise. Baldwin Marcum.”

There was an odd, awkward silence before Emerie broke it. “Isn’t the office beautiful?”

“Very nice.”

“Are you on your way to meet Rachel?”

“The show isn’t for another hour and a half. So I thought I’d check in on you.”

Baldwin was still looking around the office when he spotted the bottle of Glenmorangie and two empty glasses on Emerie’s desk.

He looked at her. “Is that scotch? At five in the afternoon?”

Emerie either didn’t catch the disdain in his voice or was good at ignoring it. “We had a rough day,” she said.

“I see.”

“Care for a glass?” I asked, certain he would decline after the sixty-second assessment I’d made. “It’s twenty-five and smooth.”

“No, thank you.”

I’d seen enough. “I have work to catch up on. Nice to meet you, Baldwin.”

He nodded.

An hour later, I was packing up my office when I heard the two of them laughing. The earlier events of the day still had testosterone pumping through my veins. Which was probably why, out of nowhere, I had the urge to punch the guy. An outlet was needed. Angry fucking. I need to get laid.

I knocked lightly on Emerie’s door before pushing it open. “I’m going to head out. You should try that sleeping technique I told you about again tonight so you’re on time again tomorrow.”

Emerie’s eyes widened as she attempted to hide her smirk. “Yes. Maybe I’ll do just that.”

Baldwin watched our exchange closely.

I waved and nodded. “You have a good night.”

I made it one step before Emerie called to me. “Drew.”

I turned back. “Yeah?”

She wrung her hands together. “Thank you for today. I didn’t say it, but I appreciate everything you did.”

“Anytime, Oklahoma.” I rapped my knuckles against her office doorframe. “Don’t stay too late, okay?”

“I won’t. I’m going to head out in a few minutes. Baldwin has plans tonight, so I’ll walk out with him.”

“Want me to wait? We can grab a burger at Joey’s again?”

Emerie started to respond when Mr. Bowtie interrupted. “Actually, I’ve had a last-minute change of plans. Why don’t I take you for some dinner?”

“You’re not going to the show with Rachel?”

“We can see it another time. I wasn’t aware you’d had a bad day. You can tell me all about it at dinner.”

Emerie looked to me, conflicted. I made the choice easier for her. Who was I to interrupt the happy couple?

“You two have a good night then.”

I might have been full of myself. After all, I’d been told on more than one occasion lately that my ego was pretty big, but I could have sworn Emerie’s little friend’s change of plans had something to do with me.