Page 85 of Reckless Dare

“I don’t know. The last time I checked I was your paralegal. Your researcher. Have you decided to do your own research? Or you don’t want me to work on your accounts anymore? Why the hell are you pretending to be Robinson Crusoe all alone on your island?”

Fucking T. Employees shouldn’t be allowed free speech.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you lack work assignments, you can file the paperwork over there.” I gesture to my coffee table, now overflowing with papers, and then I return to scanning the file in front of me, without any idea what it says.

“I’m not your damn assistant, Dominic. I don’t know what youcaughtin New York, but you better get over it. Napoli needs you on top of your game. If you thought your sabbatical benefited you, it didn’t. You’re worse than when you left, for fuck’s sake.”

She is not wrong. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come back. Maybe it’s Chicago and this shitty office that makes me lose my shit. I don’t know anymore. I have no interest in anything I used to enjoy.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing is exciting. Nothing is worth my attention or effort.

“Napoli will be fine. The PI has some info on the actual killer and he’s coming in early in the morning so we can take action.”

“This might be helpful.” She stands up and hands me a manila envelope. She scrutinizes me with her hand on her hip. “I took the liberty of working on the case even without your instructions.” She starts to leave.

“T…” I stand up from my desk. “Thank you.”

She gives me a distasteful look and shakes her head. “You can show your appreciation with a bonus, boss.”

I nod and wish I wasn’t looking at her. A glimmer of disappointment passes through her face before she strides away. She was hoping for a verbal sparring match. One more thing I don’t do anymore. I don’t tease or insult people.

I walk over to the wall of glass where the spectacular skyline of Chicago glows in front of me.

I miss my view of Central Park. Fuck. Of course, the thought propels other images.

Chils’s full lips arguing with me over… well, over anything and everything really. I snort. She truly is a person of contradictions. Fierce and sad. Feisty and considerate. Angry and compassionate.

A soundtrack of her sounds has played on an endless loop in my mind. Her throaty laugh when she forgets to sulk and truly relaxes. Her moan when I wake her up with my tongue between her thighs. The volume of her arguments. The whisper of her breath when she sleeps beside me.

She used to play with her ponytail when she read. I guess that’s no longer possible. Maybe she runs her hands over her smooth skull now.

I wonder if Micah moved out. If Paris returned from her trip to Europe. If Cesare’s wife baked another loaf of banana bread. Has Chils received the funds from the city to finance the new medical equipment in the hospice? Has she started planning her next gala?

Where will she go on her next trip? Have any of the cases in the legal clinic been resolved? Are there new ones they might need help with?

I return to my desk and call Nia.

“Hey, Dom, how are you?” she answers, and I hear the familiar silence in the background. She is either studying or still poring over the files at the clinic.

It’s the same silence I discovered in the library as a child. The one I immersed myself in during the long hours of studying for my exams. The peace I usually enjoyed when staying at my office this late. That one has been drowned out by the ongoing b-roll of Chils playing in my head.

“I’m good,” I lie. Fake it until you make it. “Are you at the clinic?”

“Yeah.” I hear a creak and picture her leaning on the old chair behind one of the communal desks. “I’m preparing paperwork for a case. By the way, we won the insurance claim for Ralph’s daughter.”

Satisfaction and something akin to pure joy flushes through me. “I knew we would. Good job, Nia. Tell me about other cases.”

We talk for over an hour. Nia explains several cases, I give her suggestions, we brainstorm solutions. At the end of the call, I feel… I don’t know, I feel alive for the first time in a week.

Perhaps I should open a legal clinic here. It’s the balancing of my work and the selfless help that might recreate the missing harmony in my life. Fill the void.

The only cloud over the conversation was the persistent image of Chils in the background. She might have even sat next door to Nia with one of the hospice’s clients. It’s probably too late for that. Unless someone is leaving this world already. She would be there. Who will help her pull out of those shadows swallowing her?

A message distracts me from the downward spiral of my thoughts.

Rocco: Are you sleeping, asshole?

I don’t bother responding and click on the video call. He answers immediately. He’s showered, sipping a coffee on his rooftop deck. He looks rested.

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