Boss I Love To Hate Page 8

  As Rider looks at me, a wide smile cracks his face. “Oh, you already mapped this all out.”

  I shrug. “I always have a plan. You should know that by now.”

  “What was I thinking?”

  “You obviously weren’t,” I grin.

  “So, do you want me to hang out and wait for the inevitable shoot down?” he jabs at me. “Or are you going to take that walk of shame back to the office alone?”

  “When did you get to be so funny?” I smirk at him. “We need to get you to an open mic night.”

  “You need to tell her, Sawyer,” he informs me, his tone more serious. “The wheels are in motion and –”

  “I know, I know,” I groan. “I’m planning on it.”

  “You said that last time.”

  “I know. I meant to. I was just enjoying her company, and I didn’t want to fuck it up,” I admit.

  “Fair,” he concedes. “But seriously, if you want to build something with her, you’re going to need full transparency here, man.”

  I sigh. “I know. And I’m going to tell her.”

  He looks at me for a long moment and then nods, flashing me a grin. “Okay man, I’ll leave you to it then,” he grins. “I’ll see you back at the office.”

  “Yeah, get out of here and go do some work,” I laugh. “Go earn the exorbitant salary I’m paying you.”

  “Good luck, man,” he says, and then under his breath adds, “You’re going to need it.”

  Rider turns and walks away, laughing to himself. It makes me chuckle and shake my head. One of these days I’ll learn to hold some things back and not tell him everything. He usually just uses it as fodder to trash me. But such is the nature of our friendship, which is based in part on mutual good-natured trash talking.

  I turn and head for the elevators at the end of the hall, still chuckling to myself. The doors open, and I take it up to the seventh floor where Berlin’s office is located. The public defender’s offices take up two floors – one for the attorneys and a second for meeting rooms and administrative offices, which are on the sixth floor.

  Both floors are hives of buzzing activity with what seems like ten thousand people dashing this way and that on one errand or another. Frankly, the PD’s offices could use some cleaning and freshening – a little remodeling probably wouldn’t hurt either. The walls on both floors are painted with the same drab gray and look like they haven’t seen a new coat in thirty years. The walls are nicked, scarred, and dingy, and the linoleum on the floor is curling upward in some places and is in rougher shape than the walls.

  All of the furniture on both floors is battered and beaten – I’d be shocked if the public defender’s offices have seen a new desk in the last couple of decades. Frankly, this place is a dump. I don’t know how somebody like Berlin manages to maintain any semblance of hope or optimism in here.

  When I get to Berlin’s office, I find the door ajar, but she’s not inside, so I go in and take a look around. I walk over to a bookcase standing against the wall to the right of her desk and look at some of the framed pictures she has on display. I see a couple that are obviously from her college days – candid snaps with some of her girlfriends in various places.

  There’s a particular picture that catches my eye, so I pick up the silver frame and examine it. The photo is of a much younger Berlin – she can’t be more than eleven or twelve years old – and an older man I assume is her father. In the picture, they’re sitting in the stands at the old Shea Stadium, smiling at one another. There’s a look of adoration in her father’s eyes, and she’s looking at him with something akin to worship in hers. The love between them is evident and makes me smile.

  I look around and notice that while I see pictures of Berlin in her younger days with her friends that run through very recent times, I don’t see any other pictures of her and her father. Or her mother, for that matter. It makes me wonder what happened to her folks, or whether they’re still in the picture or not.

  “This is becoming a thing with you.”

  I turn at the sound of her voice to find Berlin standing in the doorway of her office, a look of consternation on her face.

  “What’s becoming a thing?” I wonder.

  “Dropping by my office unannounced – and uninvited.”

  “Ouch,” I grin. “Somebody having a rough day?”

  She walks in and drops her things on the desk before snatching the picture frame out of my hands and carefully puts it back where it belongs like she’s placing a holy artifact back on a sacred shrine.

  With her standing so close, I can smell the citrus of her shampoo and a light hint of her perfume. It’s feminine and intoxicating –I feel my groin stirring and have to fight back the urge to grab hold of her and kiss her. I’m relatively certain that would not be well received.

  She gives me a pointed look and then shifts her gaze to the pair of chairs sitting in front of her desk. The message is clear – get out from behind her desk. Flashing her a grin, I walk around and drop down into one of the two chairs that look like they’d been lifted from an AA meeting. I cross one leg over the other and fold my hands in my lap as Berlin sits down in her chair and looks at me with an expression that’s one part irritation and one part curiosity.

  “What are you doing here, Sawyer?”

  “I was in the building doing some business, and I thought I would take you to lunch.”

  “Well, that’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” she asks. “Assuming I’d be available – or even interested – in going to lunch with you?”

  I give her a winning smile. “In business, I’ve found that it pays to take chances sometimes. Calculated risks.”

  “Speaking of business,” she scoffs. “What kind of business would bring you here?”

  I clear my throat. “Well, that’s what I was hoping to talk to you about over lunch.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Is this like the other night when you wanted to talk to me about something important – then didn’t talk to me about anything important?”

  “But did you have a good time the other night?” I smile.

  Her cheeks flush, and the smile creeps across her face before she can stop it. But Berlin quickly regains her composure and smooths out her face, looking at me with a cool and detached neutrality.

  “I had a pleasant evening, yes,” she says. “And I appreciated it.”

  I laugh softly. “I’m glad because I had a wonderful time, too.”

  She lets out a long breath, and though she remains composed, I can see a sparkle in her eye that tells me she enjoyed our evening out a lot more than she’s letting on. She may be able to control her expressions, but she can’t control those eyes of hers.

  “I have a lot of work to do, Sawyer,” she tells me, trying to sound stern. “They just dropped another half dozen cases on me –”

  “I promise you this time; I really do have something important to discuss with you.”

  “I really shouldn’t.”

  I can tell by the tone of her voice and the look in her eye that she’s on the fence about it. All she needs is a gentle push.

  “Come on, Berlin,” I push. “It’s just lunch. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Her eyes drift from me, to the stack of files on her desk, and back to me again. I don’t know if her hesitance is because she thinks I’m still only trying to get in her panties, or if she’s still holding my past against me, but I need to help her get over that. I need to help her see me as a new person.

  She’s right in that we weren’t really friends back then, but I wasn’t lying to her when I told her that was a regret I carried. Another regret is allowing her to believe I was only interested in what’s between her legs, as opposed to her as a person. I know the fact that she believed that is a failing on my part.

  “Okay, but it’s just lunch,” she tells me. “I only have an hour.”

  “Fair enough,” I smile. “I’ll even let you pick the place.”

 
She glances at her watch. “Give me fifteen minutes to wrap up a couple of things here, and I’ll meet you downstairs in the lobby.”

  I’m about to protest and tell her I can wait here, but she’s got her serious face, on so I don’t want to push things. It was like pulling teeth to get her to agree to lunch in the first place, so I get to my feet, not wanting to give her a reason to back out.

  “Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs,” I agree.

  “See you in a few.”

  Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in the lobby checking my phone when I feel her step up beside me. I look down and flash her a smile.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “I get to pick the place, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great,” she says. “Let’s go.”

  For being so much shorter than I am, she moves quickly. I have to hurry to keep up at first. But since my stride is naturally longer than hers, I’m able to keep pace pretty easily. Rather than head for the parking structure or the curb to hail a cab though, she leads me to a small promenade between the buildings, where I see some food trucks parked. I cast her a sidelong glance, and she smiles.

  “What?” she chirps. “You said it’s my choice.”

  “I suppose I did,” I say slowly. “Well, lead on then.”

  I follow her over to a truck called Kung Food – a truck that apparently serves a Korean-American fusion menu. We stand in front of the window as I look at their list of offerings, completely dumbfounded.

  “You’ve never eaten off a food truck before, have you?”

  I look down and see a wide, mischievous smile on her face like she’s getting one over on me or something. Truth is, I haven’t eaten off a food truck before. I usually prefer my meals to come from someplace more – sanitary. I don’t think they got the name, ‘Roach Coach’ for no reason.

  “I can’t say it would be my first choice,” I laugh. “But, I’m game to try.”

  “Working in the PD’s office, you learn to appreciate the expediency of the food trucks,” she says.

  “Great,” I say. “This should be different.”

  “Don’t be such a prissy elitist,” she shakes her head and laughs. “What will you have?”

  “I’ll leave my gastrointestinal fate to you.”

  She gives me a devious grin and steps to the truck to order, chatting amiably with the guys working inside. Indeed, they talk like old friends, and I can see that Berlin just inspires an ease and warmth in people I’ve never been able to master. I hand over the money, and a moment later, we get our food and drinks, then find a vacant table. Using a couple of the napkins to wipe down the surface before we sit down. Berlin looks at me and smirks.

  “What?” I ask. “Is preferring a clean eating area a crime?”

  She shakes her head. “No, no, of course not,” she grins. “I appreciate fastidiousness in a man.”

  I take a seat across from her, a leonine grin on my face. “Oh? And what else do you appreciate in a man?”

  She quirks an eyebrow at me but refuses to take the bait. Instead, she digs into her lunch, a bowl of rice topped with Korean short rib bulgogi and cabbage with kimchi on the side. I have to admit, it’s something I’ve never had before, but it smells pretty amazing. I pick up something I’m more familiar with – a crispy egg roll – and take a bite. Berlin is stealing glances at me, so I finally oblige her by picking up my fork and taking a bite of my own bulgogi bowl. The explosion of flavor in my mouth is intense. I can’t keep the smile off my lips as I chew. I glance over at Berlin, who is giving me a haughty expression that just screams, I told you so.

  “Fine, I was wrong,” I laugh. “That’s what you want to hear, right?”

  She shrugs. “That will do.”

  “I’m still not saying it’s the most sanitary thing ever,” I add, “but the flavor is pretty damn amazing.”

  “I’ll take the win, thanks.”

  We eat happily in what I can only describe as a companionable silence for a bit, the earlier tension and sense of distrust – from her of course – seemingly vanished in the aroma of surprisingly good food.

  But I know these unexpected good vibes between us are temporary. Looming on the horizon, like a wall of storm clouds moving into the area and ready to unleash the fury of an Atlantic storm, is what I have to talk to her about.

  There’s no getting around it or putting it off any longer. It’s time for me to man up and lay it all out there – come what may.

  Chapter Nine

  Berlin

  I told him I only have an hour for lunch, but the truth is that I’m not sitting on a clock other than my own. If I want to take a bit longer, I can. I just didn’t want Sawyer thinking my entire day revolves around him. I mean, since he feels like he can just drop in anytime and whisk me away, he apparently already thinks that. But I don’t want to add fuel to that fire. I’ll keep the clock for myself.

  But I must admit, after a bit of initial stiffness and awkwardness, lunch with Sawyer has been actually a lot more pleasant than I thought it would be. The conversation is light and fun – he has a better sense of humor than I thought. I don’t remember the last time I laughed as hard as I am sitting at that table with him.

  We’ve burned through forty-five minutes, and honestly, it seems to have passed in the blink of an eye. The atmosphere between us is definitely a hell of a lot more comfortable today than it was when we went to dinner. I don’t know why that’s changed, but I’m glad it did. Not that I plan on making this a regular thing.

  Things seem less tense between us, but in his eyes, I can still see the shadow of trepidation. There’s something on his mind. Even though he’s doing a good job of obscuring whatever is on his mind, I can see it. It makes me more than a bit curious, but I’m not going to force it out of him. I’ll let him play this out in his own time. At least for now.

  “So, was it as bad as you feared?” I motion to the lunch truck.

  “Well, Hep C doesn’t start showing symptoms for a few weeks, so…”

  I laugh. “Are you always this much of a drama queen?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Wonderful,” I roll my eyes.

  His chuckle is a rich, deep rumble in his chest that sounds like thunder rolling in. I have to admit that this version of Sawyer, as I’m getting to know him, is very different from the one I knew back in college. He’s confirming the initial, more favorable impression of him I got back in the borough board room.

  I have to say, this version of him is very attractive – as much as it pains me to admit that. He’s charming. Funny. He’s obviously very intelligent and well-spoken. And although I’d never tell him – his ego is inflated enough – his confidence and take-charge personality is also kind of attractive to me. I like that he doesn’t waffle and isn’t wishy-washy about things. I like that he’s a man who knows what he wants and goes after it. I respect that.

  Oh, he can certainly cross that line into cocky and arrogant – and that’s about as much of a turn off as anything. But his self-assuredness is an attractive quality.

  “I’m man enough to admit that I may have judged your lunch truck too quickly,” he grins. “It was a lot better than I expected it to be.”

  I grin foolishly, basking in the glow of a win. It’s a cheap and petty win, but I’ll take it, nonetheless. But then I recall the mountain of case files on my desk and all of the work waiting for me, and that shine starts to dull a bit. As much as I’m enjoying lunch with Sawyer, I can’t hang out here, slacking off forever.

  Sawyer gathers up all the empty plates, taking them all over to the trash can and disposing of them for me. I don’t recall him ever being this neat before, but I wonder if I just missed it. It’s amusing, if nothing else. He comes back to the table and sits down across from me again, and all of a sudden, that tense awkwardness that’s marked most of our time interacting together recently is back.

  “Everything okay?” I probe.

  “Yeah, I just –
I needed to talk to you about something.”

  I can see the strain in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Whatever is on his mind is pretty heavy, and I’m more curious than ever. But there’s a sinking feeling inside of me. I think this has to do with the talk he said he’d have with the people at Compass. And judging by the look on his face, I have to assume it’s a talk that didn’t go well. I should have known it was going to happen. Well-connected or not, Sawyer isn’t a miracle worker. Nor is this really his fight – he was doing me a favor.

  “They said no,” I state, hoping that verbalizing it will take some of the sting out of it. “Compass isn’t going to grant the delay.”

  Sawyer looks at me, his expression absolutely pained. I can tell there’s more to this story than what I’m assuming. And judging by the look on his face, I have to think it’s a lot worse than I expected.

  “What is it?” I ask, my voice tentative.

  He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, the trepidation on his face growing with every passing second – which only serves to increase my own anxiety.

  “Okay, look, there is no easy way for me to tell you this, so I’ll just be blunt…”

  His voice trails off as he seems to be gathering himself for whatever it is he has to tell me. This is probably the first time I’ve ever seen Sawyer looking uncomfortable or uncertain about anything. He clears his throat again and then looks at me.

  “So, about Compass,” he starts. “It’s a funny story, really –”

  “It’s probably safe to say that when it comes to Compass, I’m going to fail to see the humor in anything,” I cut him off.

  “Fair enough,” he responds. “It’s just…”

  His voice tapers off, and that look of uncertainty on his face deepens. As a memory long forgotten resurfaces in the forefront of my mind, all of the pieces fall into place. The picture becomes clear to me – and I am just barely resisting the urge to scream out loud. I don’t know how in the hell I didn’t see or remember it before. Inwardly, I’m kicking my own ass for it.