Difficult. That’s one way of describing our situation.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Sarina.” The way my name rolls of his tongue, even with the sternness that has interjected itself in his voice, has me wanting him to say it again. “Please, sit.”
“Fine, if you insist.” I sit down inhischair, and ever the gentleman, he rolls it in for me.
“So.” He lets out a sigh, attempting to break the ice as he slouches his posture on his desk.
“So…you’re an attorney.” I reduce my voice to a whisper, shooting a glance at the door. “And not a mobster.”
His index finger presses to his lips. “Shh. I don’t want that getting out.”
“Got it,” I say, gliding an invisible zipper over my lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Appreciate it. And you moonlight as a paralegal when you’re not dancing, I take it?”
I lift my hands. “Guilty.”
“Why?” He asks, full of genuine curiosity. “I mean, Luxe is way more exciting than anything a law firm can offer. And I know what the entry-level membership rate is, so I’m sure you’re paid well.”
“I am. But…” I hesitate for a moment, uncertain how to answer.
The short answer? Because I’m in a lot of debt.
The more accurate answer? I’m in a lot of debtwithan impending due date that my lapse in paychecks, coupled with the recent increase in my rent, gave me no choice but to accept this job, even if it’s temporary.
“You know what, that’s a long story. Forget it.”
“I have time.”
I draw in a deep breath. “I know, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course, I’m sorry.” He settles into the chair across from me.
“Yeah, it’s a whole thing, and now I’m suspended-”
“Wait a minute, what do you mean suspended?”
Fuck my life. So much for not getting into it.
“You’re a smart guy. They didn’t teach you the definition of suspension at law school?”
He skates right over my sarcasm, seeing it for what it is, a deflection. “Do you mean to tell me that after that guy was bothering you,youare the one being punished? That’s?—”
“The way the world is,” I interrupt him.
The look on his face is anything but in agreement with that statement.
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
I wish I could share in his anger, but unfortunately, I’ve grown accustomed –and in part numb– to situations like this. I’m used to men behaving badly, always justified by others under the antiquated guise of “Boys will be boys”. He’s right . Itisbullshit. It’s fucked up how any time a woman stands up for herself she’s perceived as the problem instead of addressing that actual problem that made her need to defend herself in the first place.
Tomás’ phone is back in his hands, his fingers feverishly gliding over the keyboard.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Finding Luxe’s number so I can …”
