"To Harley!" they clamored, shots of Grey Goose raised proudly in the air of the stifling Irish Pub. The celebratory heathens threw back their heads and swallowed the scorching liquid with fervor before hooting and hollering with joy, while I shook my head vigorously from Goose, completely detesting the taste and regretting that I ever allowed my foolish friends to convince me to take a shot of the powerful liquid.
"I still don't understand," Isabell Montez started after clearing her throat, "We are celebrating the conviction of that fucking bastard Lawrence Tanner, the most disgusting child exploitationer known to man kind, not to mention," she attempted to rest her elbow on the sturdy table; however, she failed miserably when it came short and caused her entire right side to go slack, "he was a fucking human trafficer, and you aren't drinking. Now what the fuck is wrong with this picture?"
"You're drinking enough for both of us Isabell." I laughed in response, patting her hand that rested on the table.
"Seriously," Marcus Christophe added, "you just won the biggest case of your career and you've been sipping on sweet tea and just now decided to have a shot of Goose with us. You should be chugging down the fucking bar!" he laughed.
"I do not need to get completely shit-faced, as all of you are now, to celebrate." I laughed back, "It's because of your three bastards that I don't drink. One of us has to be sober."
"Thazzzz nah true," Porscha Eckert slurred, swaying her glass of vodka mixed with pineapple juice left and right, "You need to loosin' up Har, who gives a fuuuuuuucck about being sober?" her voice squeaked at the end. Porscha brought her hand down on my shoulder with a surprising amount of force, which made me cringe from her unconscious use of power. "Youuuuu just gotta relaxxxxx, ya know, put a lil limp in ya step, do some crazy shit, dance on the bar. SOMETHING!" Porscha threw her hands up in the air, causing her drink to fly over the booth to an empty booth the next one over. She crashed against the side of the booth, slamming her empty glass on the table and looking at it as if an elephant were inside.
"She's right thought," Isabell said abruptly sober, "You just won this case, it's been all over the news, everywhere Har. And your acting like it's nothing. Do you have any idea how many law firms are going to want you now?" the table became horribly quiet; however, the pub remained loud and active. I ran my fingers around the rim of my straw and shrugged.
"Yeah I know, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Lawrence Tanner is never going to touch another child again. . .aaaand for the next sixty years to life, Lawrence Tanner is going to be someones bitch." I grinned.
"I can definitely drink to that." Marcus said, raising another shot glass of what appeared to be whiskey and throwing it back with ease. I raised my glass to him and drank some of my tea. The three of us looked over at Porscha who was now completely incapacitated and was starting to drool I little on the corner of her mouth. Gahhhhh, it was disgusting.
"Har," Isabell called.
"Hmm?" Isabell looked at me then looked to the far right corner of the room at the bar. I looked in that direction but didn't see anything. I stared at Isabell expectantly and waited for some kind of explanation; however, Isabell continuously jutted her head in the direction of the bar with a smirk. I looked in the direction again, more closely this time, but still could not find anything. "What is it Isabell? Is there a unicorn over there that I'm completely blinded from?"
"Do you see that blonde guy looking very indiscreetly at you?" she asked in a very low whisper as if everyone could hear us. I looked one last time and finally saw him, I was surprised that I had even missed him in the first place. Something stirred in my stomach. "So now you see him." Isabell inquired. "He's been staring nonstop for the past fifteen minutes."
"No he hasn't." I turned back around and adjusted my shirt.
"Let me rephrase: he has been staring nonstop at YOU for the past fifteen minutes." Isabell grinned. Marcus craned his head this way and that so that he could see who Isabell was talking about, but to no avail.
"You know I really hate it when you say stuff like that. It's so unbecoming." I said, somewhat annoyed that Isabell would just assume that the stranger had been staring at me. She always made obscene assumptions, that's why she had such a low conviction rate and would probably never have a chance of becoming D.A..
"Do you have a complex or something?" Marcus asked suddenly, leaning over the table so that he was in my plane of sight.
"Complex?"
"Don't act like you didn't hear me. You know very well that guy has been staring at you ever since he came in . . ." he paused and looked at his watch, "thirty-seven minutes ago."
"It was forty-three minutes ago, and so what if I've been somewhat aware of his intense stare. I have no intention of approaching him." I crossed my arms over my chest to accentuate my point of staying put. "Have you been watching him this entire time?" I asked. Marcus shrugged and took another shot of whiskey.
"I think she does have a complex." Isabell whispered to Marcus as if I wasn't there, who nodded in shame for his friend.
"I do not have a complex." I said sternly.
"Then why haven't we seen you with a man, or talking on the phone all day, or blowing up your phone with texts?" Isabell shot back.
"You're not lesbian are you?" Marcus burst out abruptly. Heads turned from the bar, their curious and pestering eyes geared towards our table.
"No I am not lesbian you fucking prick." I hissed at my supposed best friend, who wasn't acting like much of a best friend, but more so a Grade A asshole.
"Then what's the fucking problem, you must know that . . ." Marcus gave me a quick once over and shivered slightly, which caused my lip to quiver into a snarl, " . . .that you're you. And that guys are interested; obviously." he gestured to the stranger.
"I'm to busy," I replied, which was answered with groan and moans of disapproval and disbelief as I told them the same reason as I told them every other day. "I'm to busy, I don't have time for men." they scuffed at my answer and started to completely ignore me. "You don't get an 85 percent conviction rate by sleeping with the entire legal body; I worked hard to get where I am, and I'm not going to let some broke down-no good-unsuccessful-pompous-bastard looking for a one night stand turn all that I've done into a pile of shit."
"Are you done now?" Isabell asked, "because Mr. Broke down-no good-unsuccessful-pompous-bastard-looking for a one night stand is coming over."
"What?" I yelled, far more loudly then I should have, and looked over my shoulder to see Mr. Stranger sauntering right over with a Pina Colada in one hand and a Corona in the other.
My head was throbbing, my body was sore, the sun was blinding my eyes, and an uncontrollable ringing was exploding my ears. Ringing? Ringing? What was ringing? I fought to open my eyes, putting my hand a few inches from my face to block out the sun, and slowly began to sit up on my elbows. My head rolled in circles uncontrollably a I sat up completely, eyes slit open just enough to see my windows, hair going every direction possible. What happened the other night? I grabbed the alarm clock from the nightstand, finding the source of the ringing, and turned it off with a slap, before looking at the time through my slit eyes.
"FUCK!" I was never one to jump on a bed or to jump in general, I didn't like how it made various parts of my body bounce and attracted unwanted attention; however, on that morning, I jumped out of bed with fear and adrenaline as a child would running late to school remembering he had a big calculus test. For a moment I was frantic, completely irratic. I fidgeted on the side of my bed not sure of what to do first. It was already twelve, I had to take a shower, brush my teeth, do my hair, iron my clothes, collect all of my paperwork, eat, among countless other things I typically did in the morning before I headed to the office. However, all of that went out the window when I heard a groan and to my horror, saw something moving in my bed. I froze. I watched it, waiting for some massive beast to emerge from the depths of the blankets, for it to pounce, or slither off the side of the bed and disappear, only to leave me paranoid and delusional. To my dread, it was not a beast or a legless thing . . .it was a man. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and stretched his limbs, making a few pops and cracks here and there, before sitting up and looking at me. I was overwhelmed to say the least, and when I am overwhelmed I tend to do something that gets me into a lot of trouble, depending on where I am.
I screamed.
"Who are you!" my voice filled the entire apartment as my fear took over, "What are you doing in my house? Why are you here?"
"Stop yelling!" the man yelled back, covering his ears like a child.
"This is my house! What are you doing in my house! I'm calling the police!" I ran to the nightstand for my phone, but, to my luck, it was not there where I usually put it. "Where's my phone?" I pushed around the alarm clock, the lamp, the papers, an empty cup, but there was nothing. "Where the fuck is my phone!" I thrust the drawers open and shuffled through everything, I was on the verge of tears from my frustration, from the entire situation. "Where is it?" from the corner of my eye I saw the man push over the blankets and get up. I went into overdrive.
"Stay there!" I screamed. He froze, almost in a running man position, and looked around with the most confused expression. He made an effort to move again, "Stop! Don't move. I swear on my fathers grave I'll hurt you!" I grabbed the closest thing to me, which at the time was the lamp, I jerked it from the outlet and gripped it tightly in front of me.
"Hang on now, calm down." he put his arms out in front of him in defense and pointed at the lamp, "Put. The lamp. Down." his voice was stern.
"No. Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are you in my house?" then I realized something much much much worse. "Why are you naked?" the man looked down at himself as if he didn't even know, which caused me to look down at myself. Oh. My. God. "Why am I naked!" I screamed. "What did you do to me?" I threw the lamp at him and dove for the blankets, grabbing all of it and wrapping it around me every which way possible. "I've been raped! I've been raped! Somebody help! Help me! Somebody!" It wasn't until that day that I knew just how high my voice could go.
"Stop screaming I raped you! I didn't rape you!"
"Fuck you! Fuck you! I'm calling the police!" I ran across the floor, which just seemed to be scuttling since I could hardly move my feet because of the blanket, and went for my house phone in the living room. I grabbed the phone and struggled to get my hands out of the blanket enough so I could dial the numbers; however, it was snatched from me and thrown across the room, and me, poor defenseless Harley, was pinned against the end table in, what felt like, a two thousand pound blanket, by a naked man.
"No! No! No! Get away from me! Help me! Somebody help me! Arhhhhhhhh!"
"Stop doing that!" he gave me a violent shake, "I didn't do anything to you! I didn't rape you, you invited me here!" his face was furious with rage, almost watermelon pink, his jaw was tight, his eyes ablaze, his nostrils flaring.
"What?" now that was to much, "I would never invite a man to my house. Get off of me! Let me go!" I struggled against him; however, his powerful grip on my wrists kept me in place.
"You invited me last night, we met at the Irish Pub, you were with Marcus, Isabell, and some other chick, we talked and drank and then you invited me over."
"What are you talking about?" I finally stopped, I was still tense, but I stopped. "Why would I do that? I never do shit like that?
"Well you did last night." he shot back. He took a moment to calm himself and released my wrists. "I'm Eric Northman. I didn't rape you, assault you, or bring any harm to you whatsoever. So will you please calm down?"
"Then what are you doing here?" I stepped to him, my eyes narrowed. The faintest grin crawled on his lips that surprised/scared me. What was he grinning for?
"Isn't it obvious?" Eric gestured to himself, his naked body specifically, then looked at me. I froze . . .again. I was naked too.
"No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Fuck no! We did not have sex! We didn't!" I screamed at him.
"Uhhhh . . .yeah, we did. And from what I recall you enjoyed it . . .a lot." his grin grew.
"No we did not have sex," I groaned in frustration, tears starting to build in my eyes, "I don't have sex with random guys." my behavior could be best compared to a three-year-old temper tantrum. My face was turning red, tears were forming, I was stomping my feet and shaking my shoulders, I was groaning and whining like a child that didn't get the Christmas present she wanted, in other words, I was not handling the situation very well at all. And as a result, it began to show signs of amnesia: "Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Why are you here?"
Eric looked at me with the same confused expression. "I just told you."
"I know you just told me! But why are you still here? In my house? You should be gone! You're not supposed to be here when I wake up! That's how one night stands work!" he was an idiot. It was my first one night stand but even I knew that.
"Well I don't do this very much." Eric said, scratching the back of his head.
"Why are you still naked? Put some clothes on, or something!" I ran back into the bedroom and scoured my closet for clothes, anything that I could put on fast. "Why did it have to be today of all days? Why couldn't it be tomorrow, or next week? I just had to get up late today."
"Do you have something important today?" Eric asked, putting on a pair of blue boxers with silver stripes.
"That is none of your business." I found a black pencil skirt that had been dry cleaned a few weeks ago with a white blazer with two medium black buttons in the middle. I grabbed matching black panties and a bra and I ran into the bathroom, dropped the blanket on the floor, and put my clothes on as fast as I could. I brushed my teeth with the speed of superman, splashed some water on my face before drying it off with a towel, and put my hair back in a tight ponytail. When I entered my room again Eric was still there, this time fully dressed; however, I didn't waste a second trying to entertain him. I grabbed my briefcase off the dining table and made sure all of the proper paperwork from my last trial was in it and set it by the door. "Now where's my phone?" I went to my bed and checked my nightstand again, to no avail, then, to my wonderful happieness, kneeled carefully, picking up the hem of my skirt so no dirt could get on it, and found my wonderful white Blackberry Torch under my bed. Oh the sheer pleasure one feels in time of pure agony from the smallest things. "Thank God I found it." I smiled and checked my missed alerts. "Seventeen missed calls? Shit!"
The rest was a blur. I grabbed my suitcase, put my black heels on, and ran out the door, yelling something like "You better not be here when I get back!" to Eric Northman who was still in my bedroom, doing nothing . . .I think.
"What the hell happened to you this morning?" Isabell grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me into her office, closing the door and locking it, shutting the blinds so that no one could peak in.
"I don't know." I set my briefcase on her desk, I still had not gotten over the entire event that just occurred in my bedroom and was somewhat irrational and emotionally distraught. "I woke up and this guy was in my bed,"
"A guy?" she turned around after closing the blinds, "The guy from last night? Eric?" she said with far more enthusiasm then I felt was appropriate.
"Yes him." I groaned and threw my hands up in the air. "I don't know what happened. I didn't hear my alarm go off, the next thing I know some thing is moving in my bed and his head pops out. How could this happen Isabell? I never do stuff like this, ever."
"Well you can blame our good friend tequila for that." she smiled.
"I'm serious Isabell. I just slept with a guy, supposedly -"
"You slept with him!" she yelled, the entire office went freakishly quiet behind the locked door at my friends inability to contain her excitement. I didn't even understand why she was excited. Typically women scolded their friends for having one night stands and called them whores and sluts, but not Isabell; definitely not Isabell. Instead she was enthusiastic and wanted me to continue with this guy. It wasn't until that moment that I realized just how much of a sex-crazed freak my friend really was. "You slept with him?" she asked again, this time in a whisper.
"Supposedly." I replied sternly, "What am I supposed to think? I wake up and find a man, a naked man, sleeping next to me, having no recollection of anything the night before, so I automatically assume, like any normal woman," she rolled her eyes at my words, "that he broke into my house and raped me. Is that so hard to believe?"
"Except he didn't rape you," Isabell grinned, "you had sex with him willingly. Therefore, no rape occurred; see? Case closed. On to the next one."
"You don't know that, I don't know that, he probably doesn't even know that." I shook my head, hoping that it would clear away some of the stress I felt, "I feel dirty and disgusting, Isabell. Like he's all over me. I couldn't even take a shower this morning to get his horrible putrefying scent off of me." I accented my point by making her smell my hair, which smelt like rotten eggs and some cheap cologne.
"Mmmm," she moaned, " I would love to have that scent rubbed all over me every which way possible. It actually kinda reminds of the new Ax cologne that came out not to long ago. Do you think he uses that?"
"Oh shut-up." I pushed off from the desk and went to the window, peeking through the blinds towards the main office with all the cubicles. "I'm trying to tell you how horrifying my day has been so far and all you can think about is having Mr. Northman rub himself all over."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Isabell!" I was becoming very annoyed now.
"Alright, alright," she crossed her arms over her chest and sat down on her desk. "You shouldn't worry about it so much. You had sex with the guy, big whoop. That doesn't mean your entire world will come crashing down."
"You don't understand. This isn't about the sex."
"Then what have we been talking about for the past ten minutes?" she shot back.
"This is about my image. I just won the biggest case of the year, my face is plastered on to every screen, every newspaper, ever web page. People have been watching my every move for the past seven months. If the media finds out about this my career could go down the toilet, just like that. My reputation would no longer be 'Ms. Harley Jacobs, Henderson and Marker Lawyer Firms Best, but Ms. Harley Jacobs, The Whore That Slept With The Jury', trying saying that five times fast."
"You really are too much sometimes." Isabell smiled. "Nothing like that is going to happen. Anyways, people have already moved on to other cases and whatnot. So don't worry about it. Besides, you think to much."
"It's a part of my job you arrogant bitch." I smiled back.
"If you say so, but honestly this is nothing to worry about. By the time you get home he will be gone and that's it; life goes on. So get over it already." Isabell unlocked the door and opened the shutters again. "Now get the fuck out of here so I can work." I slapped her on the arm before leaving and headed to my office, only to be welcomed by a stack of massive papers. Just as I sat down at my desk and started opening the files, I heard a knock at the door.
"Are you just now getting in?" Marcus asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Shut-up."
"You know we missed you at the briefing."
"I know I missed it. You don't have to rub it in my face." I asked.
"Well lookie-here, little miss perfect isn't so perfect." he was grinning from ear to ear.
"Fuck off Marcus. I really don't need this." I snarled.
"Easy pussy cat. I just came to give you a little something." Marcus pulled out a file from behind his back and slapped it on my desk.
"What's this?" I gestured to the file.
"Your new case." he smiled before turning around and heading out the door, "By the way, Marker wants to see you in his office." he slammed the door behind him deliberately which made me want to throw my nameplate at the cheeky bastard.
"This is unacceptable." Mr. Marker, the co-owner of Henderson and Marker Law Firm, said, looking outside his office window to the view of downtown L.A., "I would expect this from anyone else here. But you Harley?"
"I'm sorry Mr. Marker."
"Has your victory with the Tanner case gone to your head?"
"Of course not, Mr. Marker." I felt like a child that was being chewed out by her father, who she hated disappointing. He didn't respond. "I have no excuse for my tardiness this morning," I said, thinking he was finished, "and I am aware that I am in no position for second chances; nonetheless, I ask you to please let it slide just this once."
"Plead your case." he said, but I was already expecting that. Whenever something happened to his disliking with an employee, he would give that person an opportunity to explain themselves. He also used it as a method to see of how much value we were; if we couldn't convince him to let something go, or otherwise, then how could we be expected to convince a judge or a jury to sentence someone to prison for heinous crimes?
"I have never been late since I began working for you two years ago, I have always been punctual and worked to the best of my ability. I am also one of the best lawyers here, my conviction of Lawrence Turner is proof of that. Not to mention I have proven myself as an ambitious, risk taking lawyer by taking on that case when there was hardly any evidence to convict Turner. I have been a mentor to others here, and taken on far more responsibility than I should have at times and came out successful. I have never let down anyone, save you for my one fallout that occurred this morning. Therefore, the work I have done for this firm, for my peers, for you, easily compensates for my indiscretion. That is all I have to say."
My hands felt dry and rough, like the desert, and I could still smell the cologne from Eric on me, I begged to the gods that Mr. Marker couldn't smell it, or see how completely disheveled and unhinged I was. I didn't know what I would do if I lost my job, especially over something so trivial; however, nothing was trivial to Mr. Marker. He expected nothing less than perfection, which I had been able to achieve until that day, at least I thought I had achieved it. Mr. Marker placed his hands behind his back and turned around, sitting at his desk. He pulled out a file from his desk and opened it, scanning the contents.
"I assigned this case specifically to you," Mr. Marker turned the file around so that I could see it, "since you did so well with the Turner case, save the few setbacks you encountered, I took the liberty of assuming that you would like something to same extent."
"Thank you sir, but what is the case exactly? I haven't had a chance to go over it."
"Victor Ballesteros, he's a Brazilian cocaine trafficker, his product has been transported all over the world, and just recently entered the U.S. trade. He has been residing in L.A. for the past year, he had plans to move to Japan two months from now; however, that has was canceled when he tried to kill his cousin," Mr. Marker gave me a picture, "Antonio Ballesteros. The police found them in Hotel Cabaña, a run-down shit hole on the outskirts of L.A., with Victor on his knees in front of Antonio, who had a firestorm handgun pointed at Victors head."
"I thought you said Victor tried to kill Antonio?" I inquired.
"I'm getting to that."
"What happened to the other seven?" I asked.
"Gunned down, all by different weapons that were at the scene." he replied.
"Were there any witnesses?"
"No. However, there was a woman a room over that heard a lot of yelling and screaming, her name is Margaret Ann Walsh. She's already been interviewed by the police."
"I would like to interview her myself."
"That's fine. From the evidence found at the scene, it appeared that Antonio and Victor met at the hotel, both bringing a few friends."
"Are you telling me that there was some sort of quarrel the cousins were trying to settle?"
"Yes, and both brought back up just incase things went bad."
"I'm not understanding, what does any of this have to do with me?" I asked, not seeing where this case had anything to my interest.
"Some evidence was found recently that the shoot-out was premeditated . . .by Victor."
"Victor wanted to kill Antonio?" I asked.
"No. He only wanted him to be sent to prison."
"So Victor set him up."
"That's what we believe. Police interviewed Antonio and he vehemently believes that Victor tried to set him up, among other things. That's where you come in. You need to prove to the court that Antonio is innocent and a victim because of Victors drug relations. Proving Victor guilty of the murder of those seven people, drug trafficking, false information, and for setting up his cousin."
"I understand, Sir. I will do my best."
"I would expect nothing less." Mr. Marker replied. "You may leave." I nodded and stood up, exiting his office quickly before he had the opportunity to take anything back. He had let me slide, just that once, and gave me a great chance to prove myself even more among the criminal justice elite. I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders, only for me to be crushed by the world. I possibly had an innocent mans life in my hands, if he or Victor were convicted, either would serve life without any chance of parole. The thought alone made me second guess myself.
I shook it off and went back to my office, opening the file and thoroughly going through it's contents. There was so much information, and so little time before trial started, about four months. I would have to work fast if I wanted to build a steadfast case against Victor, which I'm sure that he only had one of the best lawyers defending him. I was so focused on getting started that I didn't hear my door open and someone sit right in front of my desk; it was only until the stranger cleared their throat that I knew someone was there.
"What are you doing here? How do you know where I work?" I yelled at Eric Northman, in such a fit of rage that I stood up so quickly that my chair flew back and crashed against the wall behind me.
"Easy, Love," he started, standing up as well, "my wallet got in your purse by accident so I came here to get it back."
"Don't call me that. And how could you wallet 'accidentally' get into my purse?" my eyes narrowed at him in suspicion, wallets just don't accidentally whined up in a purse.
"I might have accidentally fumbled it in there while you were rushing out of the door." he grinned, putting his hands deep into the pockets of a jet black tuxedo, which he looked extremely polished in. The suspicion in me doubled. I looked at him quizzically and crossed my arms over my chest.
"What do you do?" I asked.
"Nothing. I act homeless and wait for people to give me money. You'd be surprised how much homeless people make in a day." Eric replied. I walked around my desk slowly, analyzing every part of him.
"What do you really do, Mr. Northman?" I stopped in front of my desk, leaning against it. From my position we were only a foot apart and I could smell a extremely different cologne on him, one far better than the one I was drenched in.
"Honestly?" he lowered his voice to a whisper, I nodded. Eric closed the distance between us, stepping to me quickly, before extending his arms against my desk and leaning against it, leaning further into me. I almost chocked on my breath. "I find out secrets; anything that a person is hiding. I watch you from the sidelines, invade your home when your not around, even bug it if I have to. I find everything you don't want the world to know, your deepest darkest secrets, your worst fears, your dirtiest fantasies, your biggest regrets." Eric Northman was nothing that I expected when I saw him sitting in front of my desk. I was expecting his light-heartedness, humor, and wit that I had witnessed that morning, but that disappeared. He stood before me as a menacing, multi-faceted figure in the dark black tuxedo, his tussled blonde hair from a few hours ago slicked back. He was a completely different person, and he scared me, he intimidated me. "What are your secrets, Harley?" he asked, his piercing blue eyes digging into my soul like a parasite. I gulped. I couldn't show him that he unsettled me, so I gave him the same expression he gave me and tightened my jaw.
"What do you really do, Mr. Northman?" I asked again. Eric searched my eyes for a lifetime, looking for something I'm sure he was unsuccessful at locating, and stepped back, thrusting his hands back into his pockets.
"I'm a realtor," he said, "I'm showing some houses in the upper east side in a while; my business cards are in my wallet, so I need it." for some odd reason a part of me believed him, but the other part, the part I used when I was in court, the instinct part of me, cried out for me not to. The lightest relief came over me when Eric said that he was a realtor, but still, something didn't feel right.
"Alright," I went back around my desk and grabbed my purse from under it, searching it's contents for some foreign object that would supposedly be his wallet, and by-and-by, it was in there. A dingy, faded, gray wallet with white lining. You would think that if he had a nice tux, shoes, and slicked back hair that he would have enough money to get a descent wallet. I opened it quickly, looking for the business cards and to my surprise, they were there, right behind his platinum silver credit card. I took one out and read it:
"Heave Sent Realty, Eric Northman, 822-967-3581, classy." I gave him his wallet and inspected the card.
"Keep it, just incase you care for a repeat of last night." he smirked, pocketing the worn-out wallet. I opened a drawer in my desk and dropped it inside, closing it.
"I believe there is no reason I should ever have to contact you, unless I'm looking for a home, and know that you would not be my first choice to begin with." I smirked back.
"Easy Love, say anymore and might hurt my feelings."
"As if I give a damn, and don't call me that." I barked back.
"You really must loosen up, Love. Being so stressed can't be good for your skin." he leaned towards me and examined my face vehemently, scrunching up his face in the process, "In fact, I see some premature wrinkles already forming aro-"
"Oh get out!" I yelled, jutting my forefinger to the door. Eric backed up slowly with a smirk.
"Don't worry, I'll get something for you to fix that." he laughed while opening the door.
"Get. Out." Eric looked at me over his shoulder before closing the door and finally leaving. I had never felt so much relief in my life from a person leaving, it was like holding your breath under water, and just before you think your about to die, you get pulled out and take that first gasp for air. I could breath again since the imbecile was gone with his patronizing demeanor. I slumped down in my seat, feeling suddenly hot and unbuttoned my blazer, revealing a thin white undershirt. I looked at the drawer and hesitantly opened it, pulling out the business card and studying it thoroughly. I figured "what the hell", there is no harm in checking. I grabbed my phone and dialed a friend from the police station.
"This is Detective Lancer." he voice was mono-tone.
"Hey Rick, it's Harley."
"Hey, Harley. What's up?" I could hear him smiling through the phone as his voice came alive.
"I need you to do something for me."
"What is it?"
"I need to check on this guy, his name is Eric Northman, he works for Heaven Sent Realty."
"What do you want me to find out?" Rick asked.
"Just if he actually works there, or if it's a legit realty company."
"Alright, is there anything else?"
"No. . .actually, if you find anything else on him, you know . . . anything you think I should know about, just fax the information to me."
"Alright, so what's your interest in this guy, if you don't mind my asking?" Rick asked.
"Nothing, I just want to make sure he's who he says he is."