Idon’t do waiting well. Especially not alone, and especially not tonight, when the world has reduced itself to the click of the ice in my glass and the muffled drone of traffic bleeding through twenty stories of glass. My penthouse, my castle—designed to repel any intrusion of ordinary life—is now a prison of self-inflicted silence while I watch the clock crawl toward seven.
I still don’t know why I’ve invited Marnie over without also inviting my law partner. After all, James and I have never seen a woman alone, at least not when the game started together. Of course, we’ve dated women individually when we initially met her out in the wild because we’re not bosom buddies or any shit like that. But we’ve never gone it alone when we were introduced to a curvy filly together, and especially not when we’ve already fucked her in a dirty double team. Yet here I am, waiting for Marnie by myself, pacing the floors and checking the table setting for the fifth time. What the fuck? I must be losing it.
At least the apartment is immaculate. The dining room’s pale maple and brass, the table set with bone-white plates and black matte cutlery. In the living room, the windows catch what’s left of the sunset and smear it across a hundred square feet of engineered perfection. The art is original, mostly monochrome, a few with a splash of red just to keep things interesting. The housekeeper left two hours ago, but Mrs. Jackson left a nice dinner:osso buco, my go-to for nights that require gravitas. Milanese has always been a fave, and the mouth-watering aroma of braised veal makes my stomach growl.
At 6:57, I kill the lights in the foyer and stand by the windows, looking down at the city. My phone vibrates: “Running a few behind, be up soon.” No period. Of course she doesn’t punctuate. It’s something about Gen Z. Or is Marnie Gen Alpha? Holy shit, I don’t even want to think about our age gap.
At 7:16, the elevator pings. The private vestibule lights up, and I catch the young woman in the security cam before I even hear the knock. She’s not in fuck-you stilettos this time. Instead: a black sheath dress, hem just below the knee, golden hair loose over one shoulder. No jewelry except a gold locket. She holds a jacket in front of her like a shield, and for a second she hesitates. But why? A smirk decorates my lips. She’s just as nervous as I am, and for good reason.
The elevator doors slide open, and there the golden goddess stands. Marnie looks up, startled, blue eyes wide and wild for a split second before she resets to neutral. “Sorry I’m late,” she mewls, stepping inside. “The Uber took a detour through Gravesend, and I’m not sure why.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and for once, it actually is. “Drink?”
“Wine, please,” she says, “If you have it, that is.” I’m already pouring. The bottle is a syrah, deep and bruised; I hand her a glass and watch the tension go out of her shoulders as she takes the first sip. "Mmm, so good.”
“You like?” I ask.
Marnie smiles sweetly.
“Very much so, thank you.”
I have half a mind to throw her on the rug right now, but dinner’s already ready, so I gesture her through the living room. She runs a finger along the edge of a sculpture as we pass, leaving a perfect fingerprint. “You have an Alexander Calder?”
“I have two,” I say in a low rumble. “I have to admit I wasn’t into the colors at first because they can be freakin’ bright. But my interior decorator convinced me, and now everyone who comes over loves them.”
Marnie shoots me a sweet smile over one slim shoulder.
“I love this one, Brent,” she mewls. “It’s gorgeous.”
Again, the caveman instinct to toss her over one shoulder and ravish her curves is strong, but we’ve reached the dining room, so it’s a bit too late. No matter. We’ll have time later. As Marnie sits, I pour her another splash of wine and gesture to theosso bucoin front of her. “I hope you eat veal.”
She smiles sweetly again. “I’m a curvy girl, so I love all food, and this smells absolutely delicious. I bet I’ll have two portions.”
I nod with approval.
“Please do, sweetheart. There’s enough for thirds even, and you know I adore your curves. Hell, if you put on thirty pounds, you’d look even better.”
She blushes.
“Thirty pounds!”
“Hell yeah,” I rasp while eyeing her big breasts. “I love a woman with flesh, sweetheart, and making those tits grow, as well as your ass, would be ideal.”
Marnie giggles.
“Oh my god, you’re so bad, Brent. I can’t put on thirty pounds, not when the doctors are already offering me Ozempic! But this isn’t a topic for dinner, not when the food looks so amazing. So tell me everything. How did you come to practice law?”
I nod while cutting into my ownosso buco, and we chat about the usual. A bit about our backgrounds, schooling, work experience, etc. Usually, I find this shit boring as hell, but with the vivacious girl, everything’s interesting. At one point, Marnie tells a story about a TA who hit on her during section, except he was so inept that he ended up tripping over his own shoes. I snort so hard with laughter I almost choke. But the main event, the reason Marnie’s here, sits between us like an unacknowledged guest.
I wait until she’s halfway through her second glass to bring it up.
“About your father’s case,” I say, not quite a question.
Marnie sets her fork down. Her eyes go unreadable, as she bites her bottom lip. “Are you going to tell me I’m wasting my time?”
“Not at all,” I say in a smooth tone, choosing my words. “I want you to find what you’re looking for.”
She cocks her head curiously. “But why?”
