Breaching the Contract(2)

By: Chantal Fernando


Excitement fills me at the thought of working on big, high-profile cases. This job is exceeding my expectations already.

“You can take lunch whenever you like, and depending on the workload, and as long as you get your work done, I don’t mind if you head out a little early. We’re pretty flexible here, but we also work our asses off.”

I nod and follow him into the office, having a quick glance around the space. I sit down at my desk and smile up at him, so happy to have my own office. “I won’t let you down. Is there anything else you want me to do today besides study this case?”

“Yes,” he says, stepping to the desk and lifting up another file. “There’s some research here I need you to do. And by some, I mean a lot.”

He hands it to me and grins. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

He walks out, and I get comfortable in my new chair and open the case file with excitement. And then I open the research one.

Fuck.

There’s so much information; this will definitely keep me busy for a while, but I don’t mind. I pull out my notebook and pen. This is what I’ve always wanted, and Jaxon is giving me the chance to work with minimal supervision, and with his trust.

He’s giving me the chance.

I don’t think he’ll ever know how much this means to me. I have everything to gain, and everything to prove. It’s my actions that define me, not where I came from, or who birthed me. My past only fuels my hunger, my desire to succeed. My nerves having completely left me, I smile.

This is where I’m meant to be.

I get to work straightaway.



I’M WALKING BACK FROM grabbing something quick to eat at my desk, hand resting on my bag, when I notice a man in a black suit drop something. He’s on his phone, seemingly having a serious conversation, judging by the scowl on his face, and has no idea that something has just slid out of his pocket. As I walk past him, I stop and pick up what I can now see is his wallet. His back is to me, so I gently tap his shoulder, but he ignores me.

“You’re supposed to give me at least two weeks’ notice,” I hear him growl into the line.

I tap him again, more forcefully this time, and he turns and flashes me a scowl like I’m interrupting him to ask for change or something. He’s handsome. That’s for sure. His eyes are crystal blue—beautiful and mesmerizing, even when filled with annoyance. His brown hair is blowing in the wind, slightly longer on top than the sides, and I can’t help but notice the enticing shape of his full lips. He glances at me, but it’s like he sees through me or something, because he turns back away and says, “Yes, that sounds fair. I’ll be home tonight at seven, so we can discuss everything then. Bye, Amy.”

Did he just get dumped or something? Although that wouldn’t explain the two-weeks’-notice part. Still, he said he will see this Amy person at home tonight, so I wonder what the story is.

“Excuse me, sir,” I say, my tone impatient. Here I am trying to do my good deed for the day, and he’s being rude. I feel like hitting him in the face with his wallet, or simply taking any cash while he’s watching—anything to make him pay attention. He’s clearly so lost in his head, in his problems, or in this Amy chick, that he doesn’t realize I’m about to walk away with his wallet and buy myself that Givenchy handbag I’ve been eyeing.

He turns back to me, and must actually see me this time, because he asks, “Yes?” as he slides his phone into his pocket. It’s not a friendly yes, rather a What do you want? yes.

The man is rude.

I hand him his wallet. “You dropped this.”

He takes it from me, then pats down his pockets as if making sure it’s really his. What, does he think he’s incapable of losing something?

“You’re welcome,” I mutter, then turn to leave.

“Wait,” he says, so I turn around to face him once more. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” I say, my anger lessening. Maybe he’s not so bad after all. Or at least not as rude as I thought he was, considering he has some basic manners.

“Today is not my day,” he explains, wincing, then holds out his hand. He shakes his head, as if to clear it, then offers me a small smile. “I’m Tristan.”