Forty-Six

"You ungrateful shit," Frank hisses, undoubtedly spitting into his phone. "I'm—"

"Why are you calling me?" I interrupt, feigning innocence. "Is something wrong?"

There's a banging sound—and alarmingly, I recognize it. It's the sound of Frank throwing a glass tumbler at a wall. "You said my name on that stream, Lander. My full fucking name. Don't try to play me."

"What stream?" I inquire while taking a seat on the end of Valeria's bed, sort of wishing I had given him more time to call me. My body is still tingling from sex, and he's really ruining the vibe.

"The livestream where you fucked that whore of yours. Are you out of your mind, Lander?"

"I'm admittedly a little fuck-drunk," I reply, keeping my tone casual. "So, you watched Valeria and me?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" Frank shouts. "Of course I saw. You're fucking depraved, Lander."

I mute the call and look over at Valeria, who glances at her laptop before saying, "I checked Essie's email. It's good."

Perfect. I unmute. "What do you want, Frank?"

"Let me be clear: If you mention St. Michaels to Bradford, you can kiss Stafford and your entire career at Cavendish Waits goodbye." His tone is riddled with venom, but it's nothing I haven't heard before.

I release a hum. "You're making a lot of threats for a man who won't be able to carry them out if he gets fired for sexual assault."

"You little shitbag!" Frank bellows so loudly that it makes Valeria jump. "I'm going to eviscerate you. You're so fucking fired, it's not even funny. I'm going to sue you for defamation for saying my name on that cheap porn show, and I'm going to get you disbarred. Disbarred. You'll never work at a firm again, motherfucker."

"Except you can't," I reply, chuckling. "You have no leverage. I have you by the balls."

He laughs. "Are you high, Lander?"

"No, just na?ve for trusting you for so long, but everyone makes mistakes. So here's how it looks: You sexually assaulted a woman—my woman—and I'm going to make you pay for it."

"You have no proof."

"Are you high? I have a video."

A good lawyer would hang up right now. A great lawyer would lawyer-up immediately. An egomaniac though? He'll keep digging his grave.

Across the room, Valeria raises an eyebrow. "You do?" she mouths.

"The kitchen is right outside the entrance to the wine room," I continue, reclining back on the bed while I speak. "The wine collection is worth six figures. You don't think I keep track of my assets? I've got it insured and filmed."

Frank still hasn't said a word.

"Oh shit," I blurt out. "You didn't know I was filming? Oh no, Frank. This sounds bad for you. Like, career-ending bad."

He knows it's bad. So bad, in fact, all he can say in defense of himself is, "What do you want, Lander?"

"I want you to email the entire firm and tell them you were wrong to overlook me for Stafford. The email needs to be effusive. Glowing. Then I want you to put me on the team."

"Fine. You'll get Stafford."

"After," I specify. "I'll get Stafford after you admit you were wrong to everyone at the firm."

"This is childish."

"Yeah, well, I don't have parents. Maybe I'm emotionally stunted."

He breathes audibly into the phone. "Fine. You'll get an apology email and Stafford. In return, you'll destroy the video."

"Put our deal in writing. If I don't get it in writing in half an hour, I'm sending the video to Waits." I end the call without saying goodbye and look over at Valeria.

She's leaning against her bathroom door with her arms folded, watching me. "I had no idea you had a video," she mentions.

"I don't," I reply, shrugging. "I don't give a shit about wine. I just told Frank we had proof. Now, thanks to his predictably overblown reaction, we do."

Her jaw drops and she crosses the room to join me on the bed. "You scheming bastard," she remarks before laying a kiss on my lips. "I love you so much."

From: [emailprotected]To: [emailprotected]Subject: Additional Staffing UpdatesAs you all know, I previously shared updates to the staffing for our Stafford retainer, but I have determined I overlooked the obvious and most deserving candidate: Lander Dawson Jr. Over four years and two legal internships with Cavendish Waits, Lander has proven his mettle and his keen strategic mind, holding the firm's highest success record for all associates as well as countless anecdotal praises from clients and partners alike.In recognition of his impressive accomplishments, Lander has been appointed to the Stafford retainer. Congratulations, Lander. You've earned it.

- -

From: [emailprotected]To: [emailprotected]Subject: RE: Additional Staffing UpdatesFrank,No thanks, I'm good.

Frank bursts into the glass conference room, his face glowing red, sweat glistening on his temples. "You motherfucker," he hisses, storming at me.

I roll my chair back and rise to my feet, holding up both hands. "Relax," I urge. "What's wrong?"

"We made a deal last night," he reminds me, shoving me backwards towards the windows behind me. "Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"You do that all on your own," Valeria chimes in.

Alarmed, Frank faces her and looks flabbergasted to see her sitting primly in one of Cavendish Waits' rolling chairs. "What is she doing here?"

"I'm prepping for a potential assault case," I explain, beaming at Valeria as I speak. "It's a good case."

Frank's face has grown redder, and all his youthful handsomeness is decaying before my very eyes. A vein protrudes from his neck, bulging, and it looks like he even forgot to shave this morning. "You have no proof I did anything to her," he spits. "You said you would destroy it."

"I said I would destroy the security footage of you attacking her," I acknowledge. "But that's neither here nor there, seeing as this case is about me, not her."

He jolts his head back and his brow knots into deep lines on his forehead. "What? Nobody assaulted you."

"Do you know what an IP is?" I ask. "I doubt it. You and Alyssa are both so tech illiterate. Let me break it down: An IP is a number connected to an internet network. In simple terms, it tells you the physical location of a device." I nod my chin at the folder of documents on the conference table. "That's proof of your phone—the phone given to you and paid for by Cavendish Waits—logging onto Valeria's streams on multiple dates, including last night when I joined in."

Frank snatches the folder from the table and begins to riffle through it, hands working so fast that they crumple the documents.

"If you're wondering where I got it, it's from the tech savvy camgirl your son Dalton has a thing for," I go on. "But more importantly, it's verifiable and clear proof that you used workplace resources to watch a Cavendish Waits employee engage in sexual acts on a stream you could have voluntarily logged off from at any point. In other words, I can bring sexual harassment charges against the firm and you. And I'd win."

Frank tosses the folder onto the floor and turns to face me. His expression is beastly. "You wouldn't. You'd never win. This is circumstantial at best."

"Try me," I reply, taking a step closer to him. "Even if I lose, you're done. Dalton, Alyssa—they would turn their backs on you like it was nothing."

His eyebrow shoots up. "Leave my wife out of this."

"Ooh," I intone before inhaling sharply. "Might be a problem. See, I was so drunk on my whore of a girlfriend's pussy last night, I completely forgot—Alyssa already knows."

Frank is silent for far longer than I've ever witnessed. When he speaks, his voice is unrecognizably faint. "You told my wife?"

"Nope. Your real son did. Dalton. Remember him?"

He inhales through his nostrils and takes a step back, glancing between Valeria and me. "You're fucking sick," he mutters.

"Maybe. We're not ashamed. You, on the other hand, have so far to fall. Losing your wife, your son—it's going to sting. Worst of all though: You're going to lose thefirm."

That's the moment Frank goes from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.

He lunges at me, grabbing my neck with both hands and squeezing. "You bastard!" he's bellowing. "I'll fucking kill you!"

I claw at his hands, struggling to get my bearings and fighting against the loss of air in my lungs. He's ruthless, crushing my windpipe and forcing me into a breathless retch. It's agonizing—beyond anything I've ever felt before.

But here's the thing.

I've learned a lot since I started dating Valeria, but three of those things are critically important: 1) I'm a schemer, not a fighter; 2) Filming things is fun as fuck; and 3) Even if you're not a fighter, you should learn how to throw a decent punch.

I knee Frank in the nuts, and the moment he releases my neck, I hit him with a right hook exactly like Valeria taught me. He goes flying, stumbling backwards towards the glass wall behind him.

He sprawls there, half on the floor, a heap of red skin and expensive business wear. Frankly? He looks pathetic.

"Shit. You know what?" I muse, rubbing my throbbing neck as I speak. "You're right. My sexual assault case has circumstantial evidence at best. Yikes. Luckily for me—" I cock my head in Valeria's direction, where she's holding up her phone and filming everything, "I wasn't planning on bringing a sexual assault case. I was thinking of regular, plain old assault." I gesture at Frank splayed on the floor. "I brought Valeria to help me get evidence, but I don't think I need it."

Frank is confused at first, but not for long. When he looks over his shoulder through the conference room's paned walls, his face pales.

There, a crowd of employees is staring with slack-jawed, flabbergasted expressions on their faces—including Bradford Waits.

I look at Valeria, seated at the table, eyes dark and glimmering with the satisfied shine of vindication. She looks back at me, nods her head, and smiles.

I smile back. I've never smiled quite so big in this office before, and I'm glad it's the last thing Frank sees on my face before I take my girl's hand and walk away from him—for good.