“Holy fuck,” comes Harper’s whisper. She takes up the space beside me, a poor substitute for the power that Bennett left in his wake. “Did that just happen?”
I nod, still unable to form words.
“You were right,” she says. When I pull my gaze away from the door and look at her, Harper grins. “He’s totally just another asshole in a trench coat.”
I make a face at her, but she’s already rushing back to the coffee machine to fill a previous order. It takes three deep breaths for me to find my voice and another one to actually use it.
“Welcome to the Sugar Cube,” I say to the next person in line. “Give me a second to clean up the mess. And please tell me you don’t want a panini like the other guy.”
The woman in front of me, a college student around my age, giggles. The lighthearted sound fractures the tension hanging over me like a hammer to a mirror. I smile at her, clean the counter, process her order, and move onto the next customer as if the incident with Bennett never happened.
Only it did.
I can’t stop thinking about it throughout the rest of my shift. Did he recognize me from my father’s trial, and that’s what prompted him to step in? Or did the lawyer come to my rescue because that’s who he is as a person, a man willing to help someone in need?
Part of me wants to talk to Harper about it, to hear her perspective and see if it resonates with me. However, we’re slammed, and there’s no time to chat. Most importantly, I’m not ready to discuss the trial. If my friend watched the news, she’d already know about the scandal surrounding my father, but not the rest of the details.
I replay the recent events with Bennett in my mind again and again, trying and failing to answer my unspoken questions. The only indication that Bennett remembered me was when the customer said that I was “just some chick.”
“You’re wrong.”
The lawyer’s words flit through my mind like a caress to my psyche. No matter how much he attacked my father’s character and made me feel uncomfortable in court, Bennett’s voice never failed to stir something inside me. I’m not sure if it’s the deep timbre of his voice or the way he speaks with such conviction that it leaves no question as to whether or not he’s confident in what he’s saying.
So why did he imply I’m not just some random woman? He and I have never spoken other than when I was put on the stand during the trial.
That was an awful experience. For me, at least.
“Whew,” Harper says, blowing out a loud breath and fluttering the copper strands resting on her forehead. “That rush was insane. There were way more people than usual.”
I turn around to face her and lean against the counter, gripping the edge. “I thought the line would go down, but it just kept getting longer.”
“Well, no one’s here now.” She gives me a pointed look. “Spill the tea before Alex gets here.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Seriously?” Harper folds her arms over her chest. “You might be able to fool other people with your ‘good girl act,’ but I’ve worked with you almost every day since you got this job, and I know when you’re hiding something.”
“Mr. Bennett is a prosecuting attorney.”
“And?”
I frown at her. “And I met him when my father went to trial.”
“Oh.”
“My father never killed his secretary and was found innocent of all charges,” I say, my words rushing from me, tripping over each other in my haste to convince Harper. “I swear on everything, he was a good man.”
“Anyone who raises a kind person like you has to be,” she says, her gaze softening. “If you say he was innocent, then I believe you.”
“It’s not just my opinion. The judge declared him as such.”
Harper presses her lips together. The nonverbal skepticism sets my teeth on edge. “I know people in my father’s position could pay off someone to clear his name,” I say, “but that’s not what happened. I promise.”
She nods. “I don’t care about your dad right now. The only thing I want to know is why the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, a wet dream in a suit, walked behind this counter and acted like he wanted to kill some random customer for giving you a hard time. Care to explain that?”
“I can’t. Not when I don’t understand it.”
“Fine. Just so you know, I hate you a little right now. Pure jealousy. I admit it.”
“Don’t be. That lawyer said the most horrible things about my father, and he practically bullied me while I was on the stand.” I shudder as remnants of his accusations echo in my mind. “I don’t hate Mr. Bennett, but I’m not far from it.”
Harper tilts her head. “Was it personal, or was he doing his job?”
I open my mouth, close it, and try again. “It felt personal.”
“I can’t imagine a court case that wouldn’t. Look, all I’m saying is, after what Mr. Hot-as-fuck Bennett did today, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge him.”
“Hey girls.” Alex, the manager and owner of the Sugar Cube, walks up to us. “How’s it going today?”
Harper gestures to the nearly empty room. “Same old, same old.”
I nod, but it’s a lie.
It feels like nothing in my life will ever be the same again.
“Want to catch a rideshare with me?” Harper asks.
I inhale the evening air, letting it cleanse me from the inside out. “I can’t. You live in the opposite direction, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she says, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I just don’t like the idea of you walking alone at night.”
“Well, it’s not like I can sleep in your dorm room.”
She shrugs. “You could. My hook-ups do.”
“I swear you spend more time having sex than studying art.”
“The human body is a canvas that I utilize at every opportunity.”
A laugh bursts from me. “I’d believe that if you were a sculptor. Go on.” I nudge her playfully. “I’ll be fine.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
She smiles at me, the expression wobbly on her pretty face. I give her a little wave and shove my hands in my pockets, grabbing the pepper spray. The feel of it in my palm gives me the courage to face the trek back to my apartment.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I am beyond desperate.
I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and tighten my grip on the tiny canister before taking off. New York is a city that never sleeps, whether that be the good or the bad parts of it. The safe or the dangerous.
The only thing that gets me through is the lingering thought that this can’t last forever. Eventually, I’ll earn enough money to pay the P.I. to find my father’s killer. Once that’s done, I can lay this all to rest and begin to build my life. Or what’s left of it.
I’ve made peace with the fact that I’ll never live in the upper echelon of society or have access to that type of wealth again. It was never that important to me anyway. The only part of my former life that I miss was having a family. Even if it was only my father, some of the kids at the shelter, and the members of my household staff. It was improper to have friendships with them, but I never cared.
Family isn’t defined by a number of people or the social construct. It’s defined by the number of heartbeats, shared laughs, and a love that goes beyond borders or restrictions.
I sigh, the sound loud now that the noises of the city are beginning to lessen. Although my awareness increases. The buildings towering above encase me in shadow, the street lights weak against the magnitude of the darkness. The ground underneath my tennis shoes changes from the pale gray cement to the cracked asphalt found in less-cared-for parts of the city. The places I didn’t know existed until I was forced to live there.
My instincts flare, sending a streak of alarm throughout my body. I don’t stop walking, but it takes every bit of self-control I possess to keep from running. However, my heart has no such reservations. It races, the uneven cadence a reflection of my fear as it spikes again, ice filling my veins.
An invisible presence barrels past my defenses. The hair on the nape of my neck lifts and I fist my hand to keep from rubbing the area, to rid myself of the unwanted sensation. It lingers like a specter’s fingers, gripping me tighter with every step I take.
I spin around, my gaze zipping from one corner to the other, searching every shadow and dark place in the vicinity.
That’s where monsters hide. Not out in the open, but under your bed and in your closet. Within your home and other places where you’re most vulnerable.
Where they can be close to you.
Finding nothing and no one, I turn around, no less frightened. If anything, spotting the source of my anxiety would lessen it and give me something to focus on. A target. Not that I would go on the offensive, but I could prepare my defense.
Maybe I should buy a gun.
I shake my head. I barely have enough money to buy food, let alone a weapon that costs more than I earn in a week.
Except… I won’t need to eat if I’m dead.
I continue at my brisk pace, praying like I do every night that I’ll make it to my apartment. That I’ll live long enough to put my father’s killer to justice. Then, I’ll finally be at peace.
Until that day comes, I think I’m going to need a different kind of ammunition.
Like a short skirt and some high heels.
