Page 1 of Counterfeit Connection

Chapter 1

Kaitlyn

I’d love to find the misogynistic asshole who invented stilettos and punch him in his stupid face. Only a man would invent something that makes our legs and asses look this good, but makes our feet feel like they are on fire after only a few hours of wear.

Naturally, I’m stuck standing during this meeting because we are, conveniently, one chair short, and being the people pleaser I am—plus the new kid on the block—I offered to stand… in three-inch high heels.

Which brings me back to my original point. Punching someone in the face. I’m focused on my feet instead of what’s going on in the room until I hear a very pivotal sentence. “Kaitlyn, will you be able to take the deposition?”

Here is my chance. This is the moment I’ve waited for. I was so excited to get a promotion to prepare this case. I thought it would mean I would see more action or even finally get a seat at the table in front of a judge. My degree should call for it. What it turned out to be is more work, even longer hours than I was working before, and still waiting on that seat. I’ve learned to keep two extra sets of clothing at the office, along with a toiletry bag, to use the showers in the gym on the sixth floor.

I stand up a bit straighter and nod. “Absolutely.” I can feel every set of eyes lingering on me. I have to make the conscious effort not to fidget under their scrutiny. I’m confident everywhere but in this setting.

“Excellent. I knew you’d be helpful with this litigation, as well as being a bit of eye candy.”

My skin crawls every time he makes a comment like this, and what’s worse is it’s in a room full of my colleagues. No one stands up for me. It seems to either be allowed or everyone is so stunned, or used to it, that it’s allowed and commonplace. And the worst part of all? He’s my boss. Duncan Wilder. The Wilder of Wilder, Hawkings, and Grant.

I don’t respond, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a smile either, like I’m just chalking it up to an off-the-cuff remark that can be taken all in good fun. I’ve been conditioned to think it's the path of least resistance. God, my family would not only hate this for me, but be extremely disappointed at my silence.

“Well.” He claps his hands together. “That’s all we have for now.”

I can’t get out of this room fast enough. My office is on the other side of the ninth floor from where we are now. I say hello or smile to anyone who passes by me on the trek that’s only putting more calluses on my calluses. I’m still the daughter my parents raised. It’s not their fault my boss is a complete and utter asshole. I think it’s the unspoken truth we all know.

Once inside my office, I close the door quietly. This place is my sanctuary. I’ve done everything I can to make it feel like home, since it seems like it is more nights than my apartment. The sun is finally not reflecting off the building across the street so I can open my blinds to let more natural light in. My vitamin D deficiency thanks me and so do my plants.

I never thought I’d be living in New York City, but when I got the offer to graduate into a position I felt I was more than qualified for, and the jump in pay to boot, I took the chance. I don’t regret it, at least not all of the time.

I miss Virginia more than I thought I would. I miss my father, who’s still there on our family hobby farm. I miss being able to go out to the barn and brush my horse, Rocket, or curl up on the floor in front of the fireplace with Winston, Dad’s golden retriever. I miss my sister in Boston. I know I don’t have to worry about her as much with her husband, Jason, at her side. I miss seeing my new nephew as often as I want, but thankfully planes, trains, automobiles, and video chats exist. I try to visit all of them any chance I get, which hasn’t been as often as I’d like, or need, as of late.

I plop down to sit at my desk, slipping my feet from my shoes and nearly moaning at the relief. I take a brief moment of silence to check my phone and find a text from my sister, Gillian.

Gillian: Thank God it’s Friday, am I right? I love weekends.

I smile and type out a response.

Me: You have no idea, but I just took a new assignment, so I’m not sure I can relate to these weekends you speak of.

Gillian: Kait, you promised you wouldn’t work yourself to death.

Me: I’m not. I’m just paying my dues.

Gillian: Dues? You’re not some entry level assistant anymore. You shouldn’t have to pay dues. You earned this position.

Me: I appreciate your support, and your big sister instincts, but this is just how it is for now. Plus, I’m picking up a double at Elliot’s tomorrow and the brunch rush on Sunday. It’s just a busy time for me.

Gillian: Remind me again why you choose to work two jobs?

Me: Easy. Student loan debt and living in New York City is expensive.

Gillian: Kait, Jason and I could send you some money and you know Dad would. You have a lot of that money he and Mom set aside.

Me: No. That money is for a house when I get that far. I chose my way into this and I can get myself out of it. Remember what Dad always says when things are hard….

Gillian: This is just temporary. The light is just around the corner. Just make sure you have a bulb or two on reserve so you don’t burn out. Promise me you’ll take even just a couple hours and do something for yourself?

I want to promise her I will. I just don’t know if I can.

Gillian: Helllooooooo? I’m waiting. Jason is standing, reading over my shoulder, and he’s about two seconds from packing us all up and coming to sort you out.

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