Hang On Tight

PART 6.

A black SUV waited outside the airport, ready to take us to Can Bey's prospective client, Mrs. Sibel.

"Go first." Can Bey instructed as he held the door open. I went into the backseat of the car reaching over to close the door when he quickly stepped in and sled right beside me.
The driver started the car and began driving, clearly aware of where we're headed.
"Let me brief you about this case. Our potential client Sibel is being accused of murdering her husband Ali in his office. The police claim they found her finger prints at the murder scene on a piece of paper right next to her husband's body. He was strangled to death with an electric chord, no finger prints present on the chord. According to the police report, Sibel found out that he was having an affair just few days before his gruesome murder. It doesn't look good for her at all, but I think I can get her an acquittal with the right representation." He said.
"What if she's guilty?" I asked.
"I'm not God, I'm a lawyer." He replied.

We've arrived at Sibel's property a little before 11 am. Her extravagant rustic villa by the marina overlooked the breathtaking turquoise coastline of Muğla Province.
Sibel was waiting outside, welcoming us to her home. She didn't strike me as someone who's been mourning their beloved spouse's tragic loss. Quite the contrary- dressed in a short elegant white suit and nude color stilettos, her hair carefully slicked back into a bun, she greeted us with an ear to ear smile revealing perfect pearly teeth.
"Nice to meet you Lawyer Can." She reached out her hand to shake his.
"The pleasure is all mine." He replied with a smile and a confidant nod. "Please meet my secretary, Mrs. Melis. She will be taking important notes for us today." He continued.
She gave me half a grin and blurted out a courteous "welcome."

Mrs. Sibel's housekeeper poured hot coffee from a copper pot for the three of us, as we took a seat on the chestnut wicker loungers outside Sibel's terrace. Her beautiful terrace resembled one of Claude Monet's famous garden paintings that I've once learned about: a mesmerizing sea of pink, purple, red and yellow tulips and daffodils making a perfect canvas of color and enchanting scent. I could literally smell every flower from across the terrace, I could hear the buzzing of the bees hovering in search for nectar over the well-groomed garden. Everything looked so perfect and peaceful. But as we all know, perfect does not exist. Perfect usually disguises everything that is far from being perfect.

Can Bey began presenting his defense strategy, as Sibel carefully listened, gulping in every word that came out of his mouth as if he was chanting verses from the holy Bible.
I handed Can Bey the necessary paperwork I've prepared in advance and rolled my eyes at the sight of Sibel's flirtatious demeanor.
Can Bey adjusted his shirt's collar, took a deep breath and patiently asked Sibel to tell him her version of events.
"So, the morning my dear Ali was murdered, I was running my usual errands: getting my nails done at the local nail salon, and running to the bank to make our weekly deposits. I was startled when his secretary called frantically screaming that he was hurt." In a matter of seconds Sibel's perfect smile turned into a look of sheer terror. She was hysterically crying as Can Bey quickly handed her his satin pocket square, visibly annoyed as she used it to wipe off her non-existent tears and now smudged mascara. Oscar worthy performance indeed.
"I... I need your secretary to leave. I don't feel comfortable sharing this information with anyone but you at the moment." She waved her hands and pleaded.
"Melis, if you could please excuse us?" He uncomfortably requested.
Sibel's tears quickly turned into a grin of satisfaction. She won.
I slowly got up carrying my notepad and laptop, following Sibel's housekeeper into the main living room area. I made a quick phone call to Demir, updating him about my whereabouts as I was curiously peeking outside through the corner of my eye.
Sibel was sobbing again, only this time- in Can Bey's arms. He seemed quite uncomfortable and tense, visibly trying to break from that awkward embrace of hers.
Sibel finally let go of his hold and walked angrily towards the terrace's stone-carved balustrade. Her beautiful brunette locks shining in the glittery rays of sun .
Can Bey walked towards her, saying something that I couldn't really hear. She leisurely turned around to face him, as she slowly twined her arms around his neck pulling him closer.
He looked down, and in a swift hand movement took her hands off his neck. He looked infuriated as he walked away to grab his briefcase, steppeing inside the living room with a frown on his face.
"Let's go." He ordered.
We walked towards the main entrance as Sibel followed our footsteps.
"You will never be able to work in this town. Do you hear me?! You don't even know who you're messing with!" She lashed out at him, very unladylike.
Can Bey turned around and quietly said: "I'm very sorry for your loss. I wish you all the best." We walked out of Sibel's house, as she loudly slammed the door behind us.
We quickly stepped into the black SUV waiting for us, engine running, right at the driveway.
I couldn't get a word out. I was utterly perplexed by everything that took place.
Can Bey took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.
"unfuckingbelievable. Widow from hell." A thin line formed between his blazing eyes.
"Melis you can never tell anyone about what just happened. Is that clear?"

"It's clear." I quietly replied.

He glanced out the window and said,
"Let's change the subject. My mood has been spoiled more than it should have been. So, I take it that you weren't pleased with my flowers. Don't you like roses?"

"I love roses."

"Then?"

"Then what?"

"A 'thank you' would be an appropriate response, Mrs. Melis."

"You don't have to call me Mrs. Melis, Can Bey. You can simply say Melis."

"You don't have to call me Can Bey. You can call me Can."

"You are my boss."

"You are a Mrs. Demir Ozan. Aren't you?" He looked at me and said in a sarcastic voice.

It took everything in me not to smack him in the face. How conceited he was. He couldn't be nice for more than two seconds.

"How do you know my husband's name? What is it to you?"

"You work for me. I know EVERYTHING about your background Melis, whether you like it or not." He scooched over and whispered in my ear.
His thigh was rubbing against mine, I felt an intense rush of anger as I moved my leg from his. He firmly placed his hand on my thigh. "Don't." He said.

"You really thought that I'm one of these girls to fall at your feet just because you're my boss? Well think again Can Bey! Because I'm not one of these shameless girls, and you... You are such a piece of... "
He grabbed my face between his strong hands, his lips firmly mashed against mine leaving me no route for escape. Before I had a chance to disobey the command of his kiss, I felt his warm tongue pushing right past my clenched teeth. That anger rush quickly turned into something I've never felt before, a feeling of burning desire running from my heart, to my stomach, down toward my inner thighs. He was feeding off that rush, as he untied my hair passionately running his warm lips down my neck. His touch felt so forbidden yet desperately needed. My heart was racing so fast. I could count every single beat if I wanted to. What the hell was I doing? I have to stop it before we get too far, I said to myself in a split fragmant of sanity.

"Can Bey... wait a moment, waaait, stop stop..." I begged, unwillingly attempting to push him away as his hand slipped under my shirt. I didn't really want him to stop, but I knew I had to.
I finally managed to pull away from him.
He stretched back and straightened his jacket. "That was nice." he coughed.

We spent the entire ride back to the airport in an awkward silence. None of us saying a single word. Once on his jet, I downed two sleeping pills and closed my eyes as tightly as I possibly could, trying to make it all go away.

I don't know what is worse: a person lacking of self control, or the one who purposely seeks to lose control even at the cost of hurting the people dearest to him. I was both types of worse and there was nothing I could do about it.