Page 15 of Contention

It feels strange, to hear that someone recognizes, even likes how she looks when she’s spitting fire. She swallows thickly, looking away from him briefly. He didn’t…even remember her? It was a completely meaningless event to him? The gravity of it hits her like a truck. To be fair, she didn’t remember him, but she’d been wandering around high on something andhe’d chosen her.

He’d picked her like she was a piece of candy in a shop.

It makes her feel even more trashy and worthless, just knowing that she was just another face in the blur to him. Just another night cruising town with his buddies, paying girls to entertain them. He viewed her as no different. He’d thought she was a whore and he’d treated her like one.

Refusing to let him see how terribly his words affect her, how down they make her feel, she gives him an ugly look. “You like having your dick sucked by someone who is trying to bite it off? Risqué. Fucked up. But, risqué.”

Though the restroom is dimly lit for an atmospheric effect, Kara can still see the way he watches her carefully, his facial expression shifting not an inch despite her words. Calais shifts in the silence and digs something out of his pocket, holding it out to her. The giant-sized band-aid that the bartender had given him just before Kara had run off. “You might want this,” he says airily.

She’s bleeding again, the drip drop of the crimson on the floor beside her. With a nervous movement that tells how anxious she is in his presence, on top of the anger, she quickly snatches it out of his hand, stepping backwards quickly. Putting space between them.

He’s still standing in front of the door. There’s nowhere for her to go.

Dabbing her hand dry with a paper towel, she applies the band-aid under his watchful gaze, his eyes like a brand on her skin. There’s an uncomfortable silence until Kara gets the band-aid applied, staunching the flow of blood.

“You’ve talked,” she says to him finally, feeling drained. Pathetic. “You’ve had your laugh. May I go now? Please?”

He lifts his chin, looking down his nose at her. “We’re not quite done.”

Exasperated, Kara cries out, “What do you want from me?!”

“I want your silence. Forget…this little…accident happened. It shouldn’t have been you. But it was. So, here we are. I have money. You’re likely recently out of law school and have bills to pay. Quid pro quo.”

Is he actually for real? Does he think giving her a couple hundred more will wipe the slate clean? What a world he must live in. Oh, sure. It probably works on some women, but not Kara. Being paid off feels like failure and failure is something she doesn’t accept. “If you think five hundred more dollars is going to cut a deal, think again, big boy. It doesn’t buy you anything. I can’t be bought and I won’t just forget you. I mean, what you did.”

If he notices her slip on the last bit, he doesn’t mention it. “I’m not giving you cash out of my wallet. I’m talking about stroking a check,” he drawls coolly, like she doesn’t understand how much he’s offering.

Maybe she doesn’t understand. Maybe he does have a freakish amount of money that could open even the tightest butthole in town. That’s grossly beside the point. “I’m not taking your dirty hooker money. You can’t just pay a girl and expect everything to disappear like it never happened.”

She can’t forget, the scent of him is burned into her.

He gives her an emotionless look. It’s truly a business transaction to him. He doesn’t care how he made her feel, he doesn’t care that his body makes her feel nervous, trapped in this bathroom with him guarding the only viable exit. His voice is empty when he says, “Perhaps not, but it certainly closes lips. What do you want? What is your pride worth to you?”

She’s not going to dignify that with an answer. He can’t afford her pride. No one can. It isn’t for sale.

Lifting her chin, Kara sneers, “What if I just tell the cops?”

Using his body as intimidation, Calais draws himself up, prowling over to her. It’s then that she notices that he has her tote bag with him. What a gentleman, at least he made sure she didn’t get robbed by leaving it in the bar by itself. He stands over her, using one of his hands to grip the counter behind her, boxing Kara in as he leans forward to whisper, “You see, you can do that, but you won’t be able to prove what happened in that limo. You know how ‘he said, she said’ cases go. And, I happen to be a very good lawyer; the holes I’d poke in your story would ruin your standing at Benson & Clarke.”

There it was. The threat. While he spoke, Calais had been scanning the area above Kara’s head with a bored air. By the time he finished speaking, his eyes met hers again with a look in them akin to a predator that knew it had its prey.

Kara feels her skin cool. The utter bastard.

“Besides,” he says with that cruel smirk. “I’m sure the cops already gave you the chance to file a report. You didn’t.”

“How would you know what I did or didn’t do that night?” He’s sharp, but she already knows that. She’s seen him in court and now she’s almost glad she didn’t say anything to the cops. He would have ripped her apart.

He would have torn down everything she worked so hard to build.

Calais looks down at her with the corner of his mouth still turned up, eyes like the sea. “I didn’t know until I talked to you. See how that works? Talking? Now, I know what makes you tick.”

Kara highly doubts that. “Is that so? Do thrill me with yourintellect.” Horrid man.

His eye twitches at that last bit, almost unnoticeably. “Because, you’re not the type. You’d rather claw me open with your own fingers, I think. That temper of yours…” he whistles with something akin to admiration.

She watches his lips as he does it, the way he shapes them to make the low sound before transforming into a smirk once more. The amused tilt to his eyebrows.

Oh, yes. Kara is well aware that she has a problem. But, she’s been better lately, been off the anti-depressants…she’smadesomething of herself.

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