sure got upset about you.” Jack’s bushy eyebrows rose mischievously. “Is there some history I should know about?”
Ben started. There was a history, all right, but not one their boss needed to know. Definitely not. “Like I said, we went to Columbia together. Same first year classes.” He coughed to politely signal a change in subject. “You mentioned that you had some other cases for me already.”
“I’ve got a stack of them. We had a retirement last month and everyone’s been helping out, but as far as I’m concerned they’re yours.” His new boss slid a piece of paper with several columns across the desk. “Here’s a table of the case names and file numbers and the attorneys you should speak with about the status.”
“Great.”
“I’m expecting big things from you, Ben. First in your class at Columbia, followed by an impressive military record. We’re lucky to have you here. Anything you need, you just let me know.”
“I appreciate that, sir.” He waved the list of cases and rose. “I’ll get started on these right away.”
Ben walked along the narrow hall, taking in the gray speckled carpet worn thin down the center, and the white walls marked with odd scuffs and smears of grime. He stopped in front of his office, which was located directly across from a cluster of gray cubicles, empty except for boxes of documents piled on and around the desks. The area hummed with the sounds of distant conversations and electrical appliances, but his was the only warm body in sight. Welcome to the neighborhood, he thought ruefully.
He stared into the hole of a room and wondered whether his office was a converted utility closet. That would explain the size. At least the window was large. He tugged at the strings of the dusty blinds, which rose with a squeal. The window may be large, but it looked out onto the back end of a bar. Working late nights meant he would likely have a front row seat to drunken brawls, which meant he’d be seeing familiar faces at bail hearings. That didn’t seem like a perk.
He dropped his leather briefcase near his desk with a thud. The wooden top was marred by thin grooves, he noted with a frown. A large blotter and calendar would cover up those scratches and dents, and at some point he might even forget about them. He looked around again, absorbing the fact that the walls needed a fresh coat of paint and the office chairs looked as if they needed fumigation. It was a place to work, that was all. He needed this start.
He may have grown up nearby, but Ben couldn’t say that he’d ever expected to land in a town like Bedford Hills. Returning to the area in which he’d started signified failure to him. Now that his mother’s health was declining, though, he needed to be close to her. He pressed his fingers between two slats of the dusty blinds.
He could admit there was something appealing about the quiet of the area. Nightlife consisted of a few downtown restaurants and bars, most of which closed by midnight. The old town had remnants of its farming roots, and aside from some of the downtown core and scattered subdivisions, properties in Bedford Hills were large and houses far apart. He could leave work and slip away into silence and solitude. He’d been raised a few towns away, but no one here knew him. He planned to keep it that way.
Except for Sally. She’d known him once, the old Ben, before he’d gotten his life together. He’d heard that she was working as a prosecutor, but he hadn’t realized she was stationed here. That made sense. If he remembered correctly, her family lived in the area, too.
He glanced around again. The office was claustrophobic, the view dingy. The desk was probably older than he was. Back when he was working on Wall Street, he’d had only the best of everything, and now he didn’t even have an administrative assistant. What had he been thinking, coming here? He’d never get used to this place.
He didn’t plan to stay for long.
* * *
She released her breath when she entered the threshold to her office. Her sanctuary. Sally loved everything about the space, from the onyx vase she’d set on the table in the corner and filled with fresh flowers each Monday, to the framed watercolors depicting the seasons in Bedford Hills and painted by a local artist, to the lavender cashmere pashmina scarf that she draped on the back of her chair in case the ventilation went berserk, as it often did. Her space was warm and filled with the things she loved.
A shiver darted down her spine. She was feeling angry, and that wasn’t healthy. Her palm floated unconsciously to her abdomen, resting protectively over the spot where the baby was growing. She’d read that morning that it was the size of a poppy seed. Just a little ball of cells, really, and she couldn’t help but already feel the need to protect it from everything hurtful in the world. She’d been eating healthy and thinking positive thoughts, because positive thoughts bring positive results. At least that’s what the Life Coach podcast taught. She’d been listening to the series during her commute for a few weeks now. Today’s message had been about making peace with failure. As if they’d known I would walk into work and see failure eyeing me smugly.
“Sally.”
She groaned and spun to see Ben standing in the doorway. All the beauty and positive thinking in the world couldn’t stop her blood pressure from spiking at that moment. She didn’t bother to force a smile. “Can I help you?”
She observed his gaze sweeping across her office, her space, her things. He was appraising her. She studied him, trying to get a sense of his ruling, but his face remained inscrutable and he didn’t comment. “I just wanted to tell you that there are no hard feelings.”
The statement turned painfully in her chest. This guy had some nerve. She removed her trench coat with methodical deliberation and draped it across one of the chairs at the little conference table she’d set up in the corner. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
He wasn’t rattled. Cool Ben had the gall to never appear rattled. “Don’t play coy. It doesn’t work with me. We’re colleagues now. I’m suggesting that we try to be civil, even if we can’t stand the sight of each other.”
She gripped her herbal tea, white knuckled. At another time, she might have calmly removed the cover and hurled the beverage at his glaringly white shirt and dull blue tie. But not today, because today she was above that. “It seems like you’re under the impression I spend time thinking about you. Would it make you feel better to know that even if I tried, I couldn’t muster enough interest to hate the sight of you?”
“You’re funny, you know that?”
He stepped into her office and walked toward her purposefully, his gaze locked on hers, the beginning of a smile curving his lips. She watched him, alarm sounding across her body, her muscles frozen. He reached her desk and pressed his large hands down, leaning forward until he intruded upon her space, caused her to lean away. “We both know you care. At least enough to hate me as much as you do.”
He reached forward with one hand and pretended to pick a piece of lint off her Valentino dress. Then he faked considering it before pretending to flick it away. Sally’s blood pounded in her ears. He was close enough that she could smell mint on his breath. Too close. She grabbed a stack of files from her desk and stomped toward the filing cabinet. “Don’t play games with me. You know the feeling’s mutual,” she growled.
“That I hate you?” He righted himself with a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always thought you were...interesting.” He lifted one of her business cards from the holder on her desk, turning it between his fingers before tucking it into his pocket. “This murder trial you have, for example. Jack told me about it. A homicide
