WORK IN PROGRESS: Nash and Remy

Chapter 4 (Remy): I'd Delivered My Message

Copyright © 2024 by GroveltoHEA

Once again, we all stood around my desk stupefied.

"Hey, could someone sign for the flowers, please?" the delivery man asked after a few moments of silence.

Jamie waded through all of us, signed where he pointed and then she tipped him.

"Gentlemen, give me five. Remy, my office, please."

Jamie stood in front of her desk. "I won't apologize for Nash because that's something he's going to need to do once he realizes what the hell he's done and how he's been acting."

"I don't expect you to apologize for him, Jamie. This is totally Nash."

"It is and it isn't. You know him. I know him. This is not Nash. This is someone I not only don't know, but someone I don't want to know. I've never seen him lash out, not even after Faith died, so I'm baffled. That doesn't mean I don't have my own theories."

"If you had asked me before, I would have never believed Nash was capable of acting like that."

"OK, enough about Nash, you're my biggest concern right now. Where's your head? What do you want to do?"

"Kill him."

"As your lawyer, I'd advise against that, satisfying as it might be, unless you have a blueprint for committing the perfect crime, and then I would advise you to keep that information to yourself. Do you want to sue him? I could come up with a whole list of things --"

"No. I don't. I won't sue him, even if he is being an asshole."

"I'd represent you. Free."

I laughed. She'd totally sue a partner in her own firm.

"Do you want to leave? Have today be your last day?"

That one, I had to think about. There would be definite benefits to just being done and leaving right now -- not having to face Nash being the number one benefit. But the overwhelming feeling I had was fuck you, Nash. I felt as if leaving would make me a coward, letting his nastiness run me off. I wouldn't be intimidated, and seriously, if his objective had been to make me leave, well, prepare for some disappointment, jackwagon.

"Honestly, Jamie, when someone acts like Nash did, it only makes me want to be in his face for the next three-and-a-half days. Unless you want me to leave because it would make things easier on everyone?"

"Oh, hell no. You're going to sit your lawyer-trolling ass in that chair and work out the rest of your notice if that's what you want to do, although work might be a bit of an exaggeration with what I have in mind."

"Jamie, no," I warned her sternly. "I'm going to work and ignore him. No pulling anything. Promise?"

"I don't believe in verbal contracts," she murmured, and I just shook my head and rolled my eyes because I could multi-task that way.

"Let's just get through these next three-and-a-half days as smoothly as possible."

"I'm a lawyer," she pointed out. "As possible is a completely subjective term, open to many different interpretations in a court of law. Feel free to abide by your understanding of the term and I'll abide by my understanding of it."

"Jamie --"

"Now, get back to work and troll away."

An hour later, I heard the elevator ding and seconds later, Nash was standing in front of my desk. I kept my eyes glued to my computer screen as if the spreadsheet was the most fascinating thing in my life. I honestly wasn't being childish; I just knew myself and knew if I looked in his beautiful, sad eyes, I'd start crying. After what he'd said to me today, I didn't want to break down at the office. I was forcing myself to hold it together until I could cry on my couch, alone and without an audience.

"Remy, I'd like to talk to you in my office now."

"Why aren't the final two columns automatically totaling the numbers?" I muttered to myself. "It's got to be the formula, but --"

"Remy. My office. Now." 

Someone was growling because he wasn't getting my attention. Where the hell was my boss when I needed her?

"OK, so the formula in column G looks the same as the one in F, but for some reason --" I continued mumbling to myself.

Two hands slammed onto my desk. "Remy! We need to talk."

And that was Jamie's cue to come through for me.

"Remy," she trilled from her office, "need you in here for a Zoom call with a client. And bring the Watterson file."

"Be right there, Jamie," I called back cheerfully. There was no Watterson file, nor was there a Zoom call with a client, so I got up, went to the appropriate file cabinet, pulled a random file then walked into her office, closing the door. All without looking at or acknowledging a certain toddler's presence.

"Give it a minute or two for him to get back in his office and then go back out," she said. "And your lunch should be here any minute."

My lunch was delivered not even five minutes later, and I ate while I worked and got a lot of my to-do list for the day accomplished in the next three hours. It gave me an odd sense of satisfaction to be able to concentrate when my brain kept trying to relive Nash's words to me today.

But around four, I heard Nash's office door open and he was, once again, standing in front of my desk. Waiting for me to acknowledge his presence, but that wasn't something I was prepared to do. I was still stinging from his harsh words and accusations.

"Remy," he said softly, and I knew that voice. It was the one he used when he was being his most real self with me, sweet and tender and loving. It was what his voice sounded like when he forgot the pain of missing his wife and he was focused on me.

I loved this voice and although I heard it often enough, its absence made me ache because I knew why I wasn't hearing it: Nash was remembering Faith on those occasions. His face changed as well, becoming sharper as if the grief were turning him to stone.

I refused to concede to that low, coaxing voice. "I'm going to stop by your place tonight so we can talk. I need to apologize and explain."

Well, that clinched it. I just made plans to not answer my door no matter what for the entire evening because, after an entire year together, after basically calling me out as thirsty for lawyer dick in front of colleagues, he actually thought an apology and explanation would get me on my back? 

And let's face it: when he told me he enjoyed my company, that was probably code for he enjoyed fucking me senseless. The relationship I thought we'd been building had been entirely one sided. I had all the feelings and he...enjoyed my company. That was being damned by faint praise.

"Remy."

Keep looking at your computer screen, Remy. Do not cave and look at him.

When I refused to face him, I heard him come around the side of my desk and crouch beside me. He put his hand on my arm.

"Please look at me, Remy, so I can apologize for what I said."

Oh, shit, the tears were threatening. Oh, please just wait another hour or so until I get home!

From somewhere deep within, some reserve of strength I didn't know I possessed, I finally looked at him, dry eyed.

"You need to leave me alone so I can work. I got a little behind on my tasks earlier this afternoon when I was busy trolling for my next lawyer," I said coldly. "And even if you were to apologize nonstop for the remaining three days I'm here, it still wouldn't be enough to make up for your inexcusable behavior yesterday and today."

He stood up and walked away. I thought that would be the end of it. I thought I'd delivered my message clearly in a way he couldn't misunderstand.

But, as I was soon to discover, all I'd done was awaken something in Nash.