Текст книги "Friction"
Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett
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CHAPTER 7
LEARY
I should have given in to Reeve’s demands over the last week. Instead, I ignored call after call in which he all but commanded me to get together with him. The more I ignored him, the more insistent he became.
Except for the last two days. I haven’t heard a peep out of him, and I’m wondering if he’s no longer interested.
I hope that’s not the case, because I didn’t ignore him because I wasn’t interested. I ignored him because I was too interested.
All week, my thoughts have been almost obsessively consumed with Reeve. I keep replaying every single interaction we’ve had over and over, ultimately realizing it was a slow, sensual buildup to an explosive outcome.
What we did in that bathroom was beyond explosive, actually. I’ve never in my entire life given in to abandon that way. I gave up absolute control to him and the surrounding environment. I gave not one whit about my career if I were to get caught. I didn’t give a shit that two strangers listened to us.
I cared about none of it because for the first time in my life, when a man was lodged deep inside me, I was absolutely consumed by him. There was simply no room for anything else.
And that bothered me.
Bothered me to the extent that I practically rushed out of the Marriott after hastily agreeing to be his fuck buddy.
Fuck buddy?
Who in the hell says they have a fuck buddy? Maybe a college freshman, but not a twenty-nine-year-old professional woman who’s a partner in a prestigious law firm.
At any rate, when these obsessive thoughts didn’t wane, but instead increased, I felt the need to try to put some distance between Reeve and me. Thus, I ignored his calls, hoping this insatiable desire for him would just go away.
Fat freaking chance.
And now he sits across from me in one of the smaller conference rooms at Knight & Payne, looking completely relaxed and in charge of this deposition. And there’s something about Reeve Holloway in a custom-tailored suit in a navy so dark it could be black, perfectly cut white dress shirt, and silver-gray tie with black crosshatching detail, with messily styled hair that’s just a little too long on top to be considered stuffy and stubble because he just apparently didn’t feel like shaving this morning . . . well, just . . . damn. How in the hell am I supposed to concentrate?
The room is only large enough for a small rectangular table that seats two each on the long sides and one each on the short ends. Reeve and the adjuster from Dr. Summerland’s insurance company, a young man about my age named Thomas Collier, sit opposite Jenna and me. The court reporter sits on the end to my right. She’ll be dictating into a soundproof mask everything that is said in this room, word for word, so a transcript can be typed up later.
We’re here because Reeve followed standard protocol and formally requested that my client Jenna LaPietra attend this deposition. Before the trial, this is Reeve’s one and only chance to talk to my client, who will be placed under oath with the expectation of telling the truth. Contrary to the way many legal formalities are portrayed on TV, depositions are not generally a place where the parties get combative. It’s usually fairly laid-back, and it’s nothing more than an opportunity for Reeve to learn as much about my client as he can, with the ultimate hope he’ll discover something that benefits his case and can later be used against Jenna.
Reeve drones on and on, calmly asking question after question about Jenna’s prior medical history. He spent very little time getting into her personal life, instead seeming to want to concentrate on the medical aspects, since at the crux this is a medical malpractice claim.
He looks entirely too gorgeous sitting directly across from me, and more than once my mind drifts to the way he pounded in between my legs last week. I have to wonder if he still thinks about it the way I do, but I can’t gauge, because he’s barely said two words to me since the deposition started.
“If you’ll give me just a moment, Jenna, so I can go over my notes,” Reeve says after she finishes answering one of his questions.
He began this deposition immediately calling my client by her first name, a solid tactic to help develop some level of trust. I, of course, prepared Jenna for almost an entire day yesterday, and she wasn’t going to lower her defenses. I told her to keep her answers simple and answer only the question, without expounding. So far, she’s been doing an admirable job.
Reeve’s head is bent over his notes, his brown hair falling over his forehead so I can’t see his face. It irks me the way he’s ignored me the last two days, and I’m not one for being ignored. I should be the ignorer, not the ignoree.
I uncross my legs under the table, and when I cross them again, I make sure to kick my leg out just a tad farther so the tip of my Stuart Weitzman pump brushes against Reeve’s calf. He jerks at the contact and his head snaps up.
“Oops,” I say with an apologetic grin. “Not much room under this table, I’m afraid.”
And there it is . . . what I’ve been hoping for. An absolute genuine smile, and because I’m the only one in this room who knows the size of Reeve’s dick and what it can do to a woman, I also recognize a sizzle of lust in his gaze.
My leg immediately extends back out, and I graze my foot up his calf, across the inside of his knee, and nudge gently at his inner thigh. I notice the barely perceptible tightening of Reeve’s jaw as he bows his head back down to his notes and starts to ignore me again.
That won’t do.
I pull back, roll my foot so my pump slips off, and raise my leg again. This time I stick my foot right in between his thighs and, as I thank God for my longer-than-average legs, my toe gently probes against his cock.
Reeve’s thighs slam together, trapping my foot as his head slowly raises up, and he pins me with a death glare. I try to look at him as innocently as possible.
“Can we go off the record?” Reeve says tightly to the court reporter, without taking his eyes off me.
The court reporter lowers the mask away from her face in capitulation.
“In going through my notes, I find that I’m getting ready to delve into some things that might be a bit sensitive to Jenna,” Reeve says as he looks at me with a bland face. “If you don’t mind, Miss Michaels, I’d like to take a short break and discuss these issues with you in private. You can perhaps guide me if there’s anything that might be too upsetting to Jenna.”
I blink at him in surprise and pull my leg back slowly when his thighs loosen their grip. This isn’t normally done, but then again . . . who’s to say what’s normal? I just accosted defense counsel under the table.
“If you think that’s necessary,” I say with an incline of my head. Turning to Jenna, I say, “We’ll break for a bit if you want to step out and smoke. I’ll come get you when we’re done.”
Jenna nods at me gratefully. Reeve has been questioning her for two hours now, so the break comes at a good time.
Everyone stands up from the table except for the court reporter. Jenna scurries out, already reaching in her purse for her cigarettes. I’ve tried gently to get her to quit during this last year I’ve been handling her case, but she swears she needs to have at least one vice. I accept this because I know all too well that women in her predicament often turn to much stronger addictions to help cope with their situations.
Reeve puts a hand on the insurance adjuster’s shoulder, giving him a slight push downward. “You stay here, Tom. Something that I’m noticing in my notes actually applies to another case that I have against Miss Michaels. It could be a problem. I’m not sure, but those talks would be confidential on the other case.”
I again blink in surprise, because Reeve and I don’t have any other cases together, but then it’s clear. He wants to speak to me privately, probably to rail against me for playing footsie under the table.
Lowering my face to hide my smirk, I exit the conference room with Reeve hot on my heels. He doesn’t say a word to me but silently follows me across the Pit, right into my office. He shuts the door and immediately stalks over to my desk, hitting the smoke button. He’s never been in my office before, but he saw me do the same trick with the button on the conference room table before the deposition started. The glass immediately turns dark gray, and we’re alone.
His back is still to me when I say, “Apparently you’re done ignoring me.”
Reeve spins on me fast, his face a mask of fury. In two strides, he has me by the shoulders and pulls me to him so he can slam his mouth down on mine. His teeth scrape brutally against my lips, but then his tongue is plunging inside me and the bite of pain is forgotten. His kiss is punishing and needful all at once, and I can feel anger vibrating off him.
I melt.
It’s a complete turn-on knowing he’s pissed at me yet still wants me beyond measure. When he pulls his mouth away, he grabs one of my hands and presses it to his crotch, pushing his hips forward so I can feel his erection burn against my palm. My fingers curl and clutch at his shaft even as he pulls his mouth from mine.
“You think you can ignore my calls for five days, put your foot against my cock, and not get a reaction out of me?” he growls menacingly.
I know I should be scared by the tone of his voice, but I’m not. I’m consumed with lust now and at a complete loss as to how to handle this enraged bull with a bull-size dick in my hand.
Reeve doesn’t give me a chance to make amends, though. His hand shoots up, grabs a handful of hair at the back of my head, and gives me a tiny shake before pulling back so my face tilts up toward his. Leaning in so his lips almost touch mine, he growls, “You need to fix this, Leary.”
Fix this? What?
Reeve’s hand slides up to the top of my head, and the next thing I know, he’s pushing me down. I brace against him, just for a moment, but then he barks, “Fix it,” and my knees immediately buckle, so I sink down to the carpeting.
When my face is in front of his straining, cloth-covered erection, his hand goes back to grasping my hair again. He gives me another gentle shake and repeats in a much quieter but no less threatening tone, “Fix it, Leary.”
God, I want to fix it. I want to take him in my mouth, suck him hard until he’s begging me to stop. But I’m also enjoying this display of alpha power he’s unleashing. I want to see how far I can push him.
I don’t move. Just stare up at him as he glares down at me.
“Fuck this shit,” Reeve snarls as he releases my hair and his hands work his belt in a frenzy. He unbuckles it quickly, slamming his zipper down and pulling his cock out of his pants.
It’s beautiful. Thick and hard . . . an angry blush to it and a drizzle of pre-cum leaking from the tip. I lick my lower lip in anticipation, but Reeve doesn’t notice. Instead, he gives a few pumps of his hand over his dick before grabbing my jaw. Pressing his fingers in firmly at the joints, he forces my mouth open, which doesn’t take much effort, because I really, really want him in my mouth.
“Take it, Leary,” he orders while he guides the tip toward me with his other hand.
I try to turn my head away, a vain attempt to show resistance, because I’m not going to fight him much longer. I want to blow him too badly.
Reeve’s hand holds my jaw tighter, forcing my mouth wide-open. “Suck it,” he hisses at me and sticks the tip in my mouth.
He’s staring in fascination at his huge dick in my mouth but then slowly moves his eyes toward my own. “Fix this, Leary,” he says hoarsely—almost pleading—and my panties immediately get soaked with need.
My hands shoot out and grab him by his hips, pulling on him hard so his cock slides all the way into my mouth, bumping against the back of my throat.
“Yes,” Reeve moans, both of his hands now coming to hold on to the sides of my head.
I hum in pleasure at the feel and taste of him in my mouth. I move my tongue as best I can, but there’s not much room to maneuver because his size is so invading. I slide my hands around to his ass and press my fingers in, urging him to move.
Reeve doesn’t need any further encouragement. He starts pumping his hips, fucking my mouth as I suck gently, alternating with laving strokes of my tongue along the underside of his cock. He groans, grunts, growls as he thrusts back and forth.
His pants aren’t pulled down enough, so I can only settle for fondling his balls through the material of his pants, careful not to press the zipper into his flesh.
“Fuck, that’s good, baby,” Reeve whispers as he pushes in and out of me.
Yes, it is. Great, even.
It’s funny—I can brush my teeth and have the bristles hit the back of the tongue, causing me to retch and gag, but for some reason, a cock hitting the back of my throat has never bothered me. Maybe it’s the silky texture of skin, or the sinful nature of the act, but for whatever reason, my body does not rebel against a deep blow job.
And in this instance with Reeve Holloway sliding in and out of my mouth, I find I want him deeper still. His movements are measured, so I take matters into my own hands, pushing my face against him hard, taking him partway down my throat so my nose is pressed against his pelvis.
“Holy shit,” Reeve mutters with a hard jerk, and when he pulls back slightly, I feel the warm, salty gush of him start to fill my mouth.
This has never been my favorite part of a blow job, but for some reason, Reeve’s taste is compelling. Rather than wanting him to finish in a hurry, I keep sucking at him, hoping he gives me more.
“Oh, baby,” he groans as he fists my hair and his cock leaps again in my mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I keep at him . . . sucking, gently licking his flesh, scraping my teeth against him, until he finally has to push me away. Licking my lips, I raise my eyes to his and am momentarily stunned to see the tender look on his face. He releases my hair, sliding both hands to my face, stroking his thumbs over my cheekbones.
“You are magnificent,” he murmurs.
Reeve pulls me up, and I rise on shaky legs. He keeps tugging until my face comes level with his, and he kisses me deeply, surely tasting his orgasm on my tongue.
“I don’t have many more questions for Jenna,” Reeve says quietly when he releases me from the kiss.
I nod, completely sated and fulfilled. Triumphant, even.
“You’re coming to my house after we’re done. Take the rest of the day off,” he commands.
My first instinct is to rebel and say no, but I can’t. I want him too much, and I want him to return the favor with his mouth between my legs. Then I want him to fuck me with that big dick and make me come again.
“Okay,” I breathe out, wondering how in the hell I’m going to concentrate on this deposition when I know that he just fucked my mouth so exquisitely.
CHAPTER 8
REEVE
I’m calm and relaxed.
How could I not be with what just happened in Leary’s office?
That teasing minx. I can’t believe she was trying to give me a foot job right in the middle of a deposition. At her first touch, all of the repressed sexual energy I’d been battling this past week came surging to the forefront. I knew there was no way I could continue with one more question to Jenna LaPietra until I made Leary suck me off.
Oh, she tried to act like she didn’t want it at first, but I’m not stupid. She not only wanted it but loved my domineering nature. For all of Leary’s sexual confidence and uninhibited attitude, I just learned that she very much likes being controlled in her fucking. I tuck this information away to experiment with later tonight.
“Let’s go back on the record,” I say to the court reporter. When the mask covers her face and she gives me a nod that she’s ready, I turn back to Jenna.
“Thank you for your patience so far, Jenna. I don’t have many more questions left,” I say with a warm smile.
While I’m fighting tooth and nail against Jenna and her case, I’ve found throughout this deposition that she’s actually a very intelligent woman. She’s soft-spoken, and no doubt intimidated by this entire process, but still has enough confidence to give me clear answers that might have been slightly coached by Leary. Needless to say, I’m impressed with Jenna LaPietra, and that will definitely be considered if we offer any money on this case. Of course, that all depends on Tom Collier. He controls the purse strings, and my opinion on settlement won’t matter too much.
“I want to talk for a moment about your decision to have this surgery, okay?”
She nods at me.
“Good. Now, was this breast reduction medically necessary?” I ask.
“Objection,” Leary says calmly. “You’re asking for a medical opinion. Save it for the experts.”
“Let me ask this way,” I say without giving Leary a glance. “Did any doctor tell you that this surgery was medically necessary?”
Jenna shakes her head. “No, but I was having a lot of back pain because of the size of my breasts. That’s why I decided to have it done.”
“So it was purely voluntary?” I prod at her.
“Yes.”
“Other than some back pain, you had no medical need to get the reduction?”
“No.”
“I’m curious, Jenna, and pardon me for asking this, but as a topless dancer, isn’t it more lucrative for you to have larger breasts? I mean, wouldn’t men generally tip you better having double Ds versus a C cup?”
“Not necessarily,” she says carefully and turns to look at Leary. Leary, however, is staring at me, shooting daggers out of her eyes over this line of questioning.
She finally looks over to Jenna and nods her head, telling her it’s okay to expound.
Jenna continues. “I mean, sure, there are plenty of men that like bigger breasts, but plenty of men don’t. And it’s actually easier to work on the pole with smaller breasts.”
“Excuse me?” I ask. I think I know what she means, but I need to make sure.
“The extra weight and movement of the double Ds, not to mention the back pain, made pole dancing difficult, so much so that I had to cut it out of my routine. Men tip better when you dance on the pole, so it seemed the smart decision to make.”
I nod in understanding. “Just so I’m clear then . . . is it safe to say you had the breast reduction done so you could increase the money you would make by being able to strip on the pole again?”
“Yes,” Jenna says quietly, her face flaming red.
I dare a glance at Leary, and she is livid over these questions, but she also knows they’re legitimate. She can’t stop me from asking them, and I can’t worry that it’s pissing her off. I hope to God she remembers her own words—that we don’t let our sexual relationship affect this case and vice versa. She might be pissed at me after this is over, but her ass is still coming home with me this afternoon, and I’m not letting her out of bed until the morning.
I flip through my notes, ask a few more questions dealing with Jenna’s job. I don’t ask about the prostitution allegations I found through the criminal background check of the club’s owner, because I haven’t been able to verify that Jenna was involved. I have an investigator interviewing past employees, so maybe something will turn up I can use. Until then, I stay away from that, because I know in a million years, Jenna would never admit it.
After Jenna walks me through how she was paid, I prod her a bit on whether or not she paid taxes on her income. Leary jumps in with a well-placed Fifth Amendment objection and instructs her client not to answer. This is a bone that I can pick if I want—the law isn’t clear, and it’s possible we could get a judge on the phone to let us argue whether or not she has to answer.
But I let it go.
I don’t have the inclination to extend this deposition longer than necessary because I’m impatient to get Leary back to my house. I mentally wince over that thought, because contrary to what we agreed upon, I just let our sexual relationship interfere with this case.
Oh, well. The information isn’t crucial and I can get it by other means.
I set my pen down and smile at Jenna. “That’s all the questions I have. Thank you for your time today, Jenna.”
Jenna smiles at me and the court reporter lowers her mask.
“I actually have a few questions,” Leary says.
The court reporter raises her mask again as I blink at Leary in surprise. Although she’s certainly allowed to ask questions, it’s normally not done. My goal during this deposition is to gather as much information as I can while Leary hopes I don’t find everything, hopes I stay in the dark. Thus, her asking questions only increases the risk that more information will be revealed that might lead me to learn something dangerous to her case.
I pick my pen up and flip to a blank page on my legal pad and push back from the table a bit. After crossing one leg over the other, I lay my pad on my lap so no one can see what I’m doing. I write the words Leary Cross-Exam across the top and underline them twice. Then I doodle a little picture of a cock with two balls and an open mouth beside it. Clearly, I’d rather be thinking about that blow job than sitting here in this deposition.
“Jenna,” Leary says gently, “Mr. Holloway asked you several questions about the reason you had this surgery.”
Jenna nods in agreement.
“You admitted that you would make more money stripping if you had the surgery done.”
“Yes,” Jenna says quietly.
“Why is making more money important to you?” Leary asks in a soothing tone.
“Because my son is severely autistic,” Jenna says sadly, and my head jerks up from my doodling. “He has state-assisted insurance, but it doesn’t pay for much of his therapy, plus I need qualified sitters to watch him when I’m working. I have to pay for that out of my own pocket.”
“Are you married?” Leary asks, and it’s with shame that I realize I have no clue whether or not Jenna is married. It didn’t seem important to me.
“No.”
“Does your son’s father help to contribute to the child?” Leary pushes.
“No.”
“So you are the sole means of support for your family?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your education level?” Leary gently pries.
“I graduated high school.”
“Do you have any other job skills?”
“No.”
“Have you tried to apply to other jobs?”
“Yes. Many times. It’s hard to get hired with no work experience, but even if I did I doubt I could leave stripping. The money is too good. It’s really the only way I can pay for Damien’s treatment and other expenses.”
I swallow hard, for the first time understanding how devastating it was for this woman to lose her job.
And that was directly related to the results of the surgery my client performed.
I shoot Leary a glance, hoping to convey to her that I understand what she’s doing. That I don’t need her to go any further, but she refuses to look at me.
“Why did you lose your job at Pure Fantasy?” Leary asks Jenna, this time not so gently and with a little anger in her voice.
“My breasts were too deformed to dance,” Jenna says as her voice breaks.
I stare at Jenna, unable to look away from this woman to whom life has not been kind. I have a job to do. It’s my job to prove that she wasn’t injured due to my client’s negligence. It’s a tough pill to swallow sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I can’t commiserate.
I do.
Truly.
“Stand up,” Leary says, laying her hand gently on Jenna’s back.
Jenna stands up from the table, and I sit up a little straighter, not sure what Leary’s getting ready to do. Tom is sitting next to me, slouched down in his seat, and in my peripheral vision, I can see he is surfing on his iPhone. He’s not moved in the slightest by Jenna’s tale.
“Take off your shirt,” Leary orders her softly, and Tom actually jerks to attention, his face now rising toward Jenna.
I don’t know if Jenna knew this was coming so she could prepare for it, but she doesn’t hesitate, swiftly unbuttoning the navy-blue blouse she paired with a matching skirt.
“Leary . . . that’s not necessary,” I say softly, and I see Jenna’s hands still against the buttons.
“Oh, I think it is,” she snaps at me and then points to Tom, who goes deathly still now that Leary is focusing on him. “Mr. Collier hasn’t paid a damn bit of attention during this deposition, as he’s clearly more interested in playing Angry Birds.”
“We need to go off the record,” I say to the court reporter.
“Don’t you dare put that mask down,” Leary growls at the court reporter, who slaps it back to her face in fear.
Turning back to Jenna, Leary pats her on the arm. “It’s okay. Take your shirt off and show them what Dr. Summerland did to you.”
“I’ll lodge an objection for the record. It’s not been proven that Dr. Summerland committed negligence,” I say quickly.
Leary glares at me, and I’m seeing my chances of getting laid tonight dwindling.
Jenna finishes unbuttoning her shirt, and Leary helps her to slide it from her shoulders.
“Your bra, too, Jenna,” she says.
Jenna reaches to a clasp in the front and releases it, pulling the cups back wide. I don’t look at her breasts at first, instead keeping my eyes on Jenna’s face. I wait for her to raise her head, then she pins me with a direct stare, lifting her chin up in defiance.
Finally, I lower my gaze, and I’ve never struggled with anything more in my life than I do to not let a look of disgust cross my features.
Jenna’s chest is truly mangled.
I’ve seen photos of the results, but they don’t do justice to the damage done. I let my eyes rove over the C-cup globes, still beautiful in their shape and roundness. But that beauty is completely marred by the left nipple, which is pulled grotesquely to the side by contracted scar tissue around her areola. There’s a large dimpled crater on her right breast, just below and to the right of her areola, two more smaller craters to the left, and worst of all, the tissue at the bottom of her areola is contracted and puckered so hard that it causes a small flap of skin to hang down in a V where the nipple hangs off the end.
It’s hideous, and my stomach churns for this poor woman, although I’m not admitting this has anything to do with negligence at this point, as Dr. Summerland and our expert witnesses agree he did nothing wrong in the surgery, and that this is just a normal risk of the procedure that can happen with scar tissue.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I hear Leary hiss, and my eyes leave Jenna’s mangled breasts. Leary is glaring at Tom. “Don’t you dare avert your eyes. You had the balls to deny this claim, landing us in this very room. You can at least have the balls to look upon this woman, who’s putting all of her pride aside to show you the horror of her life.”
“Leary,” I warn, knowing she’s crossed over a line now that’s not going to be acceptable to any judge. The last thing she needs is for Tom to report her behavior, which has gone from crusading to downright unprofessionally obnoxious.
She doesn’t even look at me but continues to pin Tom with her stare, daring him to look at Jenna’s breasts.
He refuses.
“I’m done here,” Tom mutters, pushing up from his chair. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Reeve, and we can discuss filing a motion for sanctions.”
I let out a sigh of frustration and run my hand through my hair as Tom storms from the room. Gravity seems to pull me down into a dejected slouch in my chair.
“You can get dressed, honey,” Leary says gently, and I don’t raise my face, allowing Jenna the privacy to put her clothes back on. The court reporter quickly packs up her equipment and leaves, promising to have the transcript ready in two weeks and sliding the bill for her services across the table to me. I take it, jam it into my briefcase, and then watch as Leary walks Jenna to the conference room door.
“You did great, Jenna,” Leary says softly, and then much to my surprise, she pulls Jenna into a hard hug. Leary holds on to her for a while, and I see Jenna’s fingers clutching Leary’s suit jacket almost in a desperate fashion. When they part, Leary squeezes Jenna’s shoulders and murmurs, “I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep and kiss Damien for me.”
My eyebrows rise over this display of care and affection Leary has toward her client and her child. It’s not natural, not in the normal course of business, but then again, Ford told me that the personal nature of this case to Leary goes far deeper than I could ever imagine.
When Jenna clears the door, Leary closes it and, with a tired sigh, makes her way back to the other side of the table to collect her belongings.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” I ask, not in a threatening manner, but genuinely confused by her bizarre behavior.
She shrugs as she starts laying documents on top of one another into one pile. “No idea what you mean.”
“Come on, Leary,” I say as I stand up and grab my briefcase. “You don’t have clients strip in depositions. There was no purpose, and it was nothing more than a stunt. It wasn’t even on video for the jury to see. You did it to embarrass Tom, and I want to know why.”
“You know why,” she snaps at me, eyes blazing. “He’s a prick. He denied the claim and then couldn’t even be bothered to look Jenna in the eye when she was answering your questions.”
“You went too far,” I admonish, not to make her feel bad, but to make sure she doesn’t do something like that again. “I’m going to have to talk Tom down off the ledge, but I think I can get him to let go of this stupid idea of sanctions.”
“I don’t need you defending me,” Leary says quietly, and I’m taken aback by the soft conviction in her voice. “I handle my own battles, and I pulled that little ‘stunt,’ as you called it, knowing damn good and well I could be sanctioned. I did it not caring if I get sanctioned. It was worth it to me to see that look on Tom’s face when I called him on the carpet about it.”
“What did you think about the look on my face?” I ask quietly.
Leary’s gaze lowers down to the table. She straightens the papers as she says, “You were empathetic to Jenna. It was subtle, but you were horrified by what you saw.”
“That I was,” I say tiredly, still sick at heart for what this woman endured and now perturbed that I’m worried about Leary getting sanctioned for her behavior. “Let’s get your things packed up and head out.”
“You still want me to come to your house?” Leary asks in surprise as her head snaps up.
