Groaning, I set my elbow on my desk and my chin in my hand. Then I glance across and stop on a line of men in black suits. Four of them in a row. Whether they’re breathing, I couldn’t say, because they don’t move at all. If they possess emotion, they don’t show it. If any of them need to pee, they control themselves enough not to squirm.
“Dude on the far left is kinda cute,” Raquel adds. “It’s like if Rambo and Chuck Norris had an angry little baby, and that baby grew up to be seven feet tall and maybe got in a knife fight once upon a time. The other guy got in a lucky shot, slicing Baby Chuck’s face up, but in the end, Chuck won, and the guy with the knife has never been seen or heard from again.”
“You have a vivid imagination.” I close my eyes, breaking focus with the Rambo/Chuck Norris amalgamation, and trying—but failing—to come up with a reasonable excuse for their presence. Instead, I go with something close-ish to the truth. “We have a high-profile DB in house today. He makes eleven.”
Doctor Torres’ eyes flare wide. “You want me to?—”
“Nope. I’ll do it.” Dropping my hand, I sit back in my chair and cross one leg over the other. “Don’t speak to the guys out there. Don’t get jokey. Don’t offer them coffee.” I meet Raquel’s playful gaze. “I’m not kidding. That’s a direct order from your chief. Go. Work.” I gesture toward the door. “Check your email for assignments.”
They file out, heads down, eyes on the floor, and shoulders tucked tight, like they’re afraid of taking up too much space. But Doctor Raquel remains seated.
Of course she does. She’s a pain in my ass.
“Do you need something?”
“Are things weird between us now?”
The door swings shut behind Kirk. The suction of air stops, and thetap-tap-tapof shoes on tile fades away. I’m anxious to get Agosti’s body on my table sooner rather than later, but I take this moment and meet Raquel’s questioning gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Well… you met Taylor on Saturday. And Taylor’s a woman.”
“This is true.” I set my feet on the floor and stand. “Who you have in your bed is none of my concern.”
“Right. It’s not. But maybe you think it’s weird. Because I feel like we were friends before. Under duress.” She forces a laugh. “You didn’t like it, but you allowed it. Turns out my boyfriend is actually my girlfriend, and now, it’s like you don’t have time for me anymore.”
“You were in my home yesterday! In my pool. You ate at my table.”
“And then you kicked me out because I brought her up.”
“I didn’t kick you out because of anything you said!”I kicked you out because my life is currently on fire.Sighing, I clasp my hands together and wander around to the front of my desk. “You know me, Raquel. I’m socially stunted and lack basic manners. I kicked you out because I was done having guests. I’d had alotof them, forhours,and that was on the back of a wedding that had already drained my social battery. I don’t care who you’re sleeping with. I don’t care if they’re male or female. I don’t care if you have one of each in your bed at the same time, or none, or some other variation of the V and the D. I honestly just don’t give a crap. Be happy, hurt no one, and keep your standards high. If Taylor is good to you, then I’m happy for you. If, eventually, the relationship turns to shit, then toss her to the side and try someone else.”
“Are you…” She stands, too, dropping her hands into her coat pockets and lowering her gaze to the floor. Which is not like Raquelat all. “Are you sure it’s not weird? Maybe you have gay friends—like, two dudes—but if I’m your first two-chicks friend, then maybe it’s got something spinning in the back of your mind. Something you didn’t even know existed until this very moment. And now you don’t know how to toss me away without looking like an asshole.”
“Have Ievercared about looking like an asshole?” I counter easily. “No. I haven’t. I consider you my friend now, just as I did on Friday.”
“As in, not at all?”
“Exactly. Bang whoever you wanna bang. Just keep coming to work and make your way through that massive backlog piled up on your desk. If being in a relationship means you slow the team down—whether you’re dating a guy or a girl—I’ll kick your ass and schedule you for so much overtime, whatever romance youthoughtyou were enjoying won’t last long. Next time, wait for Aubree to be here before you ask for adeep-and-meaningful. I count on her to shield me from uncomfortable conversations, and she usually smooths feathers and keeps me from being too offensive.”
“Uncomfortable conversations… because I like chicks sometimes?”
“Uncomfortable, because you’re talking about feelings! Now go.” I head to my door and yank it open. “Are you secretly attracted to me, Doctor Raquel? It would explain why you didn’t go to my wedding and you never say nice things about my husband.”
She scoffs, breezing through the door and coming to a stop on the other side. “If I were going to bang a female coworker, I’d pick Aubree.She’swaynicer than you, and her taste in men is admirable. I’m not saying I’d toss Archer out of my bed if he ended up in it, and he’s totally cute with how he treats you like fine china. But Tim is in a whole other league of his own. He’s a Grade-A hottie.”
“Get out!” Laughing, I toss the door closed, but it doesn’t slam the way I want it to. Instead, it slowly, painfully, torturously shifts an inch at a time toward the midpoint. “Shit. This isn’t as dramatic as I wanted it to be.”
“Sucks to be you.” Raquel finger waves and turns on her heels, only to almost walk straight into Rambo’s firstborn son. “Jesus!” She startles, sidesteps, and broadens her shoulders. Brimming with pride and faux sophistication, she flips her hair back and makes a beeline for the elevator.
Don’t talk to them. Don’t joke with them. Don’t mess with them.
But I didn’t say not to almost run face-first into one.
Shaking my head, I stalk back to my desk and drop into my chair. Rolling it forward, I wiggle my computer mouse and continue delegating cases. I work through all ten in no particular order and with no consideration for who gets which, but when I pull up my first—not Agosti—so I can sandwich the prick between both cases, Rambo’s colleague—a muscle clad dude who looks like Jackie Chan and Val Kilmer had a child—strides through my door and stops in front of my desk. His eyes are hard, his hands balled by his sides. His weapons are not freely exposed, but I’d be naïve to assume he carries none. Especially considering the bulge at the side of his jacket.
“It’s time for you to complete your assignment, Chief Mayet.”
I stare at my computer screen and consider how best to tell a massive, trigger-happy guy tofuck offtactfully. But before I have a chance to open my mouth, my phone trills, so I swing my hand out and snatch it up on the first ring. “This is Chief Mayet.”
