She dropped her gaze toward her purse again, pretending she hadn’t noticed him. What was he doing and how long had he been standing there? For all she knew, there was someone else in his office and he was standing near the window with his back to them, but if he had been at the window when she’d walked out, he’d no doubt seen her throwing away the roses. And that wasn’t good. If he’d sent them, he was probably going to be angry; if he hadn’t, he might assume that she and Colin were on the outs. Either way, she worried that Ken just might feel the urge to drop by her office again for further discussions on whether she was really a team player.
Pulling open her car door, she was hit by a blast of heat from the sun-cooked interior, and as soon as she turned on the engine, she turned on the air conditioner. She decided to drive to the organic market, which had an amazing salad bar, and as she exited the parking lot, she checked her rearview mirror, assuming Ken would be gone.
But he hadn’t left the window. And though he was too far away for her to know for sure, she couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d been watching her all along.
Returning from the store, she parked in the same spot she’d vacated, deciding to leave the windows cracked to cool the interior. Ken’s car was already gone, and if history was any indication, he wouldn’t be back until one thirty or so. Relieved, she tried to settle into work. Between the roses, the message, and now Ken, she felt ready to collect her things and go home. Maybe she could feign a migraine and leave early… but what was the point? Barney would still expect her to complete the work, and even at home, she knew she’d continue to obsess over the day’s events.
You will know how it feels.
How what feels?
Because she’d rejected Ken’s advances, was he planning to make her work life even more miserable?
If so, what would that mean?
She tried to force the questions away while putting together a time line relating to a customer who’d been injured in a fall and was suing a department store. It would take most of the afternoon, and as she began to jot down notes, she observed that her entire profession was part of a giant game in which the object was to amass billable hours, making attorneys the only guaranteed winners.
It was a cynical view, but how else could she explain how she was always so busy despite the fact that justice was anything but swift? She was still working on cases that had been initially filed years ago, and the case Barney had just assigned her had no chance of reaching the courtroom for at least eighteen months. And that’s if things went smoothly, which was virtually impossible, since things never went smoothly. So why did Barney need the time line by tomorrow? What was so urgent?
At the back of her mind, she kept picturing Ken as he’d watched her. She wasn’t going to let him blindside her again if he dropped by to supposedly discuss her career. She decided to keep her office door wide open even though the ambient office noise tended to distract her. That way, if Ken did decide to pay her a visit, she’d have a few extra seconds to prepare.
From her window, it was possible to see Ken’s parking spot. Predictably, the man drove a red Corvette, and at one thirty on the dot, he pulled in. She half expected him to drop by as soon as he entered the building, but to her relief, he didn’t appear. Nor did he swing by later, even to visit the paralegals. When he remained a no-show at five, she reminded herself not to stay late. She closed down her MacBook and gathered paper copies of her files, loading it all into her bag. Peeking out the window, she did a quick double take when she realized that Ken’s car was already gone for the day.
Whatever. Tomorrow would likely bring more surprises.
Leaving her office, she said good-bye to Jill and headed for her car. As always, she went around to the passenger-side door first so she could put her bag on the seat, but as soon as she pulled it open, she let out an inadvertent cry.
The bouquet of roses, already shriveling in the heat, was fanned neatly across the seat, as if trying to taunt her.
Colin sat across from her in her living room, his elbows on his knees. Maria had called him right after throwing the roses back into the Dumpster, and he’d been waiting at her door when she got home.
“I don’t get it,” she said, still feeling flushed and panicky. “What does Ken want?”
“You know what he wants.”