A/N: I hope everyone enjoys reading my writings just as much as I enjoy writing them. Peace and Blessings.
I jadedly watched steam slowly coil around my hand-painted Artisan coffee mug as I tried my best to concentrate on my case briefings. I was set to defend an eighteen year old African-American male for attempted murder and alleged rape of a sixteen year old female classmate tomorrow morning at around ten. I knew the case would take up the bulk of my day and was going to be one hell of a headache. I had just made partner at my firm, Johnson and Troy, and was given my first hard-hitting case right out the gate. With the scandal being made into national news that stirred much racial and ethical controversy, my involvement was either a smart career move on my part that could greatly influence my current salary and position at the firm, or it was an unwise choice, my boisterous ego and overzealous persona getting me into deeper waters than I can swim in-yet again, that could finish to my law career before it even began. It was already two in the morning and I needed sleep, the five hour energy drink I took earlier now waning. To make matters worse, I was to be in front of one of Chicago's more ruthless judges, Judge Irvine. She was known to be a bitch in and out of the courtroom and was rumored to lack any sympathy in her cold, calloused being. She was twice divorced due to infidelity issues with her two late husbands and was without children; so I can see why she was a bitter and angry old woman that envied anyone with a sliver of happiness in their spirits. To top to top it off, I was starving and the dry, stale bagel I had stolen from the coffee room was making me even more frustrated. There wasn't any cream cheese or jelly either. My morning was certainly turning out to be quite the experience.
I took a small bite out of one of the coffee room's many dry, stale bagels I had snatched to ease my late night hunger, sipping my hot chocolate I had just prepared shortly before from my mug. I had a sudden craving for Chinese food but resisted the urge to call Chin's. I was currently on a low-fat, low-calorie diet that restricted my consumption of all sweets, sugars, and, my favorite, fast-foods. With me being a curvaceous beauty with a weight problem, according to Cosmo magazine, it truly was hard to avoid going through the McDonald's drive through and getting my usual ten piece nugget meal after a long day's work. I did not really consider food to be an addiction before, but since going on this diet I came to realize that those tasty treats I love munching on during my drive home from work, while watching my late-night reruns of Jerry, and my rainy evenings snuggled up in my backwards robe, were causing me to become addicted to their tantalizing flavor. I never knew I could miss the sweet and tangy taste of sweet and sour sauce mixed in with the flavor of fried chicken so much.
Fuck my life
I looked at my computer monitor sometime later and saw that the time was now 3:45 a.m. I now had a pounding migraine that made every word I read blurry, every yellow streak of highlighter painful to even look at, and the bright desk lamp on my office desk simply unbearable. My case briefings were halfway finished, no where close to being ready for the final presentation. I was supposed to be in the courtroom, ready to address the press, talk to the media, and defend my client in less than seven hours and I had a migraine and lack of sleep. Not the ideal first impression you want to make as your first time as newly elected partner. I sighed and buried my face in my palms, running my freshly manicured hands through the thick curly locks of my hair.
Fuck my life
There was a small knock on the door, but I did not bother to look up to address the person. I thought it was Ursula, the Cambodian cleaning lady that spoke very little English and always smelled of Lysol and vanilla, and just gestured for her to come in and begin her daily disinfecting ritual with a small wave of my wrist. She came in abnormally early to clean the entire office suite but was compensated handsomely from what I was told from staff. Every day, without fail, she would flaunt her signature smile and attempt to say "Good Morning" in her thick accent, never daring to part ways with her weapon of choice-Clorox- and her trusty companion-Windex. This time, there was no aroma of Lysol or Vanilla, but the heavenly scent of men's cologne, Armani perhaps. I heard to door close and someone sit in one of the two leather chairs I had positioned in front of my desk. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts to finally realize that the person that was in my office was not Ursula. I looked up and saw Troy, thee Troy of Johnson and Troy. He was grinning and gracefully had one leg over the other, leaning backwards into one of the cushions lazily. I quickly fixed myself up and fixed my disheveled desk to make it seem as if I had been somewhat productive over the last hour and a half.
I cleared my throat and graced him with a small smile. "Mr. Troy. I thought I was alone in the office. I did not know I had company." I began to ramble nervously, intimidated by his carefree demeanor and shroud of silence. "If I knew you were here, I would have said hello or made your coffee or umm...got your briefs prepared."
"It's quite alright, Tasha. I decided to come in a bit earlier than usual and get a head start on the Phillips vs. Texas case. I saw your light was on in your office and decided to drop in and see how the new partner was doing on her first big case."
I laughed nervously as I felt his stare move downwards towards my full, ample breasts, proudly protruding through the deep plunge of my V-neck chiffon blouse. I had a pink blazer over it earlier to conceal any amount of sexuality I could have exude but had taken it off when everyone had left for the evening and I had realized I was alone. My pink lace bra was visible to the naked eye through the taut fabric of my shirt and I began to blush crimson.
Mikeyl, Mikeyl Darnell Troy was his full name, and I had a romantic affair years back when we were in college together. He was four years my senior and was a semester away from graduating and going to Northwestern to study law. At the time, he had a girlfriend, Shayla Watkins, and was madly in love with her-until he met me. We started off as friends but blossomed into something much more months later when he and Shayla broke it off after some petty argument about groceries. I was a virgin and a freshman in college and he was a well-endowed, truly experienced senior that had aspirations to become a future lawyer that made my panties moist with just a "hello". We did not officially date because of his conflicting feelings with Shayla, but on numerous occasions, we made passionate love throughout many of nights in either his apartment or my single dorm that could not deny our inevitable feelings for one another. After he graduated, we lost contact because he and Shayla reconciled their differences and decided to give their relationship another try; my heart ending up broken and my self-worth now diminished, feeling as if I gave all my love to the wrong person. A few times he tried to contact me but I never responded nor acknowledged his presence. Eventually, we fell off and I hadn't heard from or seen him until I applied for a position at Johnson and Troy-unbeknownst of who the Troy truly was.
"Still, I would have said hello, Mr. Troy."
Mikeyl sighed and uncrossed his legs, getting in a less formal position. "Tasha, no need for the formalities." He gave a small, sensual smile. "We are friends, aren't we?"
I nervously cleared my throat and looked at my abandoned case briefings. I did not feel like getting into it with Mikeyl. Ever since he found out Chad Johnson had hired me to be apart of their firm, Mikeyl has been trying to win back my affection. It was bad enough he was my first love; I did not need him to be my employer as well. "Sure. But I really need to get on these case briefings. I have court at ten and I am barely through..."
"You know I never stopped loving you."
I grew speechless and began to stare at the yellow streaks of marker I had drew on my files, my migraine damned to hell. My breathing became much more brisk, the yellow lines of marker now beginning to become one. He continued.
