Lunches with my mother are awful, and I know it will mean a bad day for me.
So today, all of that happened, and it was bad.
But then it got a fuck of a lot worse.
My uncle Luke showed up, apparently dining in the same restaurant. He walked up, air kissing my mom on both cheeks, and then turned to give me a hug. My entire body recoiled before he could touch me, and I almost barfed up chunks of ham and boiled egg on him. I claimed a sudden headache and fled to the bathroom, where I knew if I waited long enough, he would leave.
And he did.
And then I did.
I headed straight home after making excuses my mother wasn't interested in hearing and got on my computer, scheduling the only thing that I knew would fix me and make it better.
I contacted One Night Only, and I set up a "date" with some guy I picked at random. I didn't care what his name was, or what he looked like, or even how big his cock was. All I cared about was that he could meet me in a hotel within the hour and let me fuck away my misery.
So I did.
I fucked him spectacularly, and I had a few moments of peace. I was able to forget all about my horrid day and let pleasure fill me up. I sucked it all up, demanded more, and then sucked it up again.
And now I'm home and I just wanted you to know that my day was shitty, and even though I know it's wrong, I fixed it the only way I know how.
I hope you forgive me.
Love,
Macy
Chapter 9
"You look like hell, Cal," Janis says to me with worried eyes.
"Feel like hell," I mutter as I take the stack of messages she hands me. I had just meandered into her office, more than two hours late for work.
Not that I have set hours, since I own the firm, but I usually arrive to work before anyone else. When I'm late, there's usually cause for worry.
I know my eyes are bloodshot. She can probably smell the vodka still oozing out of my pores even though I stood in the shower for almost forty-five minutes this morning, trying to make myself wake up.
And that's all because I got shit-faced, stinking drunk last night. It's what guys do, apparently, when they break a woman's heart.
And that's apparently what I did to Camille last night when I ended it with her after another week of giving it my all.
Things just weren't working out between us, and God knows, I think both of us really tried. Things had settled down and conversation was coming a bit easier. We were becoming comfortable with each other again. She didn't annoy me as much.
What is annoying me, however, is myself. I'm annoyed with myself because when it boils down to it, I can't commit fully to Camille because I apparently still have Macy on the brain. And I can't fucking get rid of it.
Any time I have sex with Camille, I think about Macy. It's progressed too. I'm not just reliving the memories of what we did, but I'm fantasizing about a million different dirty things I want to do to her now. And I think about Macy even when I'm not having sex with Camille. About non-sex things. I'm wondering what Macy's deal is. Why is a seemingly smart, rich woman so closed off from relationships? Why does she bounce from bed to bed? And more importantly, what is it about me that made her want to do a repeat? Am I special? Is there something there? Am I fucking going insane?
It's bordering on a sick obsession, and the one thing I do know... this isn't fair to Camille. I just can't keep leading her on, letting her believe that I'm really in to her when I'm not. So last night, I went to her apartment and broke things off with her. She cried... for three hours straight while I tried to console her. She's riddled with guilt because she thinks the reason I can't commit is because she left me six months ago. I totally didn't have the heart or the balls to tell her it's because I think another woman holds my mind hostage and she enslaves my dick as well.
After I left her apartment, I went back to my own and downed several vodka tonics. I'm not normally a drinker, but my stomach was swimming with guilt, so I let the vice of alcohol numb me. I'm paying for it though this morning because I feel like total shit, and I have to attend a deposition this afternoon.
Leaving Janis' office, I head to the break room and make myself a cup of coffee. I down it while I stand at the counter, flipping through the stack of messages Janis took for me this morning. Making myself another cup of coffee, I head to my office.
My morning trudges by slowly, and it's probably because I've got a headache that won't go away and nausea gurgling in my belly. I switch from coffee to ginger ale by lunchtime, and have Janis run out to pick me up a sub that I'm only able to eat about three bites of before I feel like I'm going to hurl.
That's it... I'm done drinking forever.
And then I snicker to myself, because man... if I had a quarter for every time I had that exact same sentiment when I was in college and partying my ass off, I'd be a rich man.
A knock on my door causes my head to pound in tune with the rapping knuckles. When I look up, I try to smile at Mac as she stands there, but it comes out more as a grimace.
"Are you hungover?" she asks as she walks in and sits down in a chair opposite my desk.
She's looking particularly stunning today with her black hair pulled back into a severe bun that highlights the gorgeous curves and angles of her face.
I nod, and then wince because even that hurts. "Made merry with some vodka last night."
"Camille?" she asks, but she knows the answer to that. While I haven't told Mac about what happened between Macy and me, or the fact that I can't seem to stop thinking about her, she does know that I've been having a hard time reconnecting with Camille.
"I broke things off with her last night," I tell her as I take a sip from the can of ginger ale on my desk.
"I'd like to say I'm sorry," Mac says in a kind voice. "But she wasn't the one for you."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because you weren't the one for her," she says simply. "She left you behind.
"Ouch," I say with mock hurt.
"You know it's true," she tells me firmly. "If it was meant to be, you two would have made it work six months ago. You would have kept the relationship going. What you've been doing with her these last several weeks? Just a waste of time, my friend."
Not a total waste of time, I think to myself. At least it kept me occupied and away from Macy.
I give an accommodating smile to Mac, but I don't respond. This subject is boring to me already and while I still feel guilty for hurting her last night, I'm ready to move past it.
"So what's up?" I ask her, knowing she needs help on a case. I know this because the only time we seem to end up in each other's offices are when we need to pick the other's brain about something. Otherwise, we are so busy during the day that we don't see each other. If it wasn't for our standing weekly dinner date where we spend half the time going over firm business and the other half just being friends, Mac and I could end up going weeks sometimes without seeing each other because of our hectic schedules.
Mac's eyes lower to the ground, and she nibbles on her bottom lip.
Oh, shit. That means she's getting ready to ask me to do something I won't like. I immediately go on hyper alert, my brain starting to twirl with a million different excuses I can give her if it's something I'll abhor doing.
She pulls her gaze up, takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "Macy got sued, and she needs someone to represent her."
And just the mention of Macy's name causes my skin to tingle even as my stomach bottoms out on me. "That's probably not a good idea," I say immediately. "You know it's not good business to represent friends and family members."
Mac's eyes light up, and she nods her head vigorously. Leaning forward toward my desk, she says, "That's just it. I agree with you, which is totally why I can't represent her, but you're not her friend or her family member. You can totally do it."
"Wait. What?" I say quickly. "No, I can't represent her."
"Why not, Cal?" Mac asks beseechingly
. "You don't have any personal ties to her."
I fucked her in the kitchen pantry, and she sucked my cock after. I totally have personal ties to her.
Before I can even try to come up with an excuse, Mac rolls on. "And besides... this lawsuit needs someone like you defending her."
I can't fucking help myself. "What's the suit about?"
"It's an alienation-of-affection suit," she says, her eyes actually twinkling.
Well, shit. That is right up my alley. I actually helped a buddy of mine from law school defend one down in North Carolina last year, and I totally shredded the other side. It's a fascinating type of case. It's a law that allows a spouse to sue another person who breaks up a marriage. It usually occurs when one spouse has an affair, and the jilted spouse will sue the man or woman who their spouse was seeing. Crazy-ass law, but a lot of people take advantage of it. Especially when the person being sued is rich, as Macy Carrington is.
"Where's the suit filed?" I ask her, because New York abolished these types of claims and only seven states allow them.
"Utah," she says.
"Macy went to Utah?" I ask stupidly, and even mentally kick myself again that I'm asking details about the case.
Mac shakes her head. "No. Apparently, it was a businessman from Utah that flew to New York several times a year, and Macy met him through One Night Only."
Fuck. A million questions spring to mind. If Macy only does single nights with men, how in the hell did she bust up a marriage? And how in the hell did the wife in Utah find out? And I wonder if she fucked this guy as good as she fucked me?
Christ, why in the hell am I even wondering that?
Shaking my head adamantly, I even hold my hands up defensively in front of me. "No way, Mac. I can't do it."
Nope. Can't do it. I cannot be in close proximity to Macy. I can't deal with her on a case. I can't even be in the same room with her without wanting to--
No, just no. Can't do it.
"Why not?" she demands, eyeing me suspiciously.
And here is where I really need to backpedal, because there really isn't any sound reason why I couldn't take this case.
"Um... my trial schedule coming up is too hectic," I say lamely.
"I'll cover for you," she says immediately.
"I'm not licensed in Utah," I blurt out, and then smile at her deviously because hey... that's a perfect fucking excuse.
"Matt has a friend that practices there. He can get you admitted pro hoc vice."
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Cal," Mac says softly. "I'm calling in my marker."
Shit, fuck, fuck, shit.
My head droops, and my shoulders sag with defeat. She has me dead to rights because last year, she ended up bailing my ass out of some hot water with a judge by copping to a mistake I made. I didn't ask her to do it. She did it behind my back because she cares for me and wanted to protect me, but I always knew one day I'd have to pull her ass out of a fire if she asked.
Apparently, that day has arrived.
"Fine," I say with resignation. "I'll do it."
Chapter 10
From the Diary of Macy Carrington:
Dear Diary,
I'm going to share something with you that even Mac doesn't know, and that should say something, because Mac pretty much knows everything about me. She knows all of my deepest 53642.70 darkest secrets and about the poison that permeates my being.
But she doesn't know this.
I'm scared.
I'm scared, hurt, and lonely.
I mean... this lawsuit has really scared the fuck out of me.
I try to be a good person. I use my time and money toward charitable efforts. I'm kind to people. I don't cheat, steal, or lie, and I never lead men on. I've tried to be a good person, despite what my parents think about me.
But I'm being attacked now, by someone that thinks I am not a good person.
Perhaps I'm not.
I'm questioning everything I thought I understood about myself.
There is only one thing right now that is offering me a small measure of comfort. And his name is Cal Carson.
Saint Cal.
He agreed to take my case and represent me. I can't tell you how relieved I was when Mac told me the good news.
For this, I know to be true.
Cal is a good man. He's not the saint I taunt him to be, but he is a good man. One of only two that I know to be truly good, the other being Matt Connover.
I know he's a good man because of the respect and love he holds for my best friend, Mac. He took a chance on her, started a business with her, and has protected her. He supported her when Matt was being a douche. She speaks of him so highly, and I trust her instincts.
Yes, he's a good man, and he's on my side.
I'm scared, but I have Cal to help me out, and that makes this bearable.
Diary... my old friend... is it bad that I want him again? That I want him to fuck away all of my sad thoughts? Give me blessed peace that I know would come from being with him? That I know would be better than any peace that all of my prior fucks have given me in totality?
That I want him to hold me in those strong arms and whisper everything will be okay?
Would he do that for me?
Doesn't matter. I'm too afraid to ask for that.
But not too afraid to have sex with him again.
Love,
Macy
Chapter 11
"Miss Carrington is here to see you," my secretary says through the intercom.
Seven little words and my hands start sweating.
"Send her in," I tell Janis as I wipe them on my trousers.
Get a fucking grip, Cal. You're a goddamn professional.
Thirty long seconds pass as I wait for my office door to open and Janis to escort my newest client in. I steel myself, hoping beyond hope that my facial expression or body doesn't betray my feelings, because I am wired beyond control over the prospect of seeing Macy again. In my fantasy of fantasies, she waits until Janis leaves, closes the door behind her, and walks right up to me. She crawls onto my lap and whispers into my ear that she wants me to fuck her.
But this isn't fantasy. This is real life, she has a real case, she needs a strong and professional lawyer, and besides that... she's fucking trouble in any other respect, so I need to keep my mind focused.
A soft knock on my door and Janis opens it up, steps in, and motions Macy forward. She gives a soft smile and asks, "Are you sure I can't get you something to drink, Miss Carrington?"
Macy reaches her hand out, touches Janis' arm in appreciation, and says, "No, thank you, Janis. I'm good but thanks."
Fuck... why does she have to do something so simple as to make her appear normal and human, not some oversexed, depraved fiend that I want to make her out in my mind?
Macy doesn't look my way until Janis nods her head and walks out of my office, closing the door behind her. Then she swivels her head slowly and with a mischievous grin on her face, she says, "Hello, Saint Cal. Funny running into you here."
Rather than irritate, the moniker amuses me, because she doesn't have a drop of malice in her voice. But I don't egg her on. Instead, I keep my distance and motion toward a seat on the other side of my desk with my hand. "Have a seat and let's discuss your case."
She saunters across the plush, beige carpeting of my office, and I can't help but check out the entire package coming my way. Her hair perfectly styled, falling over her shoulders in soft, fringy layers. Makeup stylish yet understated, and her body shown to perfection in a form-fitting, navy blue, sleeveless dress that comes down to just above her knee with white piping along the collar and hem. A noticeable, five-inch slit runs up the side of her left leg, and I have to wonder if she's wearing panties today.
Macy takes a seat in one of my guest chairs and that fucking dress, while painted onto her, must be made of some type of stretchy material because it slides right up her legs, the hem now at mid-thigh and the slit going much higher. She cro
sses one shapely leg over another, giving me just the briefest of peeks between her legs. I can't tell if she has underwear on or not, but I quickly meet her gaze.
"Thank you for agreeing to take my case," Macy says as she reaches into her beige leather purse and pulls out a thick folder.
I want to tell her I didn't have a choice and that if I did, she wouldn't be sitting in my office right now, but I don't bother. No sense in starting a fight when the last thing I need to do is let my temper get out of control. The last time she pissed me off, we ended up fucking, and that absolutely cannot happen. Not only is it a violation of my ethical duty as an attorney, but Macy is just code word for trouble.
Macy uncrosses her legs and leans forward out of the chair, handing me the folder. I reach across my desk and take it from her, asking, "What's this?"
"A list of my receipts for my monthly payments to One Night Only, as well as a report showing every man I've been with. I've only been with Brian Merrill once when he came to New York on business, and it was arranged through the website. Also a list of all of my cell phone records showing I've never spoken to the man by phone, and you can have access to my email to show I've never communicated with him outside of the time we slept together."
I'm impressed with her efforts so far to prove that she doesn't have a "relationship" with this man. We're going to need to show that she did not intentionally bust up this marriage. Right now, I'm only seeing a woman that slept with a man, and that it was done anonymously. That shouldn't be enough to pin the destruction of this man's marriage on Macy's doorstep.
Still, I have to ask, "Why did this man's wife sue you for alienation of affection? She surely has to have some reason to believe you broke the marriage up?"
Macy shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm a great lay, I guess. Maybe he was dissatisfied with his wife's performance after being with me."
That answer, I do not like. I know, firsthand, that it could be true, but I don't like thinking about her fucking another man. It's going to kill me to look at this list of men in my hand that she's had sex with, and that makes me disgusted with myself because I shouldn't have any proprietary interest here.