Reasonable Doubt: Volume 3 (Reasonable Doubt 3)

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to send your Armani suit to another dry cleaning company?” she asked. “This is the third time you’ve sent them those pants. I don’t think that brown stain is coming out.”

“No, thank you.” I sighed. “Just order me some new ones please.”

“Will do!” She batted her eyes at me as she left, and I immediately emailed Aubrey.

Subject: Super Glue.

I no longer drink your f**king coffee, but since you’ve once again proven how much of a novice you are when it comes to the law, I’ll be saving your handwritten note so my friends will know who to charge with my murder.

Grow up.

—Andrew

Subject: Re: Super Glue.

You don’t have any friends. I was your only one. And I don’t care if you save my handwritten note because I’ve saved all of your EMAILS—especially the ones that say, “Come to my office so I can eat your pu**y on my lunch break,” or “I love the way your mouth looks when you wrap it around my cock.”

You first.

—Aubrey.

I started typing my response—not willing to give her the last word, but I heard Jessica clearing her throat.

“Something else I can help you with today?” I looked up. “I could’ve sworn you just left my office.”

“Word around the firm is that today is your birthday.”

“Today is not my birthday.”

“That’s not what HR said.”

“HR is full of shit.” I looked at the coffee mug on the edge of my desk, noticing that the coffee wasn’t even brown. It was orange. “But speaking of HR, could you have them ban Miss Everhart from touching the coffee machines?”

“Doubt it.” She stepped closer. “Between you and me, we’re throwing you a surprise party in the break room. Like, right now. We’ve been waiting for you to take a break but you haven’t, so…Can you step in for a second?”

“Did you just tell me no about my coffee machine request?”

“I’ll handle it after you come to your party.” She smiled and reached for my hand, but I stood on my own.

“I’ve told your grandfather on multiple occasions that I don’t appreciate his employee birthday parties.”

She shrugged and led me down the hall. “Make sure you look surprised. I put a lot of work into this…I always go the extra mile for you.”

I ignored the way she was licking her lips.

She pushed the door open, and all of the staff tossed confetti into the air and shouted, “Happy Birthday, Mr. Hamilton!” Then they began to sing the birthday song—out of tune and terribly off key.

I walked over to the windows where they’d placed a small white cake with blue candles, and blew them out before the song ended.

“Happy Birthday, Andrew!” Mr. Greenwood handed me a blue envelope. “How old are you today?”

“Seeing as though today is not my birthday, I’m the same age as I was yesterday.”

He laughed, still incapable of catching when I was being short with him. Holding his stomach in jest, he motioned for one of the interns to take our photo.