Reasonable Doubt: Volume 3 (Reasonable Doubt #3)(10)

She shrugged and led me down the hall. “Make sure you look surprised. I put a lot of work into this…I always go the extra mile for you.”

I ignored the way she was licking her lips.

She pushed the door open, and all of the staff tossed confetti into the air and shouted, “Happy Birthday, Mr. Hamilton!” Then they began to sing the birthday song—out of tune and terribly off key.

I walked over to the windows where they’d placed a small white cake with blue candles, and blew them out before the song ended.

“Happy Birthday, Andrew!” Mr. Greenwood handed me a blue envelope. “How old are you today?”

“Seeing as though today is not my birthday, I’m the same age as I was yesterday.”

He laughed, still incapable of catching when I was being short with him. Holding his stomach in jest, he motioned for one of the interns to take our photo.

As the camera flashed, I spotted Aubrey standing in a corner with her arms crossed. She was shaking her head at everyone, and when her eyes finally met mine, she scowled.

“I got you something…” Jessica pressed a small black box into my hand. “But I think you need to open it behind closed doors, when you’re alone and thinking about me.” She blushed and walked away.

I made a mental note to toss whatever it was into the trash. And instead of immediately leaving the party, I walked around the room and said thank you to everyone—reminding each intern that “birthday” or not, the assignments were still due at the end of the day.

I approached Aubrey with my hand outstretched, but she recoiled and walked into the adjoining ante-room.

“Are you seriously this immature, Miss Everhart?” I followed her, spinning her around to face me as the door shut.

“Are you seriously this cruel?” She glared at me. “You gave me more work than anyone else this morning just so you could berate me in front of them later, just because you think I embarrassed you in court again.”

“You’d actually have to know what the f**k you were doing if you wanted to embarrass me in court.” I unintentionally grabbed her hands, rubbing my fingers against her skin. “And I gave you more work so you wouldn’t have time to make my coffee, which up until this morning, I only assumed you were poisoning.”

“Since when is ‘spit’ poison?”

“You owe me another f**king suit…” I lowered my voice. “Do you have any idea how much—”

“No.” She cut me off. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve changed? I actually miss when I was Alyssa and you were Thoreau.”

“Back when you were a f**king liar?”

“Back when you treated me better…” She stared into my eyes—giving a look of longing, and my hands went around her waist, pulling her against me.

My mouth was on hers in seconds and we were kissing like we hadn’t seen each other in years—fighting each other for control. I trailed my fingers against the zipper at the back of her dress, feeling my c**k hardening against her thigh.

She pressed herself against my chest and let me slip my tongue deeper into her mouth, but she eventually tore away and pushed me.

Looking absolutely disgusted, she turned away and stormed out of the room.

I straightened my tie before following her into the party room, but she was no longer there.

“Are you going to cut the cake, Andrew?” Mr. Bach called out. “Or do you want Jessica to do it for another year in a row?”

Jessica held up the knife and winked at me.

“Jessica can cut it,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I stepped out and headed for the interns’ offices—walking straight toward Aubrey’s cubicle.

Her face was beet red and she was stuffing folders into her bag.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave early.” I stepped in front of her.

“I didn’t give you permission to treat me like shit, but you’ve done one hell of a job, haven’t you?”

“You just said that I wasn’t treating you like shit when I thought your name was Alyssa, when I thought you were a f**king lawyer.”

“That makes your current treatment of me acceptable?”

“It makes it justifiable.”

Silence.

“I can’t do this anymore, Andrew…” She shook her head.

“Does that mean you’ll stop acting like a child in court? Does it mean—”

“Here.” She cut me off and pressed a silver box against my chest. “I bought this for you a few weeks ago, back when Jessica was planning your birthday party.”

“Did you spit in it?”

“I should have.” She picked up her bag and rushed past me, heading for the exit.

A part of me actually wanted to go after her and make her explain what the hell she meant about “not doing this anymore,” but I knew doing so would be pointless. Talking to her for less than three minutes aroused me, and I needed to remember why I ended “us” in the first place.

I returned to the break-room and said thank you to the last of the interns, glancing at the photo HR had pinned on the wall. It was a collage of my professional photos with a birthday hat sticker attached to my head. And they’d written “Happy Birthday, Andrew! GBH Loves You!” in bright blue.