Stipulation

By Sawyer Bennett

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2014 by Sawyer Bennett

Published by Big Dog Books

ISBN: 978-1-940883-06-9

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

“Do you have
your pajamas?”

“Yes,” I
say with a smile.

“And
toothpaste?”

“Yup.”

“And
everything you need in your briefcase?”

“Double-checked.”

“Finally…
and most importantly, did you pack sexy lingerie?”

My eyebrows shoot
upward at Macy while she gives me a lecherous grin. “There is
no need for sexy lingerie,” I admonish her. “It’s a
business trip, for goodness sake.”

“Yeah, but an
overnight business trip… two nights to be exact, with sexy,
hot, and orgasm-inducing Number 134,” Macy points out.

“He’s
not Number 134,” I snap at her. “He’s Matt
Connover, my boss.”

Macy sighs in
pleasure, assuredly replaying all the sexy details of my encounters
with Matt, which I ultimately told her about over two bottles of
wine. “He’ll always be Number 134 to me.”

“You’re
demented,” I tell her. “Demented and sad… but
social.”

Macy throws a pillow
at me, catching me squarely in the face. “Stop quoting 80s’
movies. It freaks me out when you do that.”

“I did it just
to get you to shut up about Matt. You skeeve me out when you start
fantasizing about him based on my experiences.”

Snickering, I bend
over and zip up my suitcase. I have to meet Matt at the airport in an
hour, so I need to get down and get a cab. Pulling out the handle on
my overnight and snapping it in place, I start rolling toward the
front door. “Will you miss me while I’m gone?”

“I will
totally miss you while you’re gone,” Macy tells me.
“You’re my girl.”

“I’ll
always be your girl,” I tell her, and then amend. “That
was Forrest Gump… definitely not an 80s’ movie.”

“Much more
palatable,” she commends me.

I give Macy a quick
hug, tell her to not get into any trouble while I’m gone, and
then head to the airport.

When I get there, I
hustle my way through security and toward my gate. Even though JFK is
crowded, I immediately spot Matt. He’s reading a newspaper, a
briefcase and carry-on suitcase beside him. He’s wearing
another perfectly tailored suit, that probably costs more than a
month of my salary, and has one leg crossed over the other. He looks
like the height of confidence and sophistication all rolled into one.

As if sensing I’m
there, he lifts his face up and scans the crowd, coming to a firm
rest on me. His whiskey eyes trail down me briefly, and then come
back up. The look isn’t sensual, but it isn’t
businesslike either. In fact, I might categorize it as wistful. Matt
gives me a small smile in welcome as I approach.

I take a seat next
to him and ask, “How was your weekend?”

I ask because I
still can’t help the inane jealousy that courses through me
when I think about Matt hitting up
One Night Only
as he said
he would. I also ask because I’m a glutton for punishment.
Because not knowing is worse than knowing the absolute worst thing he
could possibly say to me, which I realize is a confusing and
spectacularly tongue-trippy sort of thought had I indeed actually
voiced it, but since I used my inside voice, it’s all good.

Matt doesn’t
disappoint. After staring hard at me for a moment, his lips curl up
and he says, “I had an amazing weekend. One of the best ever.”

Bitter acid swirls
in my stomach. His comment is pointed, designed to hurt, and also to
make sure I clearly remember what he told me. Our time is over, and
he has moved on. He apparently had a great hookup with someone and
just like that… I’m forgotten.

It makes me a little
bitchy, so I say, “What a coincidence. Me too. Gotta love that
One Night Only
.”

That tiny muscle in
Matt’s jaw pops back and forth as he stares at me, then he
smiles at me. Almost evilly. “Definitely love it, although they
should rename it
Two Nights Only
. It was
that
good of a
weekend.”

Oh, that pisses me
off, and I’m pissed off at myself that it pisses me off. Score
one for Matt Connover. That was like a punch in the gut and, even
though I have no right to be, my feelings are hurt just a tiny bit.

Sometimes I hate
being a woman and all the things that come with it that make me soft
and mushy.

Pushing those
thoughts aside, because they really have no room in my head, I ask
Matt to tell me more about the case that is sending us all the way to
Chicago for depositions. He makes a smooth transition from gloating
over his weekend sexcapades, and spends the next twenty minutes until
our flight is ready describing, with mind-numbing detail, about his
lawsuit. It’s against a major auto manufacturer that produced a
vehicle where the seatbelts were faulty, causing their customers to
be ejected from the vehicle during rollovers, or shot through the
windshield in head-on collisions. Matt spoke with fervor and
righteous indignation over the poor victims, practically sneering
when he told me he had proof that they knew the seatbelts were
faulty, but didn’t want to spend the money to do a recall.
Rather, they rolled the dice and hoped no one made a claim for
compensation.

I have a feeling
that they are going to be very sorry for crossing Matt Connover.

Apparently, we would
be doing the depositions of some of the big wigs in the corporation,
to see just how high up the ladder the conspiracy to keep the secrets
of the faulty seatbelts went. My job would be to sit there and take
tedious notes on every question and answer, making sure that I even
paid attention to the deponents’ facial reactions in case Matt
stumbled on something that they really didn’t want him to know
about.

I’m excited to
see Matt in action. Despite the rocky start to our working
relationship, I am eager to learn from him. I did some of my own
Googling of the illustrious Matt Connover, and found that he is well
respected in the legal community. He’s already made quite a
name for himself after only ten years of practice.

I just need to
remember to keep my libido in check, my heart on guard, and my work
beyond impeccable, and all will be well in my life.

The first day of
depositions are over, and we’ve all met down in the hotel
bar/restaurant for drinks, dinner, and then more drinks.

We’re on the
more drinks part now, and there is room to celebrate. Matt killed it
today, and it was almost a surreal experience.

First, we were at
the corporate defendant’s law firm, a massive, steel-and-glass
structure that dwarfed the rest of the Chicago skyline. The
depositions took place in the largest conference room I’ve ever
seen. The table was massive and could seat fifty people, although
there were only about fifteen in attendance.

The lawsuit is
complex, and there are multiple parties. There are five plaintiffs
total, and all of their lawyers had flown in to hear the testimony.
Matt had long ago been appointed lead counsel. He was the only one
asking the questions—and the man was pure genius.

I thought the
questioning would be contentious but quite the contrary… Matt
took the ‘good old boy’ approach. He softened up each
deponent with benign questions, carefully poking and prodding.
Nodding in commiseration, he gave sympathetic looks over how hard
their jobs were. At one point, during the first deposition, I even
began to wonder if Matt’s heart was really in it.

But then, just when
he had them practically eating out of his hand, he attacked and went
on the offensive. He caught them in lie after lie, and then pulled
out reams of documents to shove under their noses, showing how he
exposed their lies. I swear he even had one guy in tears after
pointing out the multitude of untruths that had been captured by the
court reporter, who was recording every single word with a smirk on
her face.

Yes, tonight we are
celebrating, even though we have another day’s worth of
depositions tomorrow. Matt told me it wouldn’t be so easy
during the next round. He told me that, rest assured, the defense
would be up all night preparing their witnesses to try to withstand
Matt’s attacks the following day.

Still, I have an
immense level of pride in Matt as I watch the other plaintiffs’
lawyers slap him on the back and repeatedly shake his hand. They are
all riding high on the fresh kills today, no doubt seeing the way
paved clear for a successful outcome for the victims in this case.
Matt is like a bright beacon among a sea of dull and boring people.
Everyone wants to be around him, everyone wants to hear what nugget
of wisdom or wit will come out of those sexy lips, and everyone wants
a piece of him.

Including me.

We are into our
third round of drinks following dinner, and I mentally tell myself
that this is the last one. I need to get to bed and get some sleep,
needing to keep my mental processes sharp tomorrow. Matt definitely
relied on my notes, often stopping several times in the deposition to
lean over and quietly ask me to clarify something that had been said.

Taking another sip
of my wine, I watch Matt standing off to the side, deep in
conversation with one of the other attorneys. It should be an
absolute sin how good looking the man is, and another pang of longing
and regret that we couldn’t have something hits me deep in my
chest.

Someone jostles my
barstool, causing some of my wine to spill on my dress. I had changed
from my plain black business suit to a jersey wraparound dress in
navy blue for dinner, and grimaced when a large splash hit my lap.
Turning around to glare, I come face to face with one of the other
attorneys that was in the depositions. His name is Brian
Something-Or-Other. When Matt introduced me to him earlier today, his
eyes immediately dropped to my breasts and he looked at them
continually throughout the day.

He pushes in toward
the bar, knocking into me again. “Might want to have a little
more care there,” I tell him testily.

He turns to me with
bleary eyes, and yup… he’s drunk. Looking at me for a
moment as if he doesn’t recognize me, his eyes finally focus a
bit and a sleazy smile takes over his face. Right on cue, his eyes
drop to my cleavage, which is on half display in this dress, and then
back up at me. He licks his lips and says, “Hey… you’re
Matt’s paralegal, right? You were in the depositions today?”

And I sat across
from you at dinner tonight for two hours, jerk. Good memory.

“I’m a
lawyer,” I tell him firmly.

“Right,”
he says, like a bell just went off in his head. He leans in toward
me, wobbling slightly, and pretends that this is just our little
secret. “You are one sexy fucking lawyer.”

As if this couldn’t
get any worse, a little bit of spittle flies from his mouth and hits
me on my chest. I look down in distaste, taking the napkin from under
my wine glass and dabbing at my skin. This sudden movement apparently
lures his gaze back down to my boobs, and he openly leers at them.