stands. "That's what it sounds like. We'll file in the morning. Should have a court date by early next week." He nods at Bailey, who stands and lumbers out of the conference room, Preston in tow.
I hear them going down the stairs and finally feel the freedom to exhale. "I can't believe you want to stay there, Carlos. He's willing to let you out, free and clear."
"I know," he answers. "But like my wife says, if he does it to us, he'll do it to the next family. We'll move when our lease is up and not a minute sooner. We won't be forced to leave by his bigoted views of me and my family."
I gather my piles together and load them back into my bag. "This could take some time. Housing complaints fall far behind rapes, murders and kidnappings. We might not get to pre-trial for a month or so. Until then, avoid Bailey. He can't kick you out but you don’t want any trouble. Follow the lease to the letter. Don't speak to him. Don't let him get under your skin. Don't give him any ammunition that he can present in court that would sway the judge in his favor."
"Got it. And thank you."
"Thank me when I've won this case." Because I might not .
We stand and I lead him out of the conference room. We meet Preston at the steps. "So I'm going to head over to my office, if we're done here," I say to him.
"See you Sunday?"
I stop on the third step down and turn around. "Sunday. What's Sunday?"
"Check your email. Bridal Party Brunch at the McCord Manor."
I groan. "Alright. See you Sunday then."
"Want me to pick you up? It's on my way."
I start to snap at him that I could drive myself, thank you very much. Then I remember our agreement and try to craft a nice way to decline. Before I can do so, he says, "I'll be at your place at 10:30. Be ready, I don't like waiting."
At what point, I wonder as I turn and stomp down the steps, does he have to bite his tongue?
Nine
Sunday morning is beautiful, warm and sunny but not yet hot. I would love to do nothing more than skip down to the pool in a skimpy bathing suit with a trashy novel and lay around deepening my golden brown skin tone. I haven't done enough of that this summer.
Instead, I have to put on a dress and heels and flat iron my hair. I have to get in a car with Preston and ride over to Nate and Morgan's fancy million dollar home. I have to sit next to Preston at a table overflowing with delicacies and pretend that we're getting along and talk excitedly about this wedding for a few hours. Mostly I have to make Morgan believe that we're making this happen for them.
Promptly at 10:30, Preston's Benz turns into my apartment complex, so I head down to meet him at the bottom of the steps. Instead of stopping and waiting, he parks and comes around to the passenger side and opens the door with a flourish and a shit–eating grin.
"Hi," I say simply, and get in the car. He closes my door and jogs back around to the driver's side. As he slides back into the smooth leather seat, I notice his attire–dark jeans, a button down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a gray tweed four button vest. A high end Gucci watch catches a glint of sunlight as he turns the wheel and guides the car to the street.
"You always dress this nice for brunch?"
His eyes leave the road for a brief moment. "Do you?" he asks, his gaze roving the chest and thighs that my dress leaves bare.
It used to be Preston's favorite thing, while he drove, to reach over and tuck a hand between my thighs. He liked it when I wore dresses and sometimes I would have to hold his hand to keep it from wandering north. That memory makes me blush and I tug at the hem of my dress.
"Touché. I thought you might have been on your way from somewhere else."
"Where would I be on my way from?"
"Nowhere, Preston. Just drive."
"You seem overly concerned with my dating life. Who I'm sleeping with, whether I'm on my way home from a one night stand. Which I'm not, by the way. I slept alone, since you care."
"I
I hear them going down the stairs and finally feel the freedom to exhale. "I can't believe you want to stay there, Carlos. He's willing to let you out, free and clear."
"I know," he answers. "But like my wife says, if he does it to us, he'll do it to the next family. We'll move when our lease is up and not a minute sooner. We won't be forced to leave by his bigoted views of me and my family."
I gather my piles together and load them back into my bag. "This could take some time. Housing complaints fall far behind rapes, murders and kidnappings. We might not get to pre-trial for a month or so. Until then, avoid Bailey. He can't kick you out but you don’t want any trouble. Follow the lease to the letter. Don't speak to him. Don't let him get under your skin. Don't give him any ammunition that he can present in court that would sway the judge in his favor."
"Got it. And thank you."
"Thank me when I've won this case." Because I might not .
We stand and I lead him out of the conference room. We meet Preston at the steps. "So I'm going to head over to my office, if we're done here," I say to him.
"See you Sunday?"
I stop on the third step down and turn around. "Sunday. What's Sunday?"
"Check your email. Bridal Party Brunch at the McCord Manor."
I groan. "Alright. See you Sunday then."
"Want me to pick you up? It's on my way."
I start to snap at him that I could drive myself, thank you very much. Then I remember our agreement and try to craft a nice way to decline. Before I can do so, he says, "I'll be at your place at 10:30. Be ready, I don't like waiting."
At what point, I wonder as I turn and stomp down the steps, does he have to bite his tongue?
Nine
Sunday morning is beautiful, warm and sunny but not yet hot. I would love to do nothing more than skip down to the pool in a skimpy bathing suit with a trashy novel and lay around deepening my golden brown skin tone. I haven't done enough of that this summer.
Instead, I have to put on a dress and heels and flat iron my hair. I have to get in a car with Preston and ride over to Nate and Morgan's fancy million dollar home. I have to sit next to Preston at a table overflowing with delicacies and pretend that we're getting along and talk excitedly about this wedding for a few hours. Mostly I have to make Morgan believe that we're making this happen for them.
Promptly at 10:30, Preston's Benz turns into my apartment complex, so I head down to meet him at the bottom of the steps. Instead of stopping and waiting, he parks and comes around to the passenger side and opens the door with a flourish and a shit–eating grin.
"Hi," I say simply, and get in the car. He closes my door and jogs back around to the driver's side. As he slides back into the smooth leather seat, I notice his attire–dark jeans, a button down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a gray tweed four button vest. A high end Gucci watch catches a glint of sunlight as he turns the wheel and guides the car to the street.
"You always dress this nice for brunch?"
His eyes leave the road for a brief moment. "Do you?" he asks, his gaze roving the chest and thighs that my dress leaves bare.
It used to be Preston's favorite thing, while he drove, to reach over and tuck a hand between my thighs. He liked it when I wore dresses and sometimes I would have to hold his hand to keep it from wandering north. That memory makes me blush and I tug at the hem of my dress.
"Touché. I thought you might have been on your way from somewhere else."
"Where would I be on my way from?"
"Nowhere, Preston. Just drive."
"You seem overly concerned with my dating life. Who I'm sleeping with, whether I'm on my way home from a one night stand. Which I'm not, by the way. I slept alone, since you care."
"I
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