Reasonable Doubt (1-3) Read online

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked.

  “Is it about your work?”

  “No…”

  “Is it about my work?”

  “No…”

  “Then no. Get out.”

  “It’s about yesterday.” She stood still, making my cock stiffen as she bit her lip.

  “Yesterday was a mistake, a regrettable moment in both of our careers, and I assure you that it won’t be happening again.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “Miss Everhart,” I said, standing up from my desk and walking over to her, “you and I work together professionally. If I had known the truth behind all of your ridiculous lies earlier, I would’ve immediately stopped talking to you. And then I would’ve reported you for stealing someone else’s information and using it as your own. The fact that you are a liar remains, and unfortunately—given those circumstances and the fact that I’ve already fucked you, there’s nothing more that needs to be said between us.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but I pressed my finger against her lips.

  “Nothing more,” I whispered, bringing my face close to hers. “Understood?”

  “You are…” Her bottom lip quivered as she jerked away from me. “You are such an asshole! I can’t believe that I slept with you!”

  “Believe it. I’m sure it’ll be a very good memory for you since you hardly ever have sex.”

  She shook her head. “Were you pretending on the phone, too? You’re nothing like the man I talked to at night, nothing like—”

  “Please spare me the emotional appeal bullshit, Miss Everhart. I’ll have my next cup of coffee at noon. Thanks.”

  “You’ll be waiting.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get it when I feel like it.”

  “You’re going to make me fire you over a cup of coffee?”

  “To be honest, you might not want me to make your coffee, Mr. Hamilton.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “There’s no telling what I’ll put in it.”

  “I fucking dare you…” I stepped closer.

  “Is that a threat?” She shrugged.

  “It’s a fucking promise.” I pushed her against the wall and pressed my lips against hers, lifting her leg around my waist.

  My cock had been hard ever since she set down my coffee, and she was rubbing her hand against it through my pants right now, murmuring.

  I pulled a condom out of my pocket and pressed it into her hand as I devoured her mouth—biting her soft lips, teasing her tongue with mine. If I could, I would fuck her mouth all day.

  As she unzipped my pants, I slipped a hand underneath her dress and pushed her panties to the side, groaning once I felt how wet she was.

  “Andrew…” She was taking too long with the condom, so I did it myself. The second I had it on, I slid into her deeply, biting her lips so she wouldn’t scream.

  I grabbed her hands and placed them around my neck. “Always wet…” I felt her trying to move her leg from around my waist but I held it still. “Say my name again…”

  “Yes…” She gasped as I pounded into her, over and over and over. “Yes…”

  “Say it.” I squeezed her ass.

  Her murmurs were becoming louder and louder.

  “My name, Aubrey…” I kissed her mouth. “Say my name…”

  Her pussy was gripping my cock tighter and tighter, and her nails were clawing my neck. “I…I’m about to…”

  I immediately stopped mid thrust and whispered harshly into her ear. “Say my fucking name, Aubrey…”

  Her nails dug into my skin. “Andrew…”

  At the sound of my name on her lips, I slid into her again and she came, so perfectly. I felt my own release seconds later, and could feel her burying her head in my chest to stifle her moans, but I tilted her head up.

  “Stop that…”

  Panting, she kept her eyes on mine. “Stop, what?”

  “Hiding your voice from me…” I kissed her lips again, making no move to slide out of her, and we stood there entwined in each other for what felt like forever.

  As much as I wanted to tell her to leave and get the hell out of my office, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I kissed her forehead and slowly pulled out, readjusting her dress.

  After throwing away the condom, I picked up one of her heels that had fallen off and held it out for her.

  Her curls were tousled all over her head, so I smoothed them back into place. As if she was returning the favor, she refastened my zipper and fixed the collar of my shirt.

  Then the two of us stood staring at one another. I had no idea what the fuck just happened, and only a part of me liked it. The other half loved it.

  “You need to get back to work.” I tugged at the ballet slipper charm around her neck. “You still owe me that Brownstein report, demotion or not.”

  “You told me it wasn’t a demotion.”

  “I took a page out of your book and lied.” I rolled my eyes and stepped back. “Get back to work.”

  “Fine, Mr. Hamilton.” She smiled and headed for the door.

  “And when you come back,” I added, “just leave my afternoon coffee on that bookshelf and walk out. Don’t come anywhere near my desk and don’t say anything to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll fuck you again if you do.”

  She blushed and stepped out of the room.

  The second she was gone, I fell back into my chair and shook my head.

  Twice in less than twenty four hours? Jesus…

  I pulled up my latest case file, but I couldn’t bring myself to read it. All I could think about was Aubrey.

  I’d felt something like this before, and I knew it would lead to nothing but despair. What I felt was nothing deep, nothing all-encompassing—yet, but it was real, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  I’d built the last six years of my life detaching myself from any chance of having feelings for someone else, refusing to build any friendships, but Aubrey had snuck by my impenetrable doors somehow. And not only had she snuck by, she’d done it with lies, something I would never allow from anyone else. Something that would make me immediately discard her and never think of her again.

  I had absolutely no idea how to handle this. This was uncharted territory and I had no idea where to sail next.

  Sighing, I picked up my case file and forced myself to read the first few pages so I could get a grip on myself. Before I knew it, I was lost in my work, and the only thing on my mind was how I was going to convince a jury to believe my latest client’s bullshit.

  Before I could call the lead prosecutor and ask what he was offering in exchange for a plea deal, I felt something hot splashing into my lap.

  My goddamn coffee.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I dropped my papers to the desk, glaring at a red-faced Aubrey. “Did you just throw that into my lap on purpose?”

  “I did.” She nodded, and I realized there were tears in her eyes. “Bringing you your coffee is my job, right?”

  “Are you fucking bipolar?”

  “No, I’m just a liar like you said. I’m actually just like you, but at least I can admit when I haven’t told you the truth, at least I have a reason.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Tears fell down her cheeks. “You have a visitor at the front desk.”

  “Is it your replacement?” I asked dryly. “Because I swear to God, if these stains don’t come out of my pants—”

  “It’s your wife.”

  ***End of Episode One***

  Prologue

  New York City

  Six years ago…

  Andrew

  For the third week in a row, I woke up to a relentless rain falling over this repulsive city. The clouds above were coated in an ugly hue of grey, and the streaks of lightning that flashed across the sky every few seconds were no longer marvels; they were predictable.

  Holding up my umbrella, I walke
d to a newspaper stand and picked up The New York Times—bracing myself for what lay between its pages.

  “How many women do you think a man could possibly screw in his lifetime?” The vendor asked as he handed me my change.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve stopped counting.”

  “Stopped counting, eh? What did you do, get to ten and decide that was enough before settling down?” He pointed to the gold band on my left hand.

  “No. I settled down first, then I started fucking.”

  He raised his eyebrow—looking stunned, and then he turned around to organize his cigar display.

  A couple of months ago, I would’ve entertained his attempt to make conversation, would’ve answered his question with a lighthearted laugh and a “More than we’ll ever admit to,” but I didn’t have the ability to laugh anymore.

  My life was now a depressing reel of repeated frames—hotel nights, cold sweats, marred memories, and rain.

  Goddamn rain.

  I tucked the newspaper underneath my arm and turned away, glancing at the ring on my hand.

  I hadn’t worn it in a long time, and I had no idea what possessed me to put it on today. Twisting it off my finger, I looked at it one last time—shaking my head at its uselessness.

  For a split second, I considered keeping it, maybe locking it away as a reminder of the man I used to be. But that version of me was pathetic—gullible, and I wanted to forget him as fast as I could.

  I crossed the street as the light turned green, and as I stepped onto the sidewalk, I tossed the band where I should’ve thrown it months ago.

  Down the drain.

  Exculpatory Evidence (n.):

  Evidence indicating that a defendant did not commit the crime.

  Present Day

  Andrew

  The hot coffee that was currently seeping through my pants and stinging my skin was the exact reason why I never fucked the same woman twice.

  Wincing, I took a deep breath. “Aubrey…”

  “You’re fucking married.”

  I ignored her comment and leaned back in my chair. “In the interest of your future short-lived and mediocre law career, I’m going to do two huge favors for you: One, I’m going to apologize for fucking you a second time and let you know that it will never happen again. Two, I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just assault me with some goddamn coffee.”

  “Don’t.” She threw my coffee mug onto the floor, shattering it to pieces. “I definitely did, and I’m tempted to do it again.”

  “Miss Everhart—”

  “Fuck you.” She narrowed her eyes at me, adding, “I hope your dick falls off” as she stormed out of my office.

  “Jessica!” I stood up and grabbed a roll of paper towels. “Jessica?”

  No answer.

  I picked up my phone to call her desk, but she suddenly stepped into my office. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Call Luxury Dry Cleaning and have them deliver one of my suits to the office. I also need a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file from HR, and you need to tell Mr. Bach that I’ll be late to that four o’clock meeting today.”

  I waited to hear her usual “Right away, sir” or “I’m on it, Mr. Hamilton,” but she said nothing. She was silent—blushing, and her eyes were glued to the crotch of my pants.

  “Don’t you need some help cleaning that up?” Her lips curved into a smile. “I have a really thick towel in my desk drawer. It’s very soft...and gentle.”

  “Jessica…”

  “It is huge, isn’t it?” Her eyes finally met mine. “I really wouldn’t tell a soul. It would be our little secret.”

  “My fucking dry cleaning, a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file, and a message to Mr. Bach about me being late. Now.”

  “I really love the way you resist…” She stole another glance of my pants before leaving the room.

  I sighed and started to soak up as much of the coffee as I could. I should’ve known that Aubrey was the emotional type, should’ve known that she was unstable and incapable of behaving normally the second I realized she’d made up a fake identity just for LawyerChat.

  I regretted ever telling her that I wanted to own her pussy, and I was cursing myself for driving to her apartment yesterday.

  Never again…

  Just as I was tearing off a new paper towel, a familiar voice cleared the air.

  “Why, hello…It’s good to see you again,” she said.

  I lifted my head up, hoping that this was a hallucination—that the woman at my door wasn’t really standing there smiling. That she wasn’t stepping forward with her hand outstretched as if she wasn’t the very reason that my life was heartlessly altered six years ago.

  “Are you going to shake my hand, Mr. Hamilton?” She raised her eyebrow. “That is the name you’re going by these days, isn’t it?”

  I stared at her long and hard—noticing that her once silky black hair was now cut short into a bob. Her light green eyes were still as soft and alluring as I remembered them, but they weren’t having the same effect.

  All the memories I’d tried to suppress were suddenly playing right in front of me, and my blood was starting to boil.

  “Mr. Hamilton?” she asked again.

  I picked up my phone. “Security?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” She slammed the phone down. “You’re not going to ask why I’m here? Why I came to see you?”

  “Doing so would imply that I care.”

  “Did you know that when most people get sentenced to prison, they get care packages, money orders, even a phone call on their first day?” She clenched her jaw. “I got divorce papers.”

  “I told you I’d write.”

  “You told me you’d stay. You told me you forgave me, you said that we could start over when I got out, that you would be right there—”

  “You fucking ruined me, Ava.” I glared at her. “Ruined me, and the only reason I said those dumb ass things to you was because my lawyer told me to.”

  “So, you don’t love me anymore?”

  “I don’t answer rhetorical questions,” I said. “And I’m not a geography expert, but I know damn well that North Carolina is outside of New York and a direct violation of your parole. What do you think will happen when they find out you’re here? Do you think they’ll make you serve out the sentence that you more than fucking deserve?”

  She gasped. “You would snitch on me?”

  “I would run my car over you.”

  She opened her mouth to say something else, but the door opened and the security team walked in.

  “Miss?” The lead guard, Paul, cleared his throat. “We’re going to need you to vacate the premises now.”

  Ava scowled at me. “Really? You’re really going to let them haul me off like I’m some kind of animal?”

  “Once again, rhetorical.” I sat down in my chair, signaling for Paul to get rid of her.

  She said something else, but I tuned it out. She didn’t mean shit to me, and I needed to find someone online tonight so I could fuck her random and unwanted appearance out of my mind.

  Evasion (n.):

  A subtle device to set aside the truth, or escape the punishment of the law.

  Aubrey

  Andrew was the epitome of what it meant to be an asshole, a shining example of what that word stood for, but no matter how pissed I was, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

  In the six months that we’d spoken, he’d never mentioned a wife. And the one time I’d asked if he’d ever done anything more than “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” –he’d said “Once,” and quickly changed the subject.

  I’d been replaying that conversation in my mind all night, telling myself to accept that he was a liar, and that I needed to move on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of La Monte Art Gallery…” My ballet instructor spoke into a mic, cutting through my thoughts. “May I have your attention, please?”

  I shook my head and l
ooked out into the full audience. Tonight was supposed to be one of the highlights of my dance career. It was an exhibition for the city’s college dancers. All of the leading performers for spring productions were supposed to dance a two minute solo in honor of their school, in celebration of what was to come months later.

  “This next performer you’re about to see is Miss Aubrey Everhart.” There was pride in his voice. “She is playing the role of Odette/Odile in Duke’s production of Swan Lake, and when I tell you that she is one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever seen…” He paused as the crowd’s chatter dissolved into silence. “I need you to take my word for it.”

  One of the photographers in the front row snapped a picture of me, temporarily rendering me blind by the flash.

  “As most of you know,” he continued, “I’ve worked with the best of the best, spent countless years in Russia studying under the greats, and after a long and illustrious career with the New York Ballet Company, I’ve retired to teach those with untapped potential.”

  There was a loud applause. Everyone in the room knew who Paul Petrova was, and even though most in the field were confused as to why he’d ever want to teach in Durham, no one dared to question his decision.

  “I hope you’ll come out and see the first transformation of the Duke ballet program in the spring,” he said as he slowly walked to the other side of the stage. “But for now, Miss Everhart will perform a short duet from Balanchine’s Serenade, with her partner Eric Lofton!”

  The audience clapped again, and the lights above them dimmed. A soft spotlight shone on me and Eric, and the violinists began to play.

  Short, soft notes filled the room, and I stood on my toes—trying to dance as delicately as the music demanded. Yet, with each step, all I could picture was Andrew kissing me, fucking me, and ultimately lying to me.

  “I’ve never lied to you, Aubrey. I trust you for some strange reason…”

  I pushed Eric away when he held out his hands, and twirled across the stage until he came after me. He held my face in his hands—as if he was begging me to stay, but I spun away again, launching myself into a full set of nonstop pirouettes.