Callista Monroe entered the shimmering glass high rise that housed the prestigious firm of Tyson, Turner and Tyson, LLP. The rat-a-tat-tat of her heels against the green marble tile of the foyer announcing her presence to the world. Callie Monroe was the type of woman whose presence was always announced. At thirty-eight, she was a full partner at TT&T. A feat that was her greatest accomplishment. And considering her lowly beginnings a rather remarkable one.
Despite Callie's cool and regal platinum blonde appearance, she had not been born with a silver spoon. Quite the opposite in fact. Callie was 'trailer trash' as it was not so affectionately known. She was the only member of her family to finish high school. Let alone college and law school. Her high school friends...all pregnant before graduation.
And while Callie gloried in her accomplishments, she felt her isolation deeply. She would never, could never truly fit with the blue bloods from her Vassar and Harvard alumni. But she also truly never could go home again. Even if she wanted to. And who would want to?
So instead Callista Monroe did one thing. And one thing only, she worked. Ninety maybe a hundred hours a week. Even as a partner, especially as a partner. Her latest negotiations in Vegas a complete success...
Well almost. But that didn't count. That was personal. All that mattered was business...and that as always went exactly like she planned. Without a single hitch.
Pressing the up button on the elevator. Pounding it would be more accurate. Patience was not a virtue that Callie possessed in any abundance. So she saved it for negotiations. The important stuff. And everything else...well, she wanted it when she wanted it.
Would that damned elevator never arrive? It was 6:55 already. She wanted to get to the office. She had messages to check. Emails to read. And notes to prepare. Before the office started to fill up with people. The doors opened wide as she stepped into the elevator. Pressing the P...penthouse.
Breathing deeply. Penthouse. How far the little girl from Fayetteville, North Carolina had come. She had conquered the big city, Los Angeles. The City of Angeles. Hell, she had conquered the country. Her expertise in labor law and discrimination made her one of the most sought after negotiators in the country. Not bad Callie girl.
The door of the elevator opened wide once more to the office suite of Tyson Turner and Tyson LLP. Callie stepped from the elevator and headed straight to her office. Gena her assistant always efficient had turned the timer on the coffee pot for 6:45. Fresh coffee, thank god. Pouring herself a cup she sat behind her glass desk. Turning her lap top on. Eighty-seven new messages. Damn. Since yesterday. Sifting through them: A, B, and fuck it priorities.
One of the B caught her attention. A reminder. Their summer law interns began today. An attachment included the rather impressive resume of the new law student assigned to her for the next twelve weeks...Donavan Something the other. UNLV School of Law...top of his class...yada-yada-yada. Shit, she hated giving lessons.
Her mind strayed then to the last lesson she had given. Her hand rubbed the tight muscles of her shoulder at that thought. But damn the kid had been good. But it wasn't the lesson plan she had imagined. This was why she hated teaching.
Shit! Maybe she could talk Jack Tyson out of this one? He owed her big time after the Vegas trip. Reassign the kid to someone with the patience to handle it. She had work to do. She always had work to do. It was all she ever did.
Callie focused on clearing her emails. On prioritizing her calls. Three from her mother. Damn, the woman must need money again. Probably her fucking good for nothing brother. In trouble again. Not how she wanted to begin her day. Using the intercom, Gena should be at her desk by now. "Gena, call my mother. See how much this time, please." Crumbling that note, she tossed it in the garbage at her feet. Then she turned back her lap top. Putting the finishing touches on her notes for the Vegas trip. Jack Tyson should kiss her lily white trailer trash ass for the finesse she'd used on this one.
***
Donavan Bradshaw walked into the TT&T building with nothing but business on his mind. The only sound about him was the sound of his boots that seemed to thunder along the hall way as he made it to the elevator. He felt eyes were on him as he moved smoothly across the tile floor. But then again he had become accustomed to that. Being a black male in this country was never easy. He wondered for a moment if the equally black guard would have the courage to question his presence in the obviously upscale office complex...this time. If not he was certain he would eventually be blessed with the experience. He always was.
His dark complexion was smooth, very clean and at most, alluring to all females around him. His lifestyle was very interesting. Intriguing to some in fact. He just bet especially to the one he owed this visit. It was going to be a total blast from her past.
Casually he stepped to the elevator at the end of the hall. His dark brown eyes looked the tall metal doors over slightly as he pressed the up button. He then looked at the paper which he held in his right hand. The word "Penthouse" clearly printed on the top of the page in big bold print let he know that he was indeed close.
He owed her, yes he did. The night got to him as most other things never could. He was accustomed to women...all ages and all shapes and sizes...adoring him. It wasn't something he consciously tried to manipulate. It just sort of happened. But this, Callie, she was something different.
The doors parted for him and his six foot plus frame passed without any hesitation into the elevator. His fingers searched the buttons lightly as a smile crept across his well shaven face. "Mmmm, penthouse huh. Sounds just like you Callie," he said to himself as the doors closed behind him followed by a 'ding.' Soon, the elevator began to move and he was on his way to talk with the very person that had been on his mind for the past week.
This internship thing was going to prove to be most interesting indeed. As he neared his destination, he opened his portfolio, looking at a simple sheet of paper. A very legal document. Something that he had drawn up the very morning he woke alone in his bed. His very lovely companion from the night before gone. He had planned on telling the alluring Miss Callista Monroe who he was that morning. But he had never gotten the chance. This document did it for him.
Soon, the elevator slowed, finally coming to a stop on the penthouse floor. His cocky attitude was too strong for him to feel any nervousness about the situation. He supposed that's what happens when you strip for hundreds, even thousands of women a week. The doors parted and let the crisp early morning light shine through the area. The scent of coffee filled his nostrils, letting him know that he was in the right place.
Silently he stepped off the elevator and began his walk to her office. He walked right past the secretary, ignoring her attempts to get his attention, not hearing her ask him what he was doing there. This was none of her business. Besides, he only dealt with the ones in charge directly. That's how he always was and always would be. His background was pretty cut and dry. A bad boy since his youth, always doing things his way and getting things the way he wanted, nothing less.
Which was kinda the case in this present position he found himself in. He made his way down the hall. Hearing her sultry southern voice over the intercom, its warm caress igniting the same need deep in his gut. Donavan smiled to himself. His lips curled lightly at each end as he ran his thumb and pointer finger over his well-groomed goatee that was evenly shaved along his jaw line and around his lips.
Finally he stood before her door. Waiting just a moment he steeled his resolve. "Now is the best time," he whispered to himself. Without bothering to knock, he turned the knob and stepped in, closing the door soundly behind him as to draw her attention. With a smile on his face that was as wide as it was the night they first met, he stepped forward, placing both hands on her desk and gently spoke "Well, hello there, Miss Monroe" Winking, he added, "Or should I say Callie Jean?"
***
Callie looked up from the screen of her lap top at the sound of the door closing. What she saw only made a bad day worse. Two words running through her mind...black mail. She muttered aloud "Son of a bitch." The she hit her intercom button once more to Gena, "Take ALL my calls...and no one enters this office...not even Jack." Especially not Jack Tyson. Breathing hard she gathered her reserves.
Calming herself, she plastered that same cool poker face that always seemed to win at the negotiations tables back in place. Once more she mumbled to herself. She had come too far for one little indiscretion to fuck it all up. "Get your hands off my desk." Her steely blue gaze met his. Letting him know that he was on her turf now. "I'd offer you a seat but you won't be staying that long. How much now?"
"Oh I beg to differ," his voice was calm and cool, reserved and well calculated. He kept his position as he looked over to the black folder that his right hand had been resting on. Something he obviously brought in with him. "There is no price. But I want you to take a look at something." He slid the folder her way with a simple flick of his wrist. Then stood up and turned, walking over to the chair that she had so casually referred to and sat down, crossing his hands in front of him. "Make sure you take a good look at everything there, then sign it." His words were a command, not a request.
Callie shook her head. Not a single platinum blonde strand falling from her tight bun. Rule number one of negotiations: don't let them see you sweat. "I'm kinda busy here," she motioned to the stacks of papers about her. "So how about you just summarize it for me? So I can get back to the real world." Her gaze was cold and steely, "You can pick up a personal check from Gena on your way out the door."
Her eyes took in his stunning body sheathed now in a crisp linen business suit. Damn the kid looked almost as good in a suit as he looked in his birthday suit. Almost. But not quite. "I don't have times for your games. What was the price again? $10,000? A bit steep...but hell you were almost worth it." She turned back to the computer screen. "Goodbye, because this is the last of the gravy train pumpkin."
***
