Missy Johnson: Provoke

My parents would see what they wanted to, and that would be it. He would be added to the long list of wrong decisions they thought I’d made. But this time, it was different. This time, their opinion wasn’t going to change things.

“Go,” he muttered, pressing his lips against mine. “We don’t want them firing your ass.” He cupped the back of my head and indulged me in a kiss that almost had me ready to call in sick—or quit my job completely and spend my days naked on top of him. Now that would be nice.

“Bye. I’ll call you, okay?” I said, ducking in for one more kiss.

#

Coffee in hand, I walked through the office and over to my desk. Throwing down my handbag and the stack of files in my arms, I sighed. Not even nine a.m. and I was already buggered. This was why I hated Mondays.

“How are we today?” I asked Tim, who was lingering near my door with that look on his face—the one that said he wanted something.

“Leet, we need to talk.” I raised my eyebrows as Tim sighed dramatically and leaned across my desk, his thick, blond hair falling across his deep-brown eyes.

“Tim. What is it?” I arched an eyebrow and sat back in my chair, waiting for the impending hurricane of emotional turmoil he was about to unleash. And no, I was not being dramatic.

“It’s Marcus. I cannot take any more of his incessant whining. He needs to go. I mean, I understand where this hate for life is coming from. If someone cut my balls off, I’m sure I’d be the same. But,” he paused, shaking his head, “there is not enough room for the both of us in my apartment.”

I laughed as I shook my head. “Did I not tell you that your personality was probably not suited to a Burmese?”

“But they’re so pretty,” he whined, stamping his foot as if he were a two-year-old about to throw a tantrum.

Tim and I had been friends since I started at the firm two years before as an intern. As a part of the IT department, he had been my go-to guy when I’d been trying to navigate my way around the system. Who was I kidding? I still called him for help at least twice a week. I was hopeless around computers.

We hung out a lot, especially now that my best friend, Laura, had gone overseas for a year. He had filled the void that she’d left, quickly becoming my first choice whenever I needed a friend. He had been there for me during my breakup with Ben, and had talked me through my doubts about starting a relationship with Mace. Likewise, I was there for him—usually whenever he’d made a bad decision . . . like Marcus.

“Deal with it, Timmy. I’m due in court in five.” I gulped down my coffee and stood up, brushing leftover croissant off my grey and white pinstriped suit jacket and skirt.

“Yeah. You won’t be saying that when they drag my half-eaten corpse out of my apartment because that freaking cat has driven me to suicide!” he called down the hall after me. I chuckled as I waited for the lift.

#

I made my way to the courthouse, which was a few blocks down from my office, my two-inch heels clicking against the concrete. Flats would have made more sense, but I wasn’t prepared to sacrifice that little bit of extra height for comfort. I reached into my bag, making sure I had everything. I had so many things going on in my head right then that I welcomed the distraction. This was my first big solo case.

My first closing argument.

After completing my law degree internship the previous year at the Department of Public Prosecutions, I’d been offered a position as a junior prosecutor. My calculated strategy of doing most of my placements and internships with the office had worked in getting me closer to my dream job: a senior prosecutor for the DPP. This was my first big step toward that.

In less than an hour, all that would stand in the way of a repeat offender receiving justice for his part in an armed robbery on a convenience store were my words. This was a huge point in my career. This had to go well. Stuff today up, and it could set me back months—years, if I stuffed up big enough. But that wasn’t even on my radar just then. My head was all about Mace and dinner the following night.

If he met my family, how long until he asked me to meet his?

As nervous as I was about him meeting my family, that was nothing on what I felt when I thought about meeting his. It was like a really bad movie plot: prosecutor falls in love with notorious gangland kingpin’s son. That first night, I’d had no idea who he was. And while it wasn’t love at first sight, I knew by the end of that night that I had to see him again.

#

We’d met in a bar one night. But this wasn’t your usual ‘I met a guy in a bar’ story. I was so not the ‘pick up a guy in a bar’ kind of girl, but it was just before Laura was leaving for overseas, and as usual, she talked me into going out.

She always had me doing things I normally wouldn’t—like the time we stripped down completely naked and ran down her street in the middle of winter after a big night of drinking. I’d been so cold my nipples had gone numb, and I was sure I saw camera flashes coming from her neighbour’s house.

I missed having my crazy friend around. I got the occasional email from her, but Laura wasn’t known for her ability to keep in touch. She’d gone backpacking by herself the year after high school and I’d heard from her twice—which was actually twice more than her parents had heard from her.

That Thursday night, she had convinced me to go with her to a bar where she’d arranged to pick up some weed. That in itself should’ve had alarm bells ringing in my head, and walking in there, I was shitting myself. This was the type of establishment that had a regular crowd, and all of them looked ferocious and mean—even the few women.

Two pretty young girls dressed up to the nines walking in was apparently enough for every fucking person in that place to turn and stare at us.

I’d been convinced that was it.

We were going to be raped by several heavy-bearded men, and then dumped in a skip out the back. Our decomposed bodies wouldn’t be found for weeks, and my parents would struggle to identify me because the rats had feasted on my rotting flesh. All I could think right then and there was that I should have gotten a tattoo.

My job tends to have me seeing the worst in people.

#

Three big, burly guys in leather jackets and way too much facial hair had walked up to us, insisting we sit with them. Not asking— insisting . That was when Mace had appeared.

“You made it,” he’d said, his hand slipping around my waist and gripping me on my ass. He leaned in and kissed me. Not just a peck on the lips either; it was a full-mouth, tongue-on-tongue action, nipple-hardening kind of kiss. I’d been too shocked to react—shocked by his behaviour and by how much I’d enjoyed that kiss.

“We’re over here.”

He took my hand and pulled me in the direction of a table where another guy was sitting, grinning at us. That perked Laura up, and she raced ahead of us. I rolled my eyes. Typical Laura.

It wasn’t that I felt safe with Mace, but more that he was the lesser of two evils. I also figured I’d have had more luck kneeing him in the balls than the Three Stooges over there.

“Are you girls lost or something?” he’d asked as we slid into the booth down the back of the bar. I flushed, sure that everyone was still staring at us.

“No,” I’d replied, shooting a look at Laura. “We are meeting someone.”

He almost choked on his beer as amusement sparkled in his eyes.

“In here?” he’d smirked.

“Yes, here.” Laura had spoken up in a haughty tone. “I’m looking for a Max. Do you know him?”