Page 60 of The Suit

She stilled, her eyes briefly flashing like they’d done before the pizzas arrived. Then she shifted in her chair, stiffening again by a fraction.

“I’d have spent time at the Children’s Hospital, caught up on all the work I’ve not gotten to, run some errands; nothing too exciting.”

I frowned, “Even on the holiday weekend. What about your parents? Do you see them much? They still over East?”

The heat of the firepit and the almost two bottles of wine we’d sunk were warming us enough that we didn’t need sweaters, yet goosebumps rose up, pebbling her skin and when she started shaking, I realized they were not from the cold, they weren’t from anything other than memories she didn’t want to surface.

“Beulah, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me,”

She bristled, then held my gaze with an almost trance like stillness before she spoke again.

“The reason my father retired early was because he and his wife, Santa, could never have kids, so they wanted to still be young enough to be eligible to foster. A month later, I came along and they adopted me.”

The way she had started to curl her legs up to her chest had mine tightening, slowly twisting itself into a knot I wasn’t sure how I’d undo. “How old were you when you were adopted?”

“Twelve.” She looked at the wineglass she was holding, running her fingers up and down the stem. “Until then, I was raised by my brother… The reason I was in the hospital today… I read to kids who don’t have anyone else, who are too sick to be in foster care. My brother… Jackson… he loved reading, and when he was sick, I would read to him. He was in the hospital a long time… Santa found me and took me home.”

Through my pro-bono work and the time spent with my clients, I’d soon learned that the majority came to the firm because they just wanted someone to hear them. Men, women - it didn’t matter - they’d stutter through their words, through their experience which now required my help, and relive a story they didn’t want to. I’d sit and listen without interrupting, no matter how many times I wanted to, to express my empathy. Some clients would be sad, some would be angry, but the really heartbreaking ones were those who appeared to have lost hope - and that’s exactly what I saw now, in front of me, in Beulah Holmes as she stuttered through her words, until it was clear she was done.

“Well, I bet they’re really proud of you now.”

Her breath caught as she glanced out to the ocean. “They were both shot and killed a month before I started at Harvard Law. They were caught in the crossfire of a bank robbery.”

My body may as well have been dipped in liquid nitrogen for how quickly my blood froze, trapping any words I may have wanted to share; but nothing seemed appropriate.

My parents might have divorced twice which was relatively traumatic, but I still had them. Penn lost his dad when he was a kid, and spent his life being brought up by strong, somewhat overbearing women who coddled him. Losing his dad was something he had never got over, and the reason he’d had such an obsession with baseball.

But to lose everyone you’ve ever loved? To be alone, totally alone?

What unimaginable pain and horror had this woman been through, and how the fuck did I not know this? Because it turns out when you’re too busy hating someone, you don’t notice much else.

She broke out into a smile. “So I guess that’s why the professors loved me. Muscot was loved and they looked out for me. I still worked my ass off though.”

“Beulah?”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and the Beulah I was so familiar with returned in a heartbeat, the rage I was accustomed to flashing behind her eyes. “You want me to stay? Don’t be kind to me. Don’t pity me. I don’t need it or want it. You want to have sex, fine, but it needs to be the vagina destroying sex, and nothing else. If you can handle that, seeing as I did all the work last time,” she added in challenge, baiting me into a reaction.

But like the last piece of the jigsaw slotting into place, the picture all became clear. She became clear, and I had no animosity to give her in return… because now I understood where hers came from.

I understood her.

I wondered how long it had been since someone had shown her a kindness, or since she’d let them; because piercing the bullet proof armor she surrounded herself with was next to impossible. But for now, if that’s not what she wanted, then I’d give her something else; something she thought she needed.

I studied her for a moment, contemplating while she stared me down with dogged determination, and I knew she was expecting me to say no. She was almost willing me to, because from the way her jaw was flexing, she was spoiling for a fight.

Maybe I would have before, and I wasn’t sure if it was the Hamptons or the wine, or the moon casting its spotlight over the ocean and lighting the night, but there’d been a seismic shift. Right now, for the first time ever, I was only interested in giving her what she’d asked for, even if that was ‘vagina-destroying sex’ as she so eloquently put it.

“Have I led you to believe I couldn’t?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t seen any evidence of it so far.”

Fine, she wanted to play this game? She could. She wanted it hard? She’d get it. The soft and gentle could wait. And I had no doubt that when it did happen, she’d explode harder than she had in her life, I’d make sure of it.

I put down my glass, and leaned forward; my eyes narrowing, “Oh, Holmes, still not ready to admit I’m the best you’ve ever had?”

She glared at me, and I knew she wouldn’t respond.

“There’s only one problem there.”

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