Page 11 of Contention

Then, he makes a sound that’s a cross between a bark and unkind laughter. He pushes off the column he’s been nonchalantly leaning on and shifts his attention back to Derrick. “Tighten the leash on your hound, Derrick. This one seems untrained.”

The absolute nerve! Motherfucker. Kara feels her vision turn suspiciously red as she tries to rein in her wrath. She grits out before Derrick can defend her honor, “Excuse me? Did you just call me a dog? I must have heard you wrong.”

“Oh, you didn’t. Here’s some advice from a senior professional.” Seeing the furious expression on Kara’s face, Calais’s condescending smile seems to widen, laugh lines deepening by his glittering eyes. “Don’t worry, this one’s free; I won’t charge. Benson might take in stray dogs with loud barks, but your attitude won’t get you far in other firms. Especially notmine.”

Trying to keep from trembling, Kara clenches her fists, trying to concentrate and keep her voice strong. Taking a closer step towards him with a snarl on her lips, Kara replies, “I guess it’s a good thing I have no intention of ever working for the likes ofyou.”

The smug expression on his patrician face freezes, something like anger lurking in his pupils.

Derrick smiles with pride, placing his free hand the crook of Kara’s arm, gently pulling her towards the front doors. In parting, Derrick says aloud, “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, Nicholas, but that would be a lie.”

They leave him sneering behind them and Kara can feel his gaze burning into her spine, as if he would love to tear it right out.

Something is nagging at her though. Something about how he looked at her.

What was he thinking, when he looked at me like that? Like he recognized me? Why did he laugh?

Chapter 5

There’s nothing like being a nameless face in a fancy bar.

Exhausted, irritated, Kara wanders down a few blocks towards her favorite place to sit and drink after parting with Derrick. There’s something about it, the act of sitting down at a vacant stretch of a bar in an elegantly decorated establishment. It always feels better than sitting home alone. That, and she keeps no alcohol in her apartment.

She’s well aware that the habit is slightly dangerous, considering her past. Once upon a time, she didn’t drink to let loose; she drank because she would feel down and wanted it all togo away. Now, these days she’s in a better place mentally. She’s been fine to have one good drink and stop there. The urge to continue drinking no longer speaks to her.

Her father always drank vodka and to this day she can’t smell it without feeling her heart race in dread. Yet, she always orders a martini, because she’s not here to drink beer after beer. Indeed, there’s something about sipping from a martini glass, knowing everyone else knows you aren’t fucking around.

It’s all in the act, when everyone else is ordering a Stella Artois and Kara lays down the dirty, because she’s not fooling. She wants to feel her lips and face go comfortably numb before she goes home. One drink is all it takes to fade the edge.

The black hole in her stomach has been quiet lately, now that her father is far away. Mostly. She doesn’t feel the urge to drink until she’s nothing and can’t feel the anger burning in her breast, until she doesn’t feel like a human anymore. She’s traded alcohol for nightmares; a fine trade in her opinion.

Stepping into the dimly lit bar, Kara sets her work tote on the back of her chair and sits down, ordering her usual. The bartender gives her a nod and smile of recognition. When he brings her drink, the first sip burns terribly, the way it always does.

She embraces that, loves how vile a dirty tastes on the first sip.

Swirling her dirty martini with a tired glower, Kara eventually senses a presence hovering just beside her. She tilts her head slightly, looking out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze catches on a fine-tailored navy suit, on shiny cufflinks that look like they cost a pretty penny.

“Mind if I sit?”

Kara barely refrains from letting her eyes widen in surprise. She’s been listening to that voice all day with gritted teeth, after all.Stay cool,she thinks to herself, focusing her stare on her drink intently, conveying disinterest,pretend that you aren’t shocked he’s here, standing next to you.

Her skin crawls with awareness, a strange anxiety fluttering in her jugular. Her body seems to remember what powerlessness feels like, even if Kara refuses to come to terms with it.

With a blank face, void of all feeling, Kara turns her head to face where he stands by her left shoulder. He’s leaning against the bar casually, his suit coat open, revealing the lovely gentle blue button-down underneath. The watch on his wrist is a black metal, with a small diamond on the artfully blank face.

He’s taller than she thought he was in court, now that he’s towering over her seated form with that smug look on his clean-shaven face. Standing over her, using his body to intimidate, to show power. His eyes are the color of the lake just before a storm, a biting blue-grey. No longer an electric tropical color, more subdued in the darkness of the bar. Those eyes seem to always be laughing, like he knows everyone’s secret and is gleefully thinking them through.

There are laugh lines around his eyes, slight ones, but they hint at an age nearing closer to forty rather than thirty.

The light brown hair on his head is short, styled artfully. It has the look of a professional job. He has the money for it, no doubt. There’s a slight smirk on his lips, not exactly ill-mannered, but not kind either as he waits for her to acknowledge him.

He’s standing there, looking like a perfect Adonis in his perfectly fitted attire, with his stupidlyperfectface and strong jawline. Fuck, he just disgusts her, his ego floating around him like a ghost.

Nicholas Havenwood-Calais drips money from his goddamn veins.

“Oh, it’syou.” She musters as much disdain as she can into her tone. “Have you come for another supreme verbal thrashing?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly at her dismissive tone. Ah. He doesn’t like being treated as uninteresting.Not used to that, are you, Nicky boy? Do all the ladies fall at your feet? Is that what you expected me to do? Tough luck, sauce-box.

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