Animalistic (Tiger in Her Bed)

“We do and he tried and failed. Darbo always seemed to sniff them out, so none of the process servers have panned out.”

“What about the PI? Don’t we have that in-house investigator you just hired?”

“It’s just our luck that Jessica is already on assignment in Vermont. She won’t be back until Friday. In the meantime, the summons must be delivered by tomorrow evening. Don’t screw up this job.”

“Now, you just wait a minute. I’m a paralegal. This isn’t part of my job description.”

Sabrina crossed her arms over her chest, looking triumphant. “Arielle, you do what I tell you to do. If you no longer want to follow my instructions, then feel free to look for another source of employment.” With that, she turned on her heels and exited Arielle’s office with the flounce of a peacock.

Arielle deflated instantly.

That bitch!

Someone rapped on the door. Arielle looked up and saw her on and off and on again boyfriend, Chris Rolland, by the door. He was also an attorney at the firm and worked under Sabrina. They had been going out since their sophomore year in high school, but she had known him for a lot longer than that; they had been childhood friends since kindergarten.

As a former star quarterback, Chris was tall, well-built, and reasonably good looking. Arielle had been crazy about him since the first time Chris asked her out. Chris said she was his first love. They had a bumpy ride over the years, yet had somehow managed to stay together.

But over the last few months, they had drifted apart. Arielle suspected Chris had been cheating on her, but she didn’t have any proof. With her mother’s passing, losing her associate’s position, and the mounting medical bills she needed to pay, she didn’t have time to dwell on her suspicions. She had enough on her plate already.

“Have you seen Sabrina?” Chris asked.

“I’m fine, but thank you for asking,” she answered sarcastically. She looked like shit, her hair was messy, her clothes dirty, and the broken attaché sat on her desk, yet he remained oblivious. A sympathetic, “Hey, are you okay?” would be nice. After all, he was her boyfriend, right? She remained faithful all these years. Her eyes never even strayed to any other man. Arielle had been pretty when she was younger, but she knew she had kind of let herself go the last couple of years because of stress. Food was her refuge. Sweets were her anxiety release. Still, despite gaining that weight, she was still cute. Guys still looked at her. In fact, an insanely hot and gorgeous guy asked for her number earlier. She didn’t oblige him because she wasn’t single. Wouldn’t that, at least, merit her a brownie point of loyalty? Was a simple “Are you okay?” too much to ask?

Chris’s expression darkened. “I wasn’t asking because I don’t want to get into an argument. I guess I can’t win, can I?”

In Chris’ language, that meant he didn’t want to argue when she was clearly PMS-ing.

Arielle gritted her teeth and counted to ten to calm herself. Everything was out of control and she felt like she was losing her grip on her sanity. Her crappy apartment was falling apart. Her career was circling the drain. Her financial outlook was dire and she had lost her mom, the one person who had been her pillar of her strength, to cancer. Truthfully, she felt lost. Was it, really, too much for her to ask for a little sympathy?

Arielle tried to force her face into a blank expression. “Whatever.”

Chris snorted and left.

Arielle wondered if they should have gone their separate ways months ago. They broke up, but when she lost her mother, Chris said he wanted to reconcile, since Arielle needed emotional support. But Chris wasn’t of much comfort in her bereavement. He remained distant and aloof, so what was the point of them staying together?

She drew a deep breath, her heart heavy with anxiety.

Let it go. You don’t have time for this crap.

Just let it go.

Arielle decided to get to work to distract herself. She cleaned her desk and did some light filing. Since she had been demoted, she’d lost her secretary and assistant. She now did all the legwork for Sabrina’s cases. Researching and drafting strategies, preparing paperwork, all the things that Sabrina hated to do. All Sabrina needed to do now was to look good in front of the clients. The bitch rarely even argued her own cases at trial. It gave her frown lines, she’d said.

Arielle went to the firm’s law library and did some research on an arbitration that had been dragging on for almost a year. She jotted down notes and filled almost a whole legal pad before she retreated to her office and typed a counter offer for Sabrina to present to the client. She then studied the documents that Sabrina gave her and did some research on Frank Darbo.

Frank Augustine Darbo was a twenty-six-year-old entrepreneur, but he came from old money. His father owned a few construction companies in New York, Seattle, and Los Angeles. After several failed business ventures, rumor had it that Frank had been cut from the family gravy train by his father. But Frank bounced back because he secured a financial investment in his nightclub from Anthony Caputo, a notorious Jersey Mafia boss.

About seven weeks ago, Darbo was partying with his friends, and he got so drunk that he harassed a cocktail waitress to the point that the girl fell and hit her head on the table, and she sustained brain damage from her injuries. Sabrina currently represented the woman who sued him in civil court. Her boss tried to serve the guy, but Frank was slicker than an eel when it came to avoiding the summons in person. Since the in-house private investigator was swamped, the unpleasant job fell into Arielle’s lap.

Arielle wrote down Frank’s information, then she took the letter and placed it inside her purse. The guy owned a club about sixty blocks from her office in the Bowery, so no matter what time of day she went, it would be a trek. She would get a taxi this time and Sabrina could pay the fare. She didn’t care if Sabrina grumbled; this wasn’t her job to begin with.

The afternoon traffic wasn’t as bad as before, but it still took her about thirty minutes to get to Frank’s club. Because Frank liked to consider his club “exclusive,” one couldn’t easily find its location. It was sandwiched between a hookah lounge and insurance agent’s office. Arielle checked her watch.

It was 2:30pm.

Sabrina’s client

informed the firm that Frank was usually at this club around this time. Arielle wondered whether she should barge in or wait and ambush him when he got out.