Happy Saturday!

Thank you for catapulting CtN over 1.4k reviews! As usual, loving all your thoughts and theories. Work has been hounding me this week so I had zero time to reply to reviews. I'm hoping next week will be kinder, because I'm still counting on hitting my Nano goal before the month is out.

As usual, this is brought to you by Team Momo, who keep my grammar clean and my head sane: Alice's White Rabbit and Midnight Cougar wield the red pens. Deh and Yummy pre-read. Emma is the shoulder I cry on and my purveyor of Robp0rn. Ausha Pasha provided some vital information and some of her own personal experience for the story. Pearly Fox made a gorgeous banner for this story - check it out on FB in my group (LaMomo's Lair - just type it in the search bar).

The consensus after last week seems to be "Good riddance to Grabby" - couldn't happen to a nicer guy. Now, the main reason why Grabby blamed Edward is because Grabby is not as oblivious as Edward about the firm's goings-on. He KNOWS who he harassed last and who would most care about it. So he's pinning his demise on having dared to touch Edward's protégé, because ALL abusers always shift blame to anybody but themselves.

We're back with Bella today. Time-wise, this chapter takes place on Friday evening (after Bamford raided Edward's office).
LawyerWard will be back on the docket on Tuesday. Happy reading!

Chapter 24

"Open the door, Bells! I know you're in there," Emmett bellowed.

The pounding on my door hadn't stopped for the last ten minutes. Too bad I was in the shower and, until now, unable to welcome him inside.

"Coming, coming, you impatient hellion!"

When I opened the door, he stood there, transfixed.

"Ah. So you weren't giving me the silent treatment," he quipped.

"Can't a girl shower in peace at the end of a trying week?" I sassed, ushering him in.

He mumbled something I couldn't decipher, and then lifted a huge take-out bag. "I come bearing gifts."

The bag proudly displayed the logo of Emmett's favorite burger joint. We'd spent an untold number of evenings—and amounts of cash—in that place, shooting the shit and trying to fix the world one pint at a time.

"How come you're alone? Where's Rose?"

I'd almost expected the girls to descend on me again tonight, given the week's events.

"I told her to leave you alone. I wanted to talk to you."

Ah. Emmett had put out an edict. That would explain it.

We putzed around for a bit, laying out the pub grub. We pretended we were still uncivilized college students and ate out of the take-out boxes and talked about everything and nothing. I grabbed two beers from the fridge, popped the caps, and handed one to Emmett.

"So, you wanted to talk. Talk," I urged.

"I crashed an Exec Committee meeting last week," he began.

"You did what?" I yelled. And almost choked on a jalapeno popper. "How? What? When? Why in the ever-loving fuck would you do that?"

Emmett studiously chewed a county-sized bite of quesadilla, downed about half a bottle of beer, then looked at me, stony-faced. "Would you like an edulcorated version or the X-rated one?"

I shook my head. "Give it to me straight, Em. I've had enough bullshit over these past weeks to last me a lifetime."

His expression, which normally ranged between sarcastic and mischievous, turned impossibly tender. "Why didn't you come to me for help? Why didn't you tell me?"

He knew. Somehow, he'd figured it out.

"I asked Rose to keep you out of it for a fucking reason!" I felt my irritation mounting, and with it, impending tears.

Emmett grabbed my hand. "Why would you keep your best friend out of it, Bells? Do I mean that little to you?"

"It's not your job to come get me out of every pickle I get into, Em. And it was work-related. And I couldn't … I didn't …" The words died in my throat. Finally admitting to Emmett, my friend—not Emmett, the coworker, the newly promoted partner—what I'd been through felt cathartic and daunting at the same time.

"I'm still kinda offended that your posse didn't include me in the nice little trick they pulled," he quipped. Defusing the tension—this was something Emmett did perfectly. Always.

"So, how did you figure it out?"

He huffed. "I connected the fucking dots, Bells. You disappear from the Christmas party, never to be seen again; Grabby leaves half an hour later with more gin and tonic on his shirt than in his glass. Then the rumors started. The bit about him calling for his mom was a tad overdone. Just a tad."

"I had no hand in crafting those. Granted, it was all a little immature. With a side of petty."

"Fighting fire with fire? Hell no!" he exclaimed.

"Well, I could have just reported the moron and been done with it."

"But you did report him, right?"

"Yes. But then forget what I'm telling you. Hell, wait, you never told me why you actually crashed the Exec Committee meeting. Don't think I'm gonna let you off the hook," I added.

He shrugged. "I filed a complaint, too. And when I caught wind there were other victims, I wanted to make sure we finally got rid of the bastard."

"How did that happen?"

"I heard him spew his bullshit down at LawBucks one afternoon. It drove me ballistic. It was disgusting. Then I started piecing it all together, and when I figured out it was about you, I filed a complaint. The fact alone that he was spreading that kind of rumor constituted harassment. And God knows the idiot had built a hostile work environment. Good riddance."

We let those words hang in the air while we demolished our burgers. He didn't ask me any more questions; he just let the conversation veer into inane, innocuous subjects that wouldn't draw adverse reactions. I was thankful for his presence, his steady friendship, and his lack of judgment. My best friend could seem young at heart at times, but all in all, he was my rock.

When we were halfway through our chocolate milkshakes, Emmett spoke again.

"Will you come to Mom and Dad's for brunch on Sunday?"

"Am I invited or voluntold?" I asked, half-joking. I never had a hope or prayer of resisting the Cullens' invitations. They were really, really, really hard people to refuse.

"I'm inviting you, aren't I?"

"I suppose you are. What's the occasion?"

Emmett looked away for a fraction of a second, then trained his gaze on me again. The mischievous spark in his eyes was back. But for the life of me, I couldn't tell why.

"Well, can't we just want to spend time with you?"

Now that sounded evasive as hell. I raised an eyebrow at him, inferring that his explanation was lacking.

And then, in an offhand tone he added, "And it's Edward's last Sunday in Atlanta before he decamps to Cornell."

Oh. That.

So there we have it from the horse's mouth - how Emmett happened to file one of the complains and why.

See you on Tuesday!