Follow Me(58)
I shuddered and pushed the unpleasant thoughts from my mind as I took a seat before Bill’s modern glass desk. Work first, then I would worry about Audrey and Max.
“Catherine,” Bill said, looking up from a thick binder and rubbing his neatly trimmed gray beard. “Thanks for coming by. I have to jump on a call in a minute, so I’ll make this brief. I’ve been impressed with your work.”
I held my breath, hoping Bill wouldn’t add a “but,” wouldn’t mention the memo I had flubbed after Audrey kept me up all night.
“You’re the kind of diligent, conscientious associate I want in my corner. Do you have time to join my team for the Phillips litigation? I’m not going to sugarcoat it, it’ll be round-the-clock work for a while, but it’s an interesting case and we’ll be arguing it before the Southern District in October.”
“I have the time,” I assured him, chest expanding with pride. “Count me in.”
“All right,” Bill said with a decisive nod. “Glad you’ll be joining us. My assistant will reach out later to schedule an on-boarding meeting for the full team.”
Bill picked up his pen and turned back to his binder, dismissing me. I rose from the chair and floated out the door, nearly running directly into Connor. He looked behind me to Bill’s office, then gave me a quick smile and, with an inclination of his head, indicated I should follow him down the hallway. Butterflies burst into my stomach. This was the most significant interaction I’d had with Connor since the uncomfortable night at the Hirshhorn two and a half weeks earlier, and I had been craving a return to normalcy with him. I missed our jokes, the way his hazel eyes twinkled when he smiled, the slight imperfection in that otherwise gorgeous smile.
“So,” he said lowly as we walked down the hallway. “Coming from Bill’s office, huh? And with a smile on your face? Let me guess: good news about the Phillips team?”
I nodded, straining hard to remain professional. “I’ve been killing myself to get staffed on that case. Most of the cases I work on settle, so I’m excited to get in the courtroom. And there’s no denying that this is an interesting case. The libel allegations alone—”
“Yeah, definitely. Well, congrats. It’ll be fun working with you.”
My heart skipped a beat, part thrilled at the prospect at working alongside Connor, part offended Bill had chosen him before me. “I didn’t realize you were on the team, too.”
“Yeah, Bill asked me this morning. Sounds like there’ll be a lot of all-nighters in our immediate future.”
Against my will, my heartbeat resumed and stepped up to a double-speed pace as I imagined long nights in the office with Connor, the two of us holed up in a conference room, chugging coffee and sharing vending machine candy, discussing the finer points of our legal arguments. Our hands would meet atop a stack of binders, and everything that had happened since Audrey had begun messing in our relationship would melt away. This would be our chance to start fresh, to recapture the intellectually stimulating atmosphere of when we first met.
“Oh, well,” I said, forcing a casual shrug. “That’s just part of the job.”
? ? ?
THAT NIGHT, I dreamed about Connor. I awoke flushed, my whole body tingling from the sensation of dream-Connor tracing his long fingers over and inside my body. My cheeks grew hot and I pulled my covers back up over my face. I was relieved it was Saturday and I wouldn’t have to go into the office, where I was sure the indecent scenarios my sleeping brain had conjured would be glaringly obvious. My only conversations with Connor that day would be over email, and for that I was strangely grateful.
The dream continued resurfacing during the course of the day, popping into my head when I was in the middle of reading a case or blending a smoothie for lunch or responding to Audrey’s texts about what she should wear on her second date with Max. Memories of the dream (the feel of his soft lips meeting mine, his hands being assuredly placed on my hips, then stroking the skin there lower and lower and lower . . .) kept me so mellow I didn’t even feel any anxiety over what Audrey and Max might talk about on their date.
I was still luxuriating in my secret fantasy as I walked to my usual Saturday afternoon nail appointment. I could already hear Monet teasing me about the blush in my cheeks, and I was debating whether to tell her some version of the truth when I thought I saw Connor’s tall form on the sidewalk in front of me. I stopped short, certain my overactive imagination had created this apparition. I watched the Connor-like image as it walked ahead of me, certain it would soon fade into the nothingness it assuredly was. But when it pulled open the door to Columbia Brews and disappeared inside, I realized it wasn’t some sort of shade. It was Connor, in the flesh.
Sweat tickled my palms. This was my perfect opportunity to casually chat with him outside of work, to try to repair some of the damage that had been done to our relationship. All I had to do was walk into the coffee shop, act surprised to see him there, and then . . . what? My inclination was to talk about work, but I knew Audrey would chastise me for that. Let him see you as someone other than your colleague, she had said to me, and that advice came ringing back through my ears. But what should I say? What would Audrey say in this situation? I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself as her, imagine what she would say if she happened upon the object of her affection while out. She would clap her hands joyfully, the gold bracelets she often wore tinkling with the motion, and she would make a joke about him stalking her. Or would the joke be about her stalking him? Audrey did self-deprecation better than I did; she always managed to seem humble yet still glittery.