I was rudely awakened by a torture device other people call an alarm. Honestly, it is a modern version of waterboarding. I wanted to throw the phone at the wall and just go back to sleep, but I knew I had to get out of bed or I'd be late. Again. Hopping in the cold shower was an essential part of my morning, since I wanted to look fresh and rested. It didn't really work today, my frustrated face and huge bags under my eyes were kind of a tell I didn't get much sleep last night. The suit, folded on a chair along with my tie and white shirt, was just waiting to be put on, while I dreaded that moment. I hated wearing these stupid clothes almost every day, but my job was kind of worth it. It was at O'Neal & Kent law firm.
My job is something like an analysis for cases, reviewing evidence, looking for loopholes, things people missed or profiling suspects. So, basically looking for something that can help the lawyers send criminals to prison or keep them out of it. I am not delusional though. I am very aware of the fact that one of the reasons I got it, was my surname. More accurately, my father's surname. Since he died, he left me a big fortune, legacy and a name that is kind of like a presidential key. It can open any door. Most people knew him as an influential man, a successful heir. He was ambitious, cruel and unforgiving; all the traits of a great businessman, but not so much of a good father. Usually, at least. He was an exception.
When dressed, I looked in the fridge, which was empty, except for a milk carton. An empty milk carton. My roommate left it in the fridge again, instead of throwing it out. I guess she was vaccinated against being a helpful friend. Defeated, I grabbed a bread for toast without actually making a toast out of it and ran to the elevator of my apartment building.
One bus ride later and I was once again standing in an elevator, this time of the law firm. People were already rushing past me, with coffee cups and a bunch of papers in their hands. I was walking through the hallway until I reached the door to my office. Well, not my, OUR office. I mentally prepared for what or more importantly WHO, was waiting for me on the other side of the door.
When I walked in, he was, like always, already there at the desk, with a file in his hand, green eyes fixated on whatever was written in it and legs that nonchalantly rested on my side of the desk. Of course.
Without looking up from his papers he commented: "Late again Spencer?"
Different day, same asshole.
"Wha..."I quickly glanced at the clock on the wall, that showed 7:55.
"It's five 'till 8. Which makes me early!"
Not even a minute has passed and he already managed to piss me off. That has to be some kind of special talent.
"Uf, such aggression."
God, I hated that tone. That unfazed almost passive-aggressive way of speaking always annoyed the shit out of me. He was very aware of it and made sure to use it as much as possible. So now I basically can't stand like...half of the things he says. I took off my suit jacket and folded it over my chair.
"Your shirt is crumpled," he said, again without even sparing me a glance.
"Have you actually looked at me yet or are you just guessing, because my shirt is NOT crumpled."
Now he did actually lift his eyes to me: "Wow, then I am afraid to ask what do you consider crumpled."
His face, if he doesn't shut up. At least I don't look like a prick. With his little shorter than shoulder length wavy dark brown hair, that he either wore in a bun or with his front strands tied behind his head in a tiny ponytail, he looked like some kind of a hippie his father forced to work in a bank. Beside him always sat a coffee cup from some obscure coffee shop, that is definitely overpriced, but that is okay since it's not Starbucks.
"Do you practice how to be a dick or does that just come naturally to you?"
He looked into my pale blue eyes and bluntly answered: "Every morning in front of the mirror. You know what they say, practice makes perfect."
I rolled my eyes and he returned to his papers. I pushed his legs away from me and he almost fell off the chair. It put a little smile on my face. I live for the simple things.
"You are even more cranky than usual," he said and handed me the file: "Didn't get your dose of caffeine?"
"No, actually I didn't!" I snapped.
"When did you go to sleep last night?"
I was definitely surprised by that. He started sipping coffee and lifted his eyebrows when I didn't immediately answer.
"Well?"
"Like you care."
He laid the cup back on the table: "Yes I do, because I am the one that has to be stuck with a bitchy partner."
Why can't a glare kill? Why? It would make my life so much easier.
"Me being ˝bitchy˝ has only a little to do with lack of coffee and a whole lot to do with you being an asshole!"
"Yes most of the time, but not today, since it's not fun if you are already ticked off."
I shook my head. He is impossible. I usually decide to ignore him around lunch, but I guess today we are moving faster. I started reading the file.
The content of the file was about some electronic store owners suing their insurance company for refusing to pay them when their store burned down because they claimed that the owners burned it themselves. One of our lawyers was hired to represent them. The owners, not the insurance company. They were building a case but couldn't find enough evidence and local police stopped investigating as soon as it pointed to self-inflicted arson. I also had to look into the owners, their past and stuff like that.
"What do you think?" he asked me right when I finished.
"Well, I think they didn't do it."
He probably made the least impressed face he could muster: "Even if they did, that doesn't matter since we would have to prove that they didn't, so what I am asking you to do is actually use your brain and tell me why."
"Why what?"
He rolled his eyes so hard I thought they are going to get stuck inside his skull: "Why do you think they are innocent?"
"Well, why do people usually try to fraud insurance agencies?"
"Money," he said without missing a beat.
He was standing now, with a pen and a notebook in his hands. He always starts to pace around the room, when we try to piece together a theory.
"That or the thrill."
"Thrill?"
"Yeah, I mean...What thief or a con man doesn't want to screw over an insurance company?"
He eyed me suspiciously and I really hoped he didn't notice my gulp. I didn't like when we became completely silent like that. I always felt like he was studying me.
"Since I doubt any of the family members are Danny Ocean, I think we can cross that theory off the list," was his way of dismissing previous moment of awkwardness.
"Yes ok, so the money. There are so many possible motives for stealing money that way, but...None apply to this family."
"Exactly. They were not in debt at least none that the police could find and they had more than enough money for a complete renovation of the burned down store, even without the insurance money. So honestly I don't really understand why go to so much trouble with the court and everything."
He was now looking at me, knowing I would have some sort of idea. And I did: "Would you buy a new phone yourself if someone else broke it?"
He nodded: "You think someone's framing them."
I smirked. He always understood. That's what made our ˝relationship˝ even more frustrating. I hated the fact that despite everything, we worked great together because that demolished every possibility of getting different partners. Every time we tried, Mr. O'Neal said that until we stop bringing results, we will be stuck together. I seriously contemplated sabotaging a case, just to get rid of him. He probably did too, but I guess our shared fear of failure is bigger than a wish to avoid a dose of daily annoyance.
"Found any usual suspects?" I asked.
He shook his head: "I only have what I got from Vicky. I'll call her to get more details on the neighbors and some more personal files."
Victoria was his sister. One year older, an extremely promising lawyer and as far as I can tell, family's golden child. Lukas and she weren't on the best of terms. She assigned us cases.
About 10 minutes later there was a knock on the door.
Victoria closed the door behind her, put the files on the table and smiled at me. I smiled back, which received a disapproving grunt from Lukas. I completely ignored him as usual.
"I got you what you asked for Luke. But I don't know what you are hoping to find. I am not even sure why they asked for your help in the first place. Detectives already looked at everything. WE looked at everything."
"Well obviously not, since you don't have a case yet."
"Do you really think you will find something?"
Her expression was sceptical and teasing at the same time. He turned to her with one of those faces that were usually reserved for me: "I don't know. I hadn't had a chance to look over it yet, because you're standing here and right now your presence is bugging me so...be gone."
"You are welcome for the files Luke."
He didn't even bother looking at her. She sighed and shook her head. God, he can be such a jackass! I thanked her instead of him. She smiled and turned to leave the office, but stopped right when she opened them. Her dark green eyes caught mine and she smiled again: "Bye Aron."
"Bye."
She put a strand of hair behind her ear and closed the door.
"Pathetic," he scoffed.
I turned to him: "What? Is it so horrible that she likes me?"
"Yes, actually, it is."
"Why?" I had trouble containing my smile.
"I thought my sister has some sort of standard, but apparently I was mistaken."
I rolled my eyes: "And you have standards? Since when?"
"Since always."
"O, so every receptionist meets your ˝aquired˝ taste then?"
"You're just jealous because you are not getting any."
"You are right. Maybe I should call your sister. You know, see if she's free...tonight."
I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively, just to piss him off more and judging from his face, it was working. His jaw tightened: "Just look at the papers."
I laughed triumphantly. I wasn't actually interested in Victoria. Not that she wasn't pretty, she was. Very. With long something between red and brown straight hair and pink lips, she was hard to miss. It also helped that she looked nothing like Lukas, but I was already in a relationship. He doesn't know and doesn't need to know that. Ever. I read through the papers. Couldn't really find anything, but honestly, my ˝expertise˝ lied more in the personal files. After 20 minutes I asked: "Did they look into the neighbouring store?"
He lifted his eyes to me and started looking through the file.
"Yes, but they all had alibis. Why? Any ideas?"
"I don't like their son."
"Do tell."
"Well, there is just something off about him."
He stared blankly.
"Look," I lifted his profile: "He said he was watching a football match at Gold Martin that night. From uh...20.00 'till 23.00."
"So?"
"Gold Martin is an Irish pub."
"I will repeat myself...So?"
"No pub in the world would be showing some football match when the World Cup is on."
His eyes widened in surprise, but he was still sceptical: "Maybe he calls it football. All Europeans do and..."
"Yes but Americans don't!"
"If he is in that pub a lot he could've picked it up!"
"I still want to talk to him."
"You can't. We are not the police."
"I can on my own time."
"You will freak him out."
"I won't."
"Think about it. If he really is guilty, then asking him questions will just tip him off that we are looking into him."
I knew he was right. I hated when that happened. But I still wasn't going to let it go. I had a hunch. And he very much noticed.
"Is there any other reason you think he is guilty, except of course your indisputable evidence that he called soccer football."
"It is called football and he didn't mean ˝soccer˝ but American football."
"Right," he fixated his eyes on me: "You call soccer football?"
"Yes! Because that's the name of the sport! What's with Americans?!"
"You are American."
"My parents are Europeans."
Or were. I don't really see myself as an American. I don't want to sound pretentious, but I was born in England and lived there every summer. Sadly I didn't pick up my fathers' accent.
"Oh...Whatever, why do you think he did it?"
"Well..."
"And something else besides ˝there is something off about him˝."
"But...There is!"
"Yes but what! ˝Something˝ doesn't usually stand in court that well."
"I...don't know. Yet."
I went through his file again and again. There was nothing. No criminal record. No arrests. No prior illegal activities. No drugs. No prostitutes. Not a fucking parking ticket. NOTHING! How the fuck?! This guy is a fucking saint! 22 years old virgin Mary in the flesh. There has to be something. There is always something. A cult member. My little pony obsession. He writes Justin Bieber fanfiction. There has to be.
We continued to work on our theories. Didn't really make any breakthroughs. The closest we got was with the lock. It wasn't broken, there weren't any shattered windows or any other signs of a break-in, so the perpetrators had to have a key. That only leaves the family or some close friend we don't know about. Maybe someone stole the key, swiping it from a pocket is not that difficult, but since they didn't report it, we can't know for sure. The whole brainstorming left me frustrated and Lukas... I don't really know. I can't read him that well. He always looks kind of annoyed so I'm going with annoyed. It was 15.10 which meant I can go home. Well, I could go home, but there was a report to write, which was not fun. On the bright side, at least it will be short since we didn't really find anything. Lukas quickly got up and was packing to leave, until I stopped him.
"Hey, we still have a report."
"You do it. I have a date."
"You always have a date and I don't give a shit. You are staying."
"I don't think so."
"It's 15.00. Are you going on a date right now?"
"No at 5."
"That's in two hours!"
"Looking pretty takes time and effort. You wouldn't know that though."
I rolled my eyes: "I think you would need a lot more than two hours."
He ignored me.
"I am going now and there is nothing you can do to stop me."
Why does he always sound like a comic book villain?
"I can knock you out."
"Then you will still need to write it alone."
That's actually a good point.
"Look you're not ditching me."
"Oh god, Spencer! It's not like you have a lot of shit to write. We didn't make any progress. Just shut up and do it. Goodbye."
He was already out the door. I leaned back in the chair and thought about not doing it, but in the end, it would make me look bad as well. That fucking asshole.
X
In about 20 minutes I was on a bus and in another 10 in front of my apartment. I was still a little angry with Lukas when I stepped inside, which my roommate noticed immediately.
"Tough day?" she asked and threw me a pair of sweatpants and a plain T-Shirt. She always had them ready for me. She knew how much I hated suits. But frequently, like today, we were not alone. Our three friends were sitting on the sofa. Two of them, Caleb and Charlie, were playing a video game while Dylan watched.
"That obvious?"
Caleb paused the game and turned to me: "Hey man. How was work?"
"Perfect."
"I sense sarcasm," commented Charlie.
"That asshole left me to write the report alone."
"Why don't you stand up to him?" she asked.
"What do you think I've been doing for the past five months?"
"Don't worry, it'll get better."
Dylan smiled at me. One of her signature warm smiles. I appreciated her so much. She was truly a shining beacon of positivity in my group of friends. She was also gorgeous. With tanned skin, straight brown hair and chocolate eyes, she made heads turn. There was no surprise that we met when I asked her out. It was 4 years ago when I started at Uni. She moved here from New Zeland to study graphic design, now she works in an advertising agency. Right now, I couldn't be happier she refused to go on a date with me.
About a week after, we did go together to this party where we met Caleb and Charlie. They've known each other since high school and dated for about a year. After the breakup, they stayed friends. I and Van are kind of like them, just without the dating part. Vanessa, my black haired roommate is the kind of person that even, the devil doesn't want to make an enemy off. But I love her to death. We've been best friends since the first-grade elementary school and stayed that way through high school and college. She didn't study at the same place we all did. Her computer science degree landed her a job in a security company.
"Hungry?" asked Charlie and handed me a bowl of chips.
"Thanks."
"Don't you have a date tonight?" I heard Nessa ask, while I stuffed myself with chips.
"No. Matt has a shift."
Matthew and I've been dating for almost a year now. He studies medicine to become a pathologist and doesn't really have a lot of time between studying and shifts in a hospital, but honestly, that makes seeing him when I can, that much more special.
I looked at the time: "Isn't World Cup on?"
Dylan nodded: "Belgium vs Japan."
"Why do we have to watch soccer again?" Caleb whined.
He didn't like being interrupted while playing a video game.
"Football!" Dylan and I yelled at the same time.
"And also it's the World Cup so shut up," I answered his previous question.
"Whatever." he adjusted himself deeper into the cushions and laid his head on the back of the couch. In this position, he almost always falls asleep. His dirty blond hair rested on his face and he didn't bother to brush them off.
"I hope Belgium wins," said Van.
"Mhm," agreed Dylan.
"I don't know. I kind of hope Japan does."
"Why?" Dylan asked.
"I like underdogs."
She smiled: "That's nice. They don't have a chance but it's still nice."
I laughed: "We'll see about that."
I turned to Charlie: "What about you?"
She shrugged: "I am only rooting for Sweden, so I am unbiased right now."
I nodded.
"But Dylan is right. Japan doesn't have a chance."
I rolled my eyes.