Grind (Cal and Macy's Story 2)

In that case, a prominent plastic surgeon in Raleigh had been diddling his nurse behind his wife's back, so said irate wife sued the nurse for alienation of affection and Reeve's firm dumped the case on him. He had just moved down to the area from New York where he worked in a foreign acquisitions firm, so his litigation skills were a bit rusty. I was more than happy to help him out.

But that case was very different from this one. It was a lot tougher. The nurse knew the doctor was married and there were email transcripts the wife had after hacking her husband's account. Tons and tons of love letters via email between the two, with the nurse urging the husband to leave his wife.

It was a pretty slam-dunk case, but the only saving grace for Reeve was that the wife wasn't such a saint herself. We found tons of gory stuff on her, including membership at a swinger's club that she would attend by herself when her husband was off bopping the nurse.

All salacious and the stuff litigation dreams are made of, but it rapidly settled when we presented our dirt on the wife.

I throw the ball up once more, catch it, and then sit up from the couch. I need to get some dirt on this Brian Merrill and his wife.

Reaching over to the coffee table, I grab my phone and dial Reeve. He answers on the second ring.

"Hey man," he says as soon as the line connects. "How's life in The Big Apple?"

Chuckling, I say, "Just as bustling as when you left. Are you ready to come back yet?"

"Maybe," he says affably. "It's hotter than Hades down here in the summer, but I'm sure I'll be loving it come wintertime when you're buried under snow."

"Heard that," I concur. "So listen... I've got another alienation-of-affection case. Filed in Utah. I need the contact info for that investigator you hired to get the dirt on the plaintiff."

"Sure thing," Reeve says. "It's on my computer at the office, so I'll email it to you tomorrow as soon as I get in."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"So what's this case about?" Reeve asks with interest as I lean back and prop my feet up on the coffee table. Wouldn't hurt to get his take on things.

"My partner, Mac, asked me to handle this case. Her best friend, Macy, is the one that got sued."

"Eeesh," Reeve says in sympathy, because he also knows the perils of doing legal work for close friends and family. "Tread carefully, my friend, because you know these cases get dirty."

I huff out a breath of annoyance. "Yeah, I know. I really didn't want to take this case, but she called in a marker. Had no choice."

"What's your defense? Did Macy know the dude was married?" he intuitively asks.

"Yeah, she knew."

"Evil, witchy woman." Reeve snickers, and it pisses me off.

"She's not like that," I snap, and then I immediately wince hard for coming so quickly to Macy's defense. So I temper my voice when I add on, "It was just a one-night stand. She hasn't talked to the guy since--most certainly never did anything to encourage him to leave his wife."

"I don't understand," Reeve says perplexed. "Where's the claim then? I mean... Macy would have had to do something to break the marriage up."

"That's why I want the investigator. If what Macy tells me is true, then I don't see the claim. We might even be able to get it dismissed on summary judgment, but if that doesn't work, I want something else in my arsenal. This just smells too funky to me."

"Think it's a scam?" he asks wisely.

"Yeah, probably," I tell him. "Macy's wealthy. Like insanely wealthy, so the wife may be looking to score a quick buck."

"If that's the case, then there will be dirt on her. People that try to scam never fly under the radar," he says with confidence. "I'll email the investigator's contact information to you in the morning and just call me if you need any other help."

Reeve and I continue to talk for a while. He brings me up to speed on the new firm he's working at, Battle, Carnes, and Pearson. It's a huge insurance defense firm, and an exact replica of the type of firm I worked at before becoming Mac's partner. It was work I hated, and I'm betting Reeve will hate working there too. He's got too much heart and empathy for people to survive in the brutal world of billable hours and corporate sharks. But I don't discourage him. He's going to have to figure that out for himself.

After we hang up, I make myself a late dinner of frozen pizza and a beer, then I content myself to watch some Saturday Night Live I've had saved up on my DVR. Comedy is a surefire way to get my mind off Macy because there isn't anything funny about the obsessive way I keep thinking about her.

I'm attracted to her like no other woman I've ever met, and I'm beyond intrigued by what makes her tick. She's like a fucking puzzle, where I have the outside edges all complete and now I'm just trying to fit all the jagged pieces on the inside together.

Time consuming

Frustrating.

But rewarding at the end.

SNL keeps me nicely occupied for a while, and I could proudly say that I would have made it the rest of the night without barely thinking of Macy, except that becomes next to impossible when my phone dings and I see it's a text from her.

It simply says, What do you think?

I stare at those four little words, and I have no clue what she's asking me about. Is she being witty? Or was there a hidden meaning within that question?

Before I can even rationally come up with a semi-cool response, another ding and she's sent me a picture.

Of a dildo.

An enormous, purple dildo that but for the coloring, looks remarkably lifelike, complete with thick veins crisscrossing the shaft.

That's quite purple, I text back.

I imagine her laughing when she gets my response. I have no clue if she will, because I don't know what humors her, but because I think Macy might be a very sad woman, I really hope she laughs.

And because I have an appreciative sense of humor, I do, in fact, laugh when she texts, I named it Saint Cal.

You know I'm not really a saint, I respond, enjoying the hell out of this banter. It's probably not appropriate, but I can't seem to help myself.

I wait for her response, but nothing comes. I stare

at my phone for an awkward thirty seconds, and then I try to immerse myself back into SNL, cutting quick glances every once in a while. After about five minutes, I actually forget about Macy, only to have my phone ding in my hand again.

Want me to send you a picture of me using it?

Fuck.

Fuck me.

Fuck me standing about ten different ways.

I want to tell her yes. I want it right now, and I'm going to use it to spank my now-hard dick. Squeezing my eyes shut briefly, I take a deep breath, and after I exhale it slowly, I open my eyes and text her back. No. It would be too torturous.

I have no clue if this will piss her off or egg her on. Knowing how bad and mischievous Macy can be, I expect her to send the picture anyway. I briefly think of blocking her phone number or dropping my phone in the toilet. Anything to prevent me from seeing it, because I'm actually afraid that if I do, I might head over to her apartment and take matters into my own hand.

Instead, I nearly drop the phone from my hand when it starts ringing.

Caller ID: Macy Carrington.

I hesitantly answer, "Hey."

"I didn't mean to tease you with Saint Cal," she says sweetly. And she means it. Her voice is slightly mischievous but completely apologetic.

"I'm really not a saint," I reiterate, and I don't tell her this because it annoys me when she calls me that. I tell her because I want her to know that I'm not perfect. I want her to know that even I have things I'm ashamed of and therefore, I might possibly understand her a bit more than she gives me credit for.

"You're not?" she asks in mock surprise. "I thought I saw a halo of golden light around your head when you made me come each time."

Fuck... cock gets harder.

I love her blunt words. I love her dirty thoughts and sexual taunts. Not many women can carry it, but Macy owns it.

But I need to steer her into safe conversation. "Trust me... I've done things that make me fall squarely in the category of 'I'm going straight to hell'."

"Like what?" she asks curiously, and I can still hear the smile in her voice.

"I slept with Matt's ex-wife when they were still married," I tell her bluntly, and there's no doubt she didn't know that little tidbit of information because she gasps audibly.

I always wondered if maybe Mac had told her, but clearly, she kept that secret from her bestie. But I had no qualms sharing that with her. I want to know more about her, so it's only natural she should know more about me.