Page 82 of Try Me
I didn’t want to fuck up his future. I really didn’t. And I was well aware of the sword hanging over my own head. But goddamn, I couldn’t stop thinking there had to be a way around my dad. Problem was, I wasn’t used to thinking twenty moves ahead like he was. I wasn’t used to looking for people’s weaknesses so I could exploit them.
“Mark?” I flinched at the touch to my elbow as John fell in step beside me.
“Sorry,” I said with a shake of my head. “Lost in my own world.”
“I asked if you wanted to grab those files for the Groton case. I can bring them down to you later, though.”
“No, no. I can grab them now.” I followed him to his cubicle. He paused with a hand on top of the file box on his desk.
“Everything okay? You’ve seemed a little off lately. Rough week?”
I rubbed the back of my neck self-consciously. I thought I was better at keeping my shit locked up. “A little bit, yeah.”
“You know the mock trial is mostly a for-fun thing. It doesn’t hold as much weight as you probably think, so if you were worried about—”
“I’m not.” The swiftness of my response made John cant his head at me. I sighed and sagged against the side of the cubicle. “You ever think about what a weird profession law is?” He arched a brow, ready to indulge me. “I mean, we have two opposing sides both trying to prove they’re right and whoever has the better proof wins, regardless of what the actual truth is—which is almost never black and white in the first place. There are all these monuments to the blind eyes of justice, all this bullshit about justice being served, but it’s never actually about justice, it’s just a convenient narrative.” John blinked at me a couple of times. “It’s just…never mind. Totally unimportant.”
“I think,” he said carefully, “that like many other things, it’s an imperfect system, and what plays out in court is just one side of the coin. I have to hope that over time, the scales are balanced, but I suppose there’s a lot about the concept of justice that’s simply a matter of perspective. Sometimes what seems unjust at first is viewed differently in hindsight.” He considered me as I picked up the box of files. His smile seemed sympathetic. “And sometimes the reverse is true.”
* * *
Barrett bustledin to our office later that afternoon. “Pour vous,” he said, dropping a sheaf of stapled papers on my desk, then moving on to Chet, Liza, and Houston and doing the same.
I took advantage of Chet’s distraction as he flipped through the papers to stare at him. I kept hoping that, with each day that passed, I’d find him less attractive and more infuriating like I used to. But shit, even back then I’d back-of-the-mind assented he was hot. Now he was next-level devastating, because I knew exactly how that sensual mouth felt on mine, all too well how his dark eyes could pierce my best defenses. And since we weren’t doing a whole hell of a lot of talking, he wasn’t half as annoying—if he’d ever been so in the first place.
The silence that had descended between us wasn’t something I thought either of us expected. There wasn’t any anger or ill intention behind it on my part or his, from what I could detect. It seemed more like we just didn’t know what to say or how to go back to a status quo that’d barely existed in the first place.
A week ago, I couldn’t spend enough time with him; now I longed for the end of the internship, when I wouldn’t have to sit across from him every day trying to forget what it felt like to have his hands all over me, clutching my ass, pulling me deeper inside him.
“These are the exit surveys we do for all our interns. Complete them and drop them in the box on my desk on the last day. Got it?”
We all nodded, but Barrett didn’t leave. He swept his gaze over our little enclave, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That was too easy.” He homed in on Liza and Houston, then seemed to dismiss them immediately. “Nope, that’s not it. You two are boring as shit, which I assume means you’ll be offered jobs here straight out of law school. Pre-emptive congrats to you both.” Liza looked poised to make a comeback, but Barrett had already swiveled toward Chet and me.
“Beep beep,” he said in a mimicry of radar and took two steps in the direction of Chet’s desk before cocking his head. “Boop.” He frowned, and with a shake of his head, backtracked, inching slowly in my direction. “Beep boop boop boop. I’ve found a tracking signal.Bloopbloopbloop. Signal getting stronger. Please stand by.” I folded my arms over my chest and stared at him, brows arched expectantly. Any other time it would’ve been amusing, and Liza and Houston certainly seemed to think it was.
I just wanted him to go away.
I didn’t dare look over at Chet. Barrett continued, seemingly delighted and encouraged by having a captive audience. “Heat signature suggests tall, white, overly privileged male with decent taste in cologne, average taste in clothing, which likely extends to women. Rock-solid abs confirmed. Probably prefers Miller Lite. Great taste, but less filling,” he parroted the old slogan.
“Enough,”Chet growled, low and vicious. “I swear to fucking God, Barrett, if you—”
I cleared my throat loudly as I leaned back in my chair casually and kicked my feet up on the desk. “I like my beers the way I like my dicks: full-flavored andveryfilling.” Chet’s mouth had gotten him kicked out of at least ten games that I’d heard of back in the day, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see where it might take him today. Drastic measures were warranted.
Barrett gaped dramatically, and for a very long five seconds he stared at me, blinking rapidly. Then he threw his head back and hooted with delight. Actually fucking hooted. “I think I’ve just suffered a mini-stroke.”
Full flavored, Chet mouthed.
“Smile,” I commanded Barrett, remembering the stroke warning signs from a health course.
He did, both corners of his mouth unfurling in a wide grin.
“You’re fine, unfortunately for us all.”
“Oh no,you’re fine, Mr. Farrow. Very, very fine. Truly a delight,” he crowed, and whirled toward the door, though not without shooting a snide little smirk in Chet’s direction.
Once Barrett was gone, Liza flashed us a peace sign as she picked up her bag. “On that eye-opening note, I’m heading home.”
Houston scrambled to follow her.