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I need a dollar, a dollar is what I need— I need a dollar by Aloe Black

Cal returned to his desk, avoiding Gillians' judgmental gaze as he sat in his chair.

"Could be an interesting case…and seven figures and all." He spoke, trying to gain initial control over their conversation before she could start criticizing his recent actions with Zoe.

"Cal…." Gillian walked closer to his desk. Sitting on the edge. Disappointment ever present on her face.

"We need the money!" he interjects.

"Zoe –"

"Brought us the case, luv. Your 'favorite designer' needs our services." The words came out bitter and ugly. He could not help but think of how she said those words to the designer. The admiration she showed for a man she knew little to nothing about. He thought about how they were both looking at each other. Gillians beautiful face full of adoration for the man, a look he thought was only reserved for the likes of himself. Perry looking at her like his next meal. Hungry and wanton. He couldn't read everything on Gillians face, never truly could, but he did see the blush on her cheeks and noticed the small flirtation in her word choices. It made his stomach sick. You don't have a right to be jealous. She isn't yours. Gillian would never date a client any way. Always the good girl and the professional, looking at Gillian, who sat fully on his desk now. Crossing her legs, causing her dress to hike up her legs, revealing a glimpse of toned thighs. Bloody hell, speaking became harder as he did his best not to stare overtly, failing miserably. Struggling to regain composure, he tore his eyes away from her legs and returned them to her face as he continued, "And need I say it again? Seven figures, Gillian!"

"Finished?" she smiled teasingly as she gripped the edge of his desk, leaning slightly forward and watching him.

"Depends on what you have to say, luv," he said, trying to hide his desires. Searching her face, then letting his gaze take in the rest of her. God, she looks so good tonight. So good sitting on my desk… would look even better laying on it. He thought heatedly. Stop that. Trying his best to keep those thoughts at bay… at least for now, when she can read him.

"I hate to say it but your right. We do need the money more than I care to admit. But this will take a lot of time… my time, Cal. I just signed Goldstein law, and they are bringing over a full case load tomorrow morning, and if I am to be doing vocal analysis and translating on top of that… I'll need someone to take the reigns on the Goldstein cases." Exhaling with frustration.

"Torres and Loker can take on Goldstein; they will knock them out of the park. Plus, Torres won't be much help in this case; she is rubbish with vocal analysis still, so she will need the work. We can work fashion man's cases together like the good old days. Just you and me" more cheerfully than expected, his words betraying him revealing his desires for the days of old.

He had missed the good old days of just the two of them working together. Before trying to keep their business afloat, before employees and payroll. Just him and Gillian saddled up close together, trying to solve cases. Late nights and Chinese take outs. It was always easy with her, being close to her, working with her. They have always been quite the pair. He missed that closeness as of late, but knew he was the reason why they had not been the same.

She had started it with her line years ago. That thick, ugly line kept him from getting too close, from seeing too much. He wondered some days if she created it because she could see how he really felt for her. He couldn't always guard himself around her; the mask would drop every now and then. Did she see it? See the longing, the lust? The love? Did she put that line up as a line of defense? She was married and loyal—always the good girl. He was married and loyal to Zoe as well, but that doesn't mean you don't have desires, wants. Putting the line up protected them. And there marriages, giving them privacy and security. He hated the line, but he understood the point of having it…at the time.

Times have changed since his divorce and her divorce, though. The line was slowly becoming thinner and lighter. They grew even closer, not holding back like they had for their respective exes. Seeing each other as a single man and a single woman. His desires grew more intense as his hidden wants could actually become reality. But did she want the same thing? Did she want more like he did?

He thought there relationship might evolve into more but after the Walker case, she seemed to close up towards him. She seemed more guarded around him, no longer going to dinners and coming over to his home like she had been. Something happened within her, and he could see it. He did not know why and did not ask. He could feel that she was different with him.

Then she started dating Burns.

Fucking Burns, the thought of the man still lit an inferno of anger within him. Sure, keeping a file on your best friend's new boyfriend was a bit extreme. He justified it because he knew he was protecting her, and she needed protecting. She was too good, too kind, too pure. His concerns were validated when he discovered the truth. Burns was a liar and a bastard. Dating her under false pretenses and under a false identity was morally reprehensible . He already did not like the man, and after learning the truth, he came to despise him. If she had known the truth from the beginning, would she have even agreed to date him? Bringing her into his fake life put her at risk; he jeopardized her safety. Then he left. He walked out of her life quicker than he entered it, leaving her heart broken in his wake.

After Burns, he spiraled, coming to resent her. Gillian continued dating a man who lied about everything in his life, down to his own name. Burns was clearly not good enough for her; he lied to her, yet she stayed. She stayed until he walked out of her life. Yet when he tried to get closer to her, when he tried to toe the line of something more then friendship she closed off. She chose Burns. Not him. It was clear from that point. All of their flirting was just that—flirting. She did not feel the same way he did. That must have been it. He was hurt and angry, knowing she must not feel the same. He stifled his feelings for her the only way he could: by lashing out at her. Wounding her. Putting even more distance between them with his poisonous words and actions. The Poppys, Walloski, so many other women just to fill the void. Threatening their partner ship. He wanted to hurt her like she hurt him. Like she did by denying them what he couldn't even admit out loud.

Then Claire happened. She needed him, and he couldn't push her away again, not after what she went through. Seeing her in such pain and so distraught with grief, it shook him to his core. Even after how awful he had been to her, she never held a grudge; she never lashed out; he was her first call. Her protector. Her savior. During the Claire nightmare, he could see something in her that he hadn't before. Maybe it was from the shock and trauma she had experienced. Her normally guarded self fell, and he could read her. He could see love. He could see that she truly did have love for him, but did that mean she was in love with him, like he was with her? He was her shoulder to cry on, the healing balm to her open wounds of grief. He couldn't continue his behavior after that.

Some time had passed after Claire's death, and things finally felt back to normal, like how they were before. They flirted more; she came over to his house more frequently. He could see the love in her eyes more often no longer concealing it. He thought about telling her how he really felt. How he wanted more, how much he truly loved her. But night after night he thought about how much of a fuckup he is. He ruined things with Zoe and every other woman who entered his life. He wasn't good enough for her; he knew he wasn't good enough and would never be. He couldn't risk ruining what they had. She deserved the best. He couldn't have her; he couldn't let himself have her. He was in purgatory. He accepted his fate forever in love with his partner, his best friend. Torturing himself with thoughts of what can never be.

"Just you, me, and Zoe, you mean?" she leaned back, pointing between both of them, then signaled to the door Zoe had left through. The words flowed from her mouth with condescension and bitterness. Im not getting out of this am i?

"She just brought the case in luv. I don't think she will be needing to stay for the grunt work," he hoped she would just drop it. She did not.

"not what I meant and you know it. Zoe again, really Cal? She does this to you every time. She comes into town, and you guys have sex. She leaves. You sulk. How many times do you have to repeat this pattern, Cal?" She was dissatisfied with him and the situations he put himself in time and time again.

"Can we finish our talk first, then you can mother me about my personal life?" He saw the flicker of hurt on her face when he said, "Mother me." He instantly felt guilty.

Gillian took a deep breath in a wave of frustration.

"Fine," surrendering, she would drop the Zoe subject for now. She continued speaking. "Ria and Loker can take the reins, but if they mess up anything with Goldstein, it's you that has to fix it."

"Why me?!"

"Well, I won't be able! Mr. Lavignes' case requires a vocal expert, remember? And you can't speak French," she said, the words leaving her mouth with annoyance as she huffed.

"About that, how did I not know you speak French?" he questioned playfully with a cheeky grin.

"You may think you do," she leaned over, locking eyes with him, her voice dropping to a huskier tone as she licked her lips, "but you don't know everything there is to know about me."

Good god, is she trying to punish me for Zoe by doing my head in? He stared at her lips, wanting nothing more than to capture them in a passionate kiss. But he knew he couldn't and wouldn't let himself. He looked away for a brief moment.

Gillian watched him look away hiding her disappointment , she leaned back on the desk continuing dropping her coquettish tone.

"You think the Pentagon would hire a psychologist who only speaks one language?"

"Fair point, darling." Short and simple. That's about all the words his brain would let him formulate currently, as all of his blood was trying to go somewhere else.

"So we are in agreement. We are taking the case. We can call Mr. Lavigne and let him know the good news. Unless you want to wait to tell Zoe tonight, of course." She teased him while standing up with a smirk. She started walking toward the door, and Cal followed behind.

"Thought I got out of it I did. Not gonna drop it are you luv?" He teased back, and they walked in sync as he draped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side. Enjoying the softness and warmth of her body so close to his. Surrounded by her warm familiar sent. She chuckled softly.

As they walked to the elevators, they waited for the lift to arrive.

"I heard you had a very good day, darling. Torres was impressed."

"Was she now? How so?" she asked curiously.

The elevator doors opened, both entering the doors. Pressing the ground level button. Turning to Gillian, who was watching him.

"Not every day Docta Fosta brings out the heavy artillery."

"Heavy artillery?"

"I don't think it was only your business that group of jackals wanted…" Cartoonishly eyeing her, he moved his hands up and down, signaling to her body. She laughed hard at that, a bashful blush forming on her cheeks, he joined in her laughter.

The elevator doors dinged, letting them out. Cal walked her to her car.

"Hate to say it, but that Lavigne character knows what he is doing." He opened her car door for her, standing next to her as she stood at the open door waiting to get in. "That is an absolutely stunning dress… worked like a charm... Not your typical approach to getting new clients though. Doesn't feel like "Doctor Foster" to me."

"We needed the business and the money," she laughed softly, looking down then back at his face. Smirking, she bit her lower lip softly. She leaned in closer to him, invading his personal space, and asked, "And how would you know what I 'feel like' Cal?" her eyebrow arched, her voice was above a whisper and heated.

He was at a loss for words. They have always flirted, but this was another level, especially for Gillian. I wouldn't know what you feel like, but God damn it, I want to.

He swollen the lump in his throat trying to come up with something witty, but falling short, she had bested him.

"Have a good night, Cal. I'll see you in the morning." Smiling sweetly, she kissed him on the cheek and got into her car. He closed the door behind her. Watching her drive off.

"Bloody hell"