Dirty Laundry

I couldn’t help myself. A small, restrained whimper escaped my lips as the man in front of me bent over. It seemed like everyone in New York was stylish these days, and the jeans he had on left very little to the imagination. Mia had accused me a few dozen times of having an ass fetish — as if I was a teenaged boy getting his first glimpse at a nudie magazine — and I’d never been inclined to agree with her until now. It was undeniable: nothing excited me more than a man with a great ass.

“That should take care of it, Miss Koenig.”

Snapping back to reality, I offered up a grateful smile and thanked him for his services. The office Wi-Fi had been defunct for going on three hours, and if I didn’t get it taken care of by the time Sloane rolled in — fifteen minutes late with Starbucks, because of course — there’d be hell to pay. Sloane was very ritualistic when it came to her Internet browsing. We may have been her bosses, but that was a sleeping dog Mia and I decided it was better to let lie.

Liam, on the other hand, had spent the last week moodier than ever. Mia had given me bits and pieces of what was going on with her case and I assumed Liam was responding accordingly, like some bizarre interpretation of Couvade syndrome. Leave it to me to hire the only financial guru in all of Manhattan that acted like a whiny, petulant child over an unrequited office crush. By the end of day three, Sloane had to talk me out of firing him six times.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have bothered me much if my own case was going swimmingly. It wasn’t, because when it rains it pours and right about now I was half-drenched without an umbrella. Harry had to attend a conference in Cupertino (he was big-time now and that meant schmoozing it up with the likes of Apple’s CEO) and called personally to reschedule my appointment. He said nothing of what’d taken place in his office and if Emma had blabbed about my idle threat he made no mention of that, either.

“You’re shameless,” Mia stated as we both watched the Comcast employee show himself out. I shrugged and retreated to my office to make sure everything was back in working order.

“As if you can turn down a man in a nice pair of J. Crew pants.”

She sat across from me as I booted up my computer, letting out a quiet whoop as the Internet connected without issue. “Is it bad I’m kind of disappointed? I wouldn’t mind seeing that guy again.”

“And his ass,” Mia laughed. “How’s your case going?”

I typed Neris’s website into the browser and waited for it to load. “No better than it was a few days ago.”

“Did Genevieve get the voice memo?”

“Of course she did.” Mia stared, waiting for me to elaborate. “Inconclusive,” I said, air quotes included.

“Are you serious?”

Once the website was fully loaded, I logged into my company email account. My face froze at the sight of 93 unread messages since the night before, and not one was spam. “Yeah, says she’s had run-ins with Emma before and that’s just the way she is.”

Mia’s jaw went slack. The naivety of women shouldn’t have surprised us after so long, but every new case gave us something else to gripe about. “What’s going on with Liam?” I asked, desperate for a change in topic. It was uncommon for a case to drag out this long, and with Mia in the same boat, we were both cranky and feeling more down on our luck than usual.

“I think he’s still upset about what happened last week.”

“At the club, you mean?” She nodded as I spared a moment to roll my eyes. “You know he’s only acting this way because he’s—” I stopped myself. Spilling the beans on Liam’s biggest secret was bad news, even for me. I sighed, pretending it was causing me immense suffering to be admitting this. “He’s convinced we’re gonna get hurt.”

Mia looked surprised. I would’ve too had the tables been turned. There had always been some degree of risk in what we did — the risk of being recognized, the risk of being found out, the risk of getting sued out the rear and blowing all our money on legal fees — but getting hurt was never one of them. We didn’t involve ourselves emotionally in what we did. We couldn’t afford to.

Of course, the same couldn’t be said for Liam.

“So…what now? Are you gonna fire him or something?”

I shrugged, still sorting through my inbox. Liam was very low on my list of priorities, truth be told, and I had neither the desire nor proper state of mind to deal with him. Besides, what could I do? I couldn’t wave a magic wand and make him fall out of love, and even if I could I don’t think I would want to. For as great a coworker and businesswoman as she was, Mia wasn’t me. Whenever she decided to move on, someone would have to be there to love her. It wasn’t my place to take that away from her.

“I’m going out with Sloane for drinks later if you’d like to join us.”

Mia shook her head. “I have plans, but you should invite Li.”

“Seriously?” I asked, trying not to scoff. Liam was bad enough in the office; I doubted my ability to tolerate him for prolonged periods outside of it. “Why would I invite Sargent Doom and Gloom?”

“Because he feels left out, Elle. There’s no one here for him to talk to about guy things and he’s already uncomfortable with what we do.”

I continued scrolling through my email. “No.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” Mia accused.

“You’re right,” I replied, pausing for a few dozen seconds. “Okay, thought about it, still no.”

Mia rolled her eyes before getting up to leave. “At least ask him. If he turns you down, fine, but he’s part of this family too. You can’t just ignore him.”

I watched her leave through my peripheral vision, not bothering with a rebuttal. There was no way Liam would agree to go out with us, and even if he did he’d probably be bored to tears.

But I invited him anyway out of respect for Mia. She didn’t ask for much, and with what she had going on with Zayn, it was probably best for me to drag Liam to the bar to get his mind off whatever it was she was doing.

“I don’t really want to,” he said, staring at me with furrowed brows.

“Which is why I didn’t ask if you wanted to, I told you that you are.”

“This is office communism,” he muttered.

I grinned facetiously, giving him the name and address of my building and told him to pick me up at nine. Even if he didn’t look pleased I knew it meant a lot to Mia and that was good enough for me.

After my first major paycheck, I did what any irresponsible twenty-something would do: bought the biggest, most ridiculous apartment I could with what I had. That landed me in the Upper West Side, at the corner of 77th and Broadway, in a building with a 24-hour security guard in the lobby. I was roughly two blocks from the Hudson River, and sometimes I’d get home so late I’d watch all the kids laugh and joke with one another en route to the Collegiate School on 78th.

I had a brilliant open floor plan and stainless steel appliances. My monthly rent was more than some people made working a year at minimum wage. The Larstrand had a beautiful rooftop lounge, so it was easy for me to host parties for prospective clients and subtly boast about how successful I was at the same time.

Liam didn’t say a word as I invited him inside. He was smarter and better educated than I’d ever be yet lived in a studio apartment the size of a shoebox. “Nice place,” he said finally, eyeing a print that hung on the wall behind the couch. I’d picked it up at a gallery because it was the most expensive one there. I didn’t know shit about art.

“It’s not too bad. Do you want something to drink?”

“Aren’t we going to the bar?” I nodded and Liam shook his head.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable.”

I had a bad habit of overdressing. It didn’t matter where I was going or with whom, I just assumed I’d be the best-dressed one there. Liam had arrived in a pair of dark jeans, a basic striped T-shirt, and a leather jacket; I’d already tossed four pairs of heels into the NOT WEARING pile. I finally got so fed up I threw on the first of everything I could find and forced myself out of my bedroom.

Liam’s eyebrows shot upwards so fast I almost turned around and went back to try again. “What?” I snapped.

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so casual.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go. Sloane’s already there.”

George Keeley was one of the first bars I’d gone to once I moved to the Upper West Side, and it was my go-to choice for a night out. I prided myself on only being a beer drinker on the weekends, usually opting for something classier that packed more of a punch, but Sloane was from Milwaukee and grew up drinking it. She knew more about beer than celebrity gossip and was a better person for it.

Fridays were always chaos. George Keeley was on the cheaper side, considering its location, and the hipster snots flocked there because almost everything they had on tap was craft. Liam didn’t seem to mind when I suggested we take a taxi, probably because I assured him I wouldn’t be leaving with anyone named Zayn Malik.

“How’s your case going?”

I groaned, wondering how many more times I’d be asked that question before the day was over. “I could probably swim through a pool of peanut butter while wearing a hundred pounds of armor then get out and learn Portuguese faster than this Harry Styles bullshit is going.”

Liam laughed for the first time in a week, tipping the driver as we exited the cab. “I’m honestly surprised the voice memo didn’t send his fiancée over the edge.”

“I’m gonna send her over the edge of the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge if she calls me one more time.”

We waded through the crowd in search of Sloane. Liam kept his hand planted on my lower back, telling the occasional immobile hipster to “sod off, mate” when they wouldn’t let us by, though I doubted they heard him over the ruckus. There was a god-awful cover band playing classic rock hits in the front corner of the pub.

“I think you’ve gotten meaner since you started working for me.”

He smiled. “I learned from the best.”

Neither of us were surprised to find Sloane sitting at the bar, surrounded by a horde of guys vying for her attention. There were four full bottles of beer in front of her and another in her hand. She cheered and waved us over when she spotted us, and half of the guys took off when they spotted Liam. Must be the leather jacket, I told myself.

“Liam! I didn’t know you were coming.”

He shrugged. “Elle’s idea.”

She shot me a glance and I shrugged as well. “What do you two want to drink? The bartender has been eyeing me all night so I think we’re getting a discount.”

Liam rolled his eyes as he requested a Guinness. Sloane didn’t bother waiting for me to decide, suddenly remembering a strawberry beer she’d heard about and thought I’d like. She flagged the bartender and I roared with laughter. He didn’t even look old enough to drink let alone work behind a bar slinging beer.

“Wha’ can I get for ya, love?”

“The grump in the back would like a Guinness—”

“Cheers, mate! A good ol’ Irish stout!”

Sloane was absolutely beaming, half in love with the Irish bartender. “My beautiful boss here would like a strawberry Timmermans, and I’ll take whatever you suggest.”

He nodded before taking off. Liam wasn’t too impressed with Sloane’s flirting, but I instantly contemplated making her part of the team. She was good.

“His name’s Niall,” she told me, elbowing me in the ribs. “He gets off at two.”

I laughed. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I had to entertain myself somehow. You were taking forever.”

“Whatever. Don’t come crying to me when he gets deported and has to go back to the Emerald Isle.” Sloane scoffed. “Liam, watch my drink. I have to use the bathroom.”

I weaved back through the sea of hipsters in search of the restroom. This was why I didn’t go out much unless I absolutely had to: I was an introvert at heart and being squished between so many people at once gave me anxiety.

As I entered the bathroom, I nearly shot myself in the face. “Genevieve?”

She pulled herself away from the mirror long enough to take me in. “Elle!”

Genevieve finished applying a fresh coat of mascara. She freshened up her lipstick and checked the time on her phone. All I could do was stare. This wasn’t the same woman that wandered in my office a week ago; this was someone more confident, more gutsy. And there was no engagement ring on her finger.

Just then, the last stall crept open and a sharply-dressed Lou Tomlinson stepped out, trying to ruffle his hair back into place.

My eyes immediately locked on Genevieve. “You’ve got to be kidding me. With his best friend? And in a bar bathroom?” She had the dignity to look ashamed, but she wasn’t pulling any wool over my eyes. “What the fuck are you paying me for?” I hissed.

“Please—”

Lou came up behind her, placing an assuring hand on her shoulder. “Evangeline?”

“You two know each other?”

I nodded, making mention of Franklin & Roberts as my face lit up with a fake smile. “What are the odds I’d run into you two here!”

Lou turned his attention back to Gen, who looked like she’d rather be dead than standing in front of me with her fiancé’s best friend’s mark on her. “We should probably get back to the table, yeah?” They both bid me a good evening before they exited the bathroom.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and pulled up my last conversation with Gen. I typed five words and sent the message, not even waiting for it to go through before I angrily shoved my phone back to where I’d gotten it.

You are one stupid bitch.