Boss I Love To Hate Read online

  “Wow, it seems like you have me pegged.”

  “I know how your mind works,” she laughs.

  I clear my throat, suddenly feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Yeah, about that.”

  As if she’s picking up on my discomfort, she sits up straighter in her chair, a look of concern flashing through her eyes.

  “What is it, Sawyer?”

  I look down at the tops of my shoes, trying to figure out how to tell Berlin that her picture is splashed all over the front page of some sleazy tabloid, and her sex life has been laid bare for all the world to see.

  “Sawyer?”

  The note of concern in her voice sends a lance of guilt through me, even though it’s not my fault. Well, not entirely. I can’t control what the paparazzi does. They’re scumbags, and they make their living by exposing the tawdry details of people’s lives. By the same token though, I know this. I am normally more careful about what I do in public. I’m usually more aware of my surroundings.

  But being so close to Berlin allowed my hormones to override my common sense and judgment. It’s a rare occurrence, but not completely unheard of. I’d allowed myself to think more about fucking Berlin in that moment than in maintaining my public image. And now I’m paying the price for it. Or rather, Berlin is paying the price for it. I’m used to living my life in the eye of the sleazy tabloids – she’s not.

  “Sawyer, you’re kind of freaking me out right now,” she says.

  “So, I take it you haven’t seen the news this morning?” I begin.

  “Sure, I glanced – trouble in the Middle East. Big surprise,” she frowns, clearly confused. “Couple of politicians under investigation for corruption – even less of a surprise –”

  I take the Ledger out of my bag and toss it onto the desk in front of her. “No, I mean that – news. If that’s what people call it.”

  The paper trembles in her hands as she picks it up and unfolds it. I watch her eyes widen as she scans the picture on the front page, taking in every detail of it. Her mouth trembles, and she lets out a stuttering gasp.

  “W – what is this?” she whispers.

  “It’s us, out by the lake the other –”

  She slams the paper down on the desk hard enough to rattle the pens in her cup. “I know what this is,” she snaps. “How did this happen? Who took this?”

  “I – I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess some piece of shit paparazzi must have followed us out there. I didn’t see him. That’s my fault. I’m usually more careful.”

  She runs her hand through her hair, a look of both fear and anger on her face. “I – I can’t believe this,” she stammers. “I can’t believe this happened.”

  “I just wanted you to hear it from me first, Berlin. I didn’t want you to have to see that shit,” I say seriously. “I’m sorry about this, Berlin. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  She lets out a long, trembling breath. “It’s not your fault,” she replies, her voice little more than a whisper. “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  She stares at the paper and looks – maybe for lack of a better word – scared. I don’t know what she might be afraid of, whether it be her friends or father finding out, or something else. But seeing the paper has definitely rattled her.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she insists. “We’ll – talk about this later.”

  “Berlin, I –”

  “No, I can’t deal with this right now, Sawyer,” she says. “I need to prepare for my deposition.”

  “Okay, no worries.” I get to my feet. “We’ll talk later.”

  She nods distractedly, and although she tosses the Ledger in the trash basket, I can see her eyes still lingering on it as well as her mind spinning. I would give anything to know what’s going through her head right now.

  “So, call me later?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty stacked schedule coming up, but I’ll call you soon.”

  She looks up at me, and there’s a sudden awkwardness in the air. Part of me thinks I should give her a hug and a kiss before I go. But that might be more of a thing for people in relationships – which we are not just yet. At the same time, I don’t want to leave her office without acknowledging that she’s somebody special to me. And for her part, Berlin looks at me like she has no idea what should be done in this weird space between us right now.

  I walk over and plant a kiss on the top of her head and lay my hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper softly.

  I just hope she believes me. Hell, I hope I believe myself.

  She nods and gives me a weak smile, obviously not as reassured as I’d hoped she’d be. With a small nod, I turn and leave her office – only to be greeted by the weight of a thousand eyes on me. In all the time I’ve been making unannounced visits to this office, this is the first time anybody has seemed to notice me. And now it’s like everybody in the Public Defender’s office suddenly recognizes me. Gee, I wonder why.

  Fuck. Does everybody read those trash tabloids?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Berlin

  “Give me a fucking break,” I mutter to myself.

  I slam my office door behind me to make a point – and so I don’t have to listen to that insipid fucking giggling. Every single day for the last two weeks since that article in the Ledger came out; I’ve come into my office to find “Afternoon Delight” by the Starland Vocal Band playing on my computer on an endless loop. Apparently, the PD’s office is filled with comedians.

  I’m not in the mood for it today. I still haven’t really unpacked all of the emotional garbage floating around in my head from having my sex life splayed out all over New York for everybody to see and consume. I’ve been avoiding everybody like the plague since the article came out – and Nadia and Gabby have had the good grace to refrain from adding to my pile of shame. I figure I can deal with that later – or just hope it dissipates entirely, so I don’t have to.

  Adding to my foul mood is the fact that my morning has been spent at the doctor’s office having more blood sucked out of me than a herd of vampires would have taken. I haven’t felt good in a few days and finally decided to see what was going on. I’m tired of feeling wrung out, nauseous, exhausted, and like I don’t want to do anything but sleep the day away.

  I drop down behind my desk and groan as I look at the stack of files sitting on my desk. Just because I’ve been out, that doesn’t mean the wheels of justice have stopped grinding. Another wave of nausea rolls over me, so I put my head down for a minute. The taste of bile is thick in the back of my throat. I’m doing all I can to keep from having to puke into my trash can.

  I lift my head at the sound of my office door opening and see my supervisor step in. Carl Kennedy, the Principal Attorney for our unit, has been working in the PD’s office about as long as I’ve been alive. He’s got a full head of snow-white hair, lines etched deep into his face, has a bit of a bulbous nose that’s usually red – which, along with his typically watery eyes – gives away his habit of tipping a few back. Not that he makes any bones about it. He never comes in drunk and is still exceptionally sharp. Carl really is one of the best lawyers I’ve ever been around. He probably forgets more every day than I’m ever going to know.

  Carl ambles across my office and drops heavily into the chair across from me. I lean back in my seat, still fighting the urge to vomit, and give him what I know has to be a weak smile.

  “Morning, Carl,” I croak.

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “They’ll call me this afternoon with some results.”

  He nods and looks away from me. It’s then I notice the tension in his eyes and the set to his jaw. He’s typically a gruff but fairly jovial guy who’s got a good sense of humor about him. Oh, he’ll bite your head off if you give him a reason, but more times than not, you’ll find him
laughing about something. But right now, he seems grim and troubled.

  “Everything okay, Carl?”

  He runs a hand over his face and lets out a long breath, and I can tell he’s doing his best to keep himself together. He gives me a smile that might be weaker than the one I gave him. That’s what tells me something is very wrong and immediately, I think somebody’s died.

  “Carl, what’s wrong?”

  He purses his lips and gives himself a small nod. “I spoke with Dwight earlier this morning.”

  Dwight Watson is the man in charge of our office and a notorious asshole. We rarely see him down here in the main offices – he would never deign to mix with we commoners. Instead, he sits up in his ivory tower on the tenth floor, passing judgment and dispensing his brand of justice on us. So, the second I hear that Carl had spoken with him is the second I realize that nobody died, but it’s not good news for me.

  In fact, if Dwight’s involved, I already know what’s coming next – I’m losing my job.

  “Carl, you have got to be kidding me,” I start. “I give everything to this job. I’m the best lawyer you’ve got in this damn unit.”

  “I know you are, Berlin,” he tells me. “You’re the most talented lawyer I’ve seen come through those doors – probably ever.”

  “Then why, Carl? What did I do?”

  He gives me an expression full of sorrow. “It’s the fucking picture those lowlife pieces of shit got of you.”

  “What? You’re kidding me?” I gasp. “Not that I’m not embarrassed about it, but what does my personal life have to do with my ability to do this job?”

  “It doesn’t. At least, I don’t think it does,” Carl replies. “I don’t think it matters for anything. What you choose to do in your own time is your own business, far as I’m concerned.”

  “Then why am I being fired, Carl?”

  “Because Dwight is worried about the politics of it all,” he sighs, sounding resigned. “And because he’s a coward.”

  I prop my elbows up on the table and bury my face in my hands, doing my best to not only keep from vomiting but from bursting into tears as well. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I just can’t fucking believe it.

  “He’s worried about how that picture is going to reflect on him,” Carl informs me. “Nothing more.”

  “It’s not going to reflect on him,” I argue. “It has nothing to do with him.”

  “I know that. I tried to tell him that,” he tells me, his voice thick with sympathy. “But like I told you, he’s a coward.”

  Carl doesn’t even flinch when I slam my fist down on the desk. The force of the blow topples my pen cup and scatters my pens everywhere. They hit the floor with a clatter, and I watch them roll away, still numb with disbelief about what’s happening to me.

  “So that’s it then. Some scumbag invades my privacy, snaps a picture of me on my own personal time, and I get fired for it,” I growl. “It’s not because I’m incompetent. Not because I’m corrupt. It’s because I chose to have sex with somebody. I’m being fired because I’m a woman who has needs and desires, and that man is uncomfortable with that.”

  Carl sighs again and nods. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he confirms. “Dwight is a piece of shit, Berlin. And I’m sorry as hell about this. You don’t deserve this bullshit.”

  “No I don’t,” I state. “There has to be something I can do, Carl. I have to fight –”

  He holds his hand up to cut me off, the look of sorrow on his face only deepening. Carl looks down at the ground, rubs at his eyes, and when he looks back up, I can see they’re red and watery as if he’s been crying.

  “I fought with him for three hours today, Berlin,” he says softly. “We went back and forth, and he will not budge. All he’s worried about right now is covering his own ass.”

  My stomach lurches, and I barely manage to grab the trash can in time before the dry toast I managed to choke down this morning comes rushing back out. My stomach empties into the can, and I dry heave for a moment. When I set the can down and sit back up, Carl is there with a handkerchief. I take it and dab at my mouth, then grab my bottle of water and take a long swallow.

  “Thank you,” I groan.

  “I’m really sorry, Berlin,” he says. “More than I can ever express. I wish there was something I could do.”

  I sigh. “It’s not your fault, Carl. When does he want me out?”

  His face blanches, and he looks down at the ground. “Immediately.”

  The tears roll down my cheeks, and my head spins so hard, I feel like I might pass out. I scrub the tears away, but I can’t staunch the flow. They run freely down my face, and I sniff loudly.

  “What am I supposed to do, Carl?” I gasp. “What in the fuck am I supposed to do? I can’t be out of work. Not with my father and…”

  My voice trails off. I might as well be talking to a brick wall. That’s not a knock against Carl – he’s essentially middle management and can only do so much. If the people above him want somebody gone, that person is gone. In his case, that person is me.

  “I’m sorry, Berlin.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

  “Dwight wants me to give you an hour to pack up, but fuck him.” Carl attempts to smile through his own tears. “Take all the time you want.”

  I try to smile at him through the tears but fail. All I can do is nod as Carl gets to his feet. He’s never been an overly sentimental man, so when he comes around my desk and kisses the top of my head and gives my upper arm a squeeze, it means a lot to me.

  He leaves me office without another word, quietly closing the door behind him, giving me the privacy I need to have my breakdown. As quietly as possible, I cry hysterically for a few minutes, then do my best to pull myself back together – which is far from an easy task. I’m gripped by fear and uncertainty, not to mention a thousand questions that are rapidly firing through my brain.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do. With my father’s meds, the bills, and everything else, I don’t know what in the hell I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how we’re going to make it. I guess I should be thanking Sawyer ten times over right now, given that if not for him, we’d definitely be living on the street. At least thanks to him, we’re going to have a roof over our heads for the next six months.

  “Fuck,” I growl.

  My anger and shame boil beneath the surface. I grab the coffee cup sitting on my desk – my gift for winning my first case. I look at the smooth porcelain surface and trace my fingertips along the city seal. My tear splashes off the surface of the mug, and a white-hot bolt of rage tears straight through me. I get to my feet, reach back, and with all the strength I can muster, I hurl the mug across the room.

  “Fuck!” I scream. The mug hits the far wall and shatters, sending a spray of ceramic shards across the room.

  My office door opens, and one of the other attorneys in the office, a short weaselly-looking man named Arthur, pokes his head in. He looks at the shards on the ground and then up at me, his eyes wide and blinking behind his black-rimmed glasses.

  “Uhhh… everything okay in here?” he asks.

  Arthur and I have never gotten along. Personally, I’ve always hated the guy and thought he was a rat-faced, back-stabbing asshole. He’s the type who would step over or on anybody to better his lot in life. I guess if there’s one silver lining to all of this, it’s that I don’t have to pretend with him anymore.

  “No Arthur, everything is not fucking okay,” I spit.

  “Is there anything –”

  “Get out!” I scream. “Get the fuck out of my office!”

  I grab the water bottle of my desk and hurl it at the door. Arthur ducks out a moment before the bottle bounces off the wall and clatters to the floor. I plant my hands on top of the desk and lean down, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly, trying to calm myself down.

  It’s doing no good, though. The enormity of what’s happening feels like I’ve got
iron bands wrapped around my chest, and they’re squeezing tighter and tighter. So tight that I’m struggling to catch my breath. I feel a pain pulsing behind my eyes, and my heart is thumping so hard inside of me, I’m half-convinced it’s going to leave a bruise.

  I pick up an old box that’s sitting in the corner and start putting all my personal effects inside. I don’t have much here – I guess that’s one benefit of having had one foot out the door all this time. It takes me about ten minutes to pack up all the things I’ll be taking with me. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I pick up the box, cradle it against my hip, and walk out of my office.

  I hear the whispers and murmurs following in my wake as I make my way to the elevators. It’s somehow worse than the eyes I feel following my every step. Word of my firing has spread faster than wildfire through the office. Not that I’m surprised – gossip around here seems to travel at the speed of light.

  I never got particularly close to anybody in my time here, so I don’t feel compelled to say goodbye to anybody on my way out. And nobody makes a move to wish me a fond farewell either, confirming the lack of any sort of social bond with my co-workers – I’m just another body moving on out of here.

  When the doors slide open, I step aboard and turn around. I catch sight of a few people peeking over their cubicles at me – the closest thing to a goodbye that I’m going to get from these people.

  It’s only when the doors slide closed, sealing me into the elevator alone, that I let the tears fall.

  * * *

  Having gotten the call to come into the doctor’s office while I was on my way home, I sit in the crowded waiting room impatiently. The woman sitting next to me lets out a series of wet rattling coughs, only belatedly covering her mouth – and barely covering it at that. It’s disgusting. I just want to get out of here before I catch what she has. That would be the last thing I need right now.

  I haven’t told Nadia about losing my job yet. I’m going to have to do that when I get back from the doctor’s office. I somehow doubt that she’s going to be too upset about having some time off, though. I know that caring for my father must feel like an anchor around her neck that’s pulling her down. But she’s been better than great about helping.