Page 14 of The Lawyer
Typically, the journey into work is slow and plagued with delays, so I’m even later than I thought I would be. My personal phone has also decided to join the chirping brigade, but I don’t have time to deal with that right now. One problem at a time.
I eventually arrive at my desk, ten minutes late for my morning briefing with Landon, and my bag lands heavily on my desk. I pick up my tablet and the files I’d left out the night before, and walk right in. “I’m sorry, I’m late. Nina contacted me. She’s in labour so won’t be coming in.”
“I know. Don’t be late again.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t. Shall we go over-”
“That won’t be necessary. Just my coffee.”
Already the worst day, and it’s not even nine-thirty.
I keep my head high until I exit the office and then slump in on myself. This isn’t who I am. I’m good at my job. That’s why Nina hired me. My abuse of the coffee mug and machine is down to my mood, and I know I’ve got to get over this. I was fifteen minutes late, which, while annoying, is perfectly feasible in London. The main reason for this mood is because of Nina. As a safety net, she's gone, and that means it's time to stand up and shine.
I put the mug on the tray and race it back into Landon, fake smile back in place, as I deliver it to his desk. “Coffee.”
His steely gaze washes over the cup and then up to me. Disapproval and frustration are evident in his eyes. My own eyes begin to widen in shock at what I’ve done as I take in the milky colour of his coffee.
“You’re late. Now my coffee?” He stands, to make me feel even smaller than I already do, I’m sure. “If you can’t do your job, please tell me now. I don’t have the luxury of incompetence.” Black. He takes it strong and black. No sugar or milk, because nobody can get the exact quantity right. One small jug of milk and sugar for him to use himself. Mortification sets in.Any normal human would have just been polite and asked me to get a new coffee, but Landon clearly isn’t a normal human.
And for the love of God, why can't I shake this attractiveness I feel towards him? It's not intentional, and I’m positive it’s that attraction that makes me act like a complete loon around him.
My mouth opens, a rush of colour consuming my cheeks. “I apologise. Again. In my haste, I must have picked up my own coffee by mistake. I’ll replace it right away.”
I do, and when I finally leave his office, I physically slump down against the door.
This day can’t end soon enough.
~
I watch the numbers in the corner of my screen tick over to five p.m. and take an actual sigh. I’ve never needed tonight more, and as of this second, I’m putting Landon Broderick firmly out of my mind. At least until nine tomorrow.
I pull out my phone and turn it on as I hurry for the Tube. After the missed calls and messages this morning, I couldn’t cope with it interrupting me all day, so I set it on silent. Sure enough, a stream of notifications race over my screen the moment I've made it through the crowds. They can wait. At least a little longer. But I do need to check in on Ash. He's been avoiding me the last couple of days, and his activities seem to be becoming more nocturnal than ever. He’s a grown man, but that doesn’t stop me worrying about him. Especially considering the rate he’s spending my money. It's getting beyond a joke how he treats me like an ATM.
“Hello! Ash?” I call as I close the door behind me. No answer, and none to my text, either.
I go upstairs and start a bath running—the number one step in my routine before heading out tonight. Next, I go to the kitchen and pull last night’s leftovers, adding the chicken to a salad box. If I don’t eat something, I’ll regret it. And if I'm still hungry later, I can grab a bite on the way home.
By the time I’ve finished with that, the bath is nearly full. This is the best part of the day. Relaxing and letting any concern or worry ebb away into the water. The heady scent of florals waft in the misty air, and I laze in the hot water for about half an hour.
Before the water cools too much, I get out and dry off. Next, it’s time to attack my hair. I release it from the pins and let the wild mane loose. Despite straightening every day, it looks a mess. But that’s what I’m going for tonight, so I tip my head upside down and rough it up at the roots. A little product, a little backcombing, and that’s about all I need to do. I’m transformed.
With my routine underway, I order my Uber and then pack my outfit. Tonight, I need to really let go, and now that my mind is clear, I can go over the choreography I want to adopt. My wardrobe is stocked with two lines of clothing. Workwear—all tidy suits and shirts, and professional attire. The other side is lace, corsets, and everything in between that makes up my performance wear. My fingers run over some of the different fabrics and stop at a sheer bodysuit. I’ve worn it before, but I feel desired in this particular outfit. A high leg, cinched in waist, and a lace pattern so see-through, everyone will see my nipples. I don’t care. It makes me feel even more empowered. I'm in control and can do whatever I choose at this point.
My collection of heels is the only part of my two worlds that cross over. Tonight, I choose a gold platform heel to complete the look and move to the most critical part of the ensemble—my mask. It's the source of the power and part of what I get off on. Nobody knows who I am. Or at least, nobody of importance. I’ve been dancing for years and have never experienced my two worlds colliding. Jackson sees to that.
I’ll have to speak to him later. He’s been leaving messages all day, which isn’t like him. I pack the items into my bag—I’ll change when I arrive at The Priory—and set about my makeup. I’ve become quite competent at a shadowed eye, getting more and more dramatic if I feel the performance needs it—another layer of anonymity.
On the journey into town, I run through a playlist, wanting to get lost in the music tonight. Jackson doesn’t like my choice of tracks—many of them are instrumental or classical pieces—but he knows I perform and have enough pull to be left alone. That isn’t the same for all of the girls. I'm lucky, I guess. I know my strengths and won’t be persuaded to change. It's worked so far, and I don’t see why that will ever have to change.
My driver delivers me to the back entrance. I press the passcode that will grant me access and then make my way to my dressing room. The Priory has many girls to cater to the range of clientele, so we don’t get our own space, but the main performers do on the nights they work. I'm one of them. My stuff is too good to leave for any of these other bitches. Most of them will do more than just perform if the money's right, and they'll have no qualms at stealing my outfits. Jealousy, rage, annoyance. I don't know what their problem is, but I’ve watched some of my competition, and I can tell they don’t invest like I've always done. Not only do I do this for the sheer fun and high of it, but I also make sure everything I dress in is top of the line. It means that my expenses for this job are at least thirty percent of my earnings, but then, it isn’t all about the money.
“You’re late,” Jamie spits as we pass one another in the corridor.
“Don’t start. I’m never late because there’s no fucking schedule.”
“Jackson wants to see you. He’s not impressed.” The satisfaction in her smile is almost radiant.
“Well, I’ll just have to make it up to him, won’t I?” I give her my own secret smile and just enough to worry her little head over.
