The Big C, Is There Love after Cancer?

By B L Wilson

Sloan Watson, confirmed female lothario, meets her match when she finds a new employee, Attorney Anita Davis, bent over a toilet bowl early one morning. Anita confides a terrible secret about her health to the tall, good-looking maintenance person, who doesn’t know what to make of the beautiful woman’s secret, but she wants to know her name. Anita is attracted to Sloan as well, but has too many complications at home to act on the attraction.
Fate keeps throwing the two women together and Sloan finds herself caring for Anita despite her vow not to become involved, as she is carrying past baggage of her own.
Can Anita overcome her initial distrust of Sloan’s playgirl personality and allow her to help her get through the difficult battle she has ahead? Will Anita allow Sloan into her life once the medical crisis is over? Will Anita have the courage to walk away from her destructive home life and find the happiness she deserves? Will she survive the devastating effects of The Big C?

• Language: English
• Publisher: B L Wilson
• Release date: Oct 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370521708

B L Wilson

Barbara has always been a dreamer and avid reader, so it is not surprising that she has put pen to paper. Barbara grew up on family cattle stations and became an amazing horse woman, commencing her horse training career at 12 years old. She progressed to racing horses for country race meetings, winning a trainer trophy, and rode in one of the first 'ladies' jockey races. After moving to Atherton, FNQ, she continued to ride track work, assisted in coaching junior soccer for many years. Barbara and her mother ran a souvenir shop for a couple of years before Barbara bought a late-night pizza shop, after trouble with vandalism with drunkard people and pub late trading suspended the shop failed. Barbara took a deep breath and as her children had finished school, she headed off on an adventure through western Queensland and Northern Territory, ending up in Orange New South Wales, working in a refrigeration factory. She quickly progressed from a worker on the track, to final inspection. She assisted in the development of a manual for the tracks. While there, she went back to education in the hospitality industry, this led her to be a bar manager at a mine site. From here, she went into Pest Control for 14 years before retiring and putting pen to paper. Barbara has two sons and three grandchildren.

Book preview

The Big C,

is there love after cancer?

by

B.L. Wilson

The Big C, is there love after cancer?

Brought to you by

Patchwork Bluez Press

The Big C copyright 2016 by B. L. Wilson. All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the author.

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity in name, description, or history of characters in this book to actual individuals either living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share

Edited by BZ Hercules

www.bzhercules.com

Author’s Note

The Big C was written in 2010 and takes place in a time when technology was somewhat more simple. You may find references to flip phones and people not being as easy to reach as they are now. Social media was nonexistent, at least not like it is in the present day, and most of my characters did not feel incomplete without a smart phone. Updating the technology might change the plot elements, so I have left the old-fashioned ways untouched and request that you enjoy this bit of nostalgia as it is written.

Thank you.

B.L. Wilson

For all those women who have suffered abuse at the hands of somebody who claims to love them. My wish for you is that you become your own warrior and fight for the right to live your own life free of abuse.

The best way to find yourself,

Is to lose yourself in the service of others.

~Mahatma Gandhi~

CHAPTER ONE

Here, allow me, the woman said in a low soft voice as she towered over the second woman, who was bent over the toilet bowl in the stall. A wet, dripping something was clutched in her hand. She leaned over and pressed the brown towel made from recycled materials against the downed woman’s forehead. Rough night, huh? She grinned and then chuckled. I’ve had many of those...too many to count on one hand. She gave another throaty laugh. Too many to count on both my hands and all ten toes. She felt the woman’s head move under her hand and then heard her groan. The tall woman stepped back as the downed woman grabbed the towel, keeping it pressed to her forehead as she rose.

Thanks for the towel. It felt good. The woman sighed and looked down at her suit, adjusting it against her chest. At least I didn’t get anything on my clothes today.

The tall woman had moved outside the stall. She leaned casually against the face basin as she studied the brown-skinned woman in the navy blue business suit with the contrasting crisp white blouse. She certainly didn’t look like the typical drinker. Not in those matching navy heels and neatly cut, relaxed hair. She couldn’t be more than forty, although that was a bit old to tie one on the night before. She looked more like a banker or a lawyer—not that that profession didn’t or couldn’t have its share of heavy drinkers. She had dated enough of them to know one when she bumped into one. Nope, this woman wasn’t one.

Whenever I have an upset tummy, I usually take the pink stuff or the green stuff. It calms my tummy down really well.

The downed woman stopped adjusting her suit jacket and skirt to stare at the tall woman’s face for a long minute, then she did something totally unexpected. Her eyes moved from the tall woman’s face, slowly slid down her solid body, and stopped at her belt line to study her waist. Twinkling eyes moved back up to the tall woman’s face. Who even says ‘tummy’ anymore? She watched a dark crimson flush creep up a red-brown neck, then spread to her cheeks, and finally stop at the tall woman’s ears. Good! She’s as embarrassed as I am. Now we’re even, she mused as she strode out of the stall door she’d forgotten to lock. That won’t happen again, she promised herself.

She ignored the woman’s glare as her annoyed eyes followed her journey to the second face basin, where she filled her hands with water, then rinsed her mouth out several times. She grabbed a paper towel from the nearest dispenser to wet it and pat her face with it. She caught annoyed dark eyes studying her in the mirror.

What’s wrong with saying ‘tummy’?

The downed woman turned around to stare at the tall woman, noticing for the first time her gray uniform shirt tucked into matching gray slacks and thick-soled black work boots on her feet. The pocket of the woman’s shirt had the yellow and black emblem denoting building maintenance. She’d bet there was a yellow cleaning cart stashed somewhere nearby. Nothing, if you’re speaking to a child, which I’m not.

She watched the woman’s dark eyes study her body as if she was taking a pop quiz on how it looked. Defiant dark eyes gave her the once over, starting from the hair on the top of her head and down to her neck. The woman’s eyes lingered on her breasts long enough to let her know she was looking at them and then her eyes moved down slowly to her hips, stopping there for a moment before moving down her legs. Dark eyes finally moved back up to her face.

The tall woman’s dark eyes glinted at her and then issued a smirk. She noted her blushing face. She folded her arms across a solid chest. No, you certainly aren’t a kid, are you?

That remark was out of line. You are way over the line.

The tall woman grinned, revealing a deep right dimple. What line is that? Show it to me and I’ll make sure I don’t cross it the next time I see you.

Humph! the downed woman exclaimed as she turned around to look at her reflection in the mirror. She fiddled with her hair and then her makeup, watching the tall woman watch her reflection. Don’t you have floors to mop or toilets to clean?

The tall woman pointed to her patch, patting it with a broad hand. Just because it says ‘maintenance’ doesn’t mean we all mop floors and clean toilets. Some of us got skills. We fix leaks, repair light fixtures, windows, and doors. We move furniture and do a ton of other stuff to keep this building running right. She reached into the pocket of her uniform’s pants, then pulled out a foil packet containing two pink pills.

She drew closer until she was behind the downed woman, watching in the mirror as her worried eyes grew wider with what she read as fear. Don’t worry. I’d never hurt a woman who doesn’t like hearing the word tummy. She inhaled deeply. The woman smelled delicious…a subtle mixture of citrus, vanilla, and spice maybe? She put the foil packet on the countertop next to the face basin. These are for your tummy, she remarked in a low, soft voice, then chuckled at her own joke as she stepped away from the downed woman, grabbed the tool belt she’d slung over one of the chairs in the lounge area, and left.

The downed woman exhaled. Then she sagged against the face basin and patted her thundering chest. Damn it! Everybody isn’t out for blood, Anita, so just calm down.

Tell me again about the woman in the office on the fifth floor, Sloan Watson asked as she stood next to the front security desk, bribing her cousin Jennifer with a second cup of java and a double chocolate fudge donut.

Which one is she this time, Sloan? Jennifer took a huge bite of the fat donut, swallowed the gob without chewing, then gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee. She had to eat fast before her nemesis, Carlton Connelly the Third, or Carl the Turd, as he had been nicknamed by her, caught her eating at her desk again and put her on report. Going on report meant no overtime for a week or two, which was up to the discretion of the supervisor.

In Carl the Turd’s case, that meant no overtime for three weeks. Her supervisor knew she needed at least a week’s worth of OT to keep her rent and utilities current. He delighted in torturing her with his disciplinary actions ever since she’d refused to go out with him eighteen months ago. As far as she was concerned, the little turd had the wrong equipment to satisfy her needs. Even if she had been into men, which she wasn’t at the moment, he was the wrong type of man and he knew it. All short little men were wrong for her. She let him know exactly how she felt by making up creative short jokes within his hearing on a daily basis.

Sloan rubbed her neck in frustration as she paced in front of the nearly chest-high security desk. I don’t know what office she works in. All I know is she was on the fifth floor this morning, practically licking the toilet bowl.

Oh, so now you’re into toilet bowl lickers, huh?

Sloan stopped pacing to glare at Jennifer. Ha, ha, very funny, Jen; that’s really funny. I’m laughing my balls off over here.

Ah, Sloan, I hate to tell you this, but you don’t have that particular piece of equipment, thank the lord.

What’s that supposed to mean?

It means that both straight and gay women would have something to fear if you did have a dick. As it is, you’ve been through, what? Oh, forget the numbers. At least a dozen lesbians and six formerly straight women know where your birthmark is. They can describe that tattoo of yours in great detail too, listing its location and every single color in the damned thing.

Eyes twinkling, Sloan grinned ruefully, revealing her right dimple for the second time today. Can I help it if my daddy taught me some of his tricks before he up and left my mama to pursue what he taught me? She paused to allow Jennifer to groan loudly and then stuff the rest of her donut into her mouth. She washed it down with hot coffee that made her eyes water. Watching her, Sloan sighed and shook her head. I watch you do that every morning. I still don’t see how your head doesn’t explode or at the very least your throat should have a large, steaming coffee burn hole in it by now. You really should set your clock earlier so you can eat a good breakfast before you get here.

Jennifer drained the last drop of hot coffee from the cup before answering her best friend. But then I’d have to kick out whichever woman I met the night before out of my bed. I don’t have the heart to do that.

Oh, so now it’s called ‘heart’? Only last week, we were calling it ‘getting the puss.’

Jennifer groaned. God, that was awful, Sloan. Anyway, describe the woman in question. Maybe I can sift through my tired brain and match her face with a name.

You’re more likely associating her ass and tits with a name.

What do you care which lady parts my photographic memory latches on to as long as you get a name out of the deal? Jennifer grinned at Sloan. So give me her description.

Okay, okay, I’m thinking. She’s shorter than me.

The entire free world’s women are shorter than you, Sloan, except for basketball players, volleyball players, and maybe pole vaulters. Jennifer opened one eye to stare at her best friend and cousin. Give me something to work with here. Is she white, yellow, Black, or brown? What about her hair color and style? Is she a plump pigeon, a skinny Minnie, or a medium turkey? And how about her clothes…designer suits, short, sexy show-all skirts and tight tits-popping-out tank tops, or boring can’t-see-nothing business suits?

Okay, okay. She has hazel eyes. Her skin looked smooth and creamy. Sloan frowned. God, Jen, she smelled great, like something citrus mixed with spice maybe. She had nice legs…very nice legs in navy heels…two-tone navy heels, I think. They matched her suit.

So she’s white, right? Is she blond or brunette? Maybe that redhead I like who always leans over the desk to talk to me so I can see breasts? Mama gots plenty of tit. O-o-o, one of these days, I’m gonna… Jennifer pretended to bite into her fist as she let her imagination take flight.

Damn it, Jen, she’s not white! She’s Black. Could you just shut it and help me with this? Sloan felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around.

I want to report a broken light fixture in my office. They said it would be faster if I came down in person to the… The downed woman’s voice faded away once she recognized the tall woman quietly staring at her.

Jennifer watched Sloan stare at the woman. The woman returned Sloan’s silent look. She rubbed her hands together. Okay, Ladies, I believe I have the perfect solution to all your problems today, Miss… She eyed the woman standing in front of her. Of course, Sloan left out the really good stuff like saying the woman was freaking gorgeous. She had huge, soft doe-like light brown eyes and a figure to die for but maybe a little too thin. Humph, why did she think that? She had nice…better than nice legs and a handful of breast…more than a handful. They’d even fill Sloan’s big ole hands. She bet the woman looked as good walking away as she did stepping forward.

It’s Mrs. Davis and I work on the fifth floor. The woman sighed, then rubbed her temples. I mean, I’m Attorney Anita Davis. I keep forgetting that part. I just passed the bar. This is my first job. I’ve only been here six weeks. Well, five and a half weeks, to be exact. My lights went out. The woman upstairs said to come down here. I’m not sure why. I think it would be faster if I just made a phone call. I need... She sighed. God, I’m rambling on. I do that when I’m nervous. Her stare turned into a glare at Sloan. Could you please stop looking at me and look at her or something? You’re making me nervous again.

Sloan grinned at the woman. Did you take the medicine I gave you for your tummy ache yet? I’ll bet it would help your disposition too.

Jennifer watched the woman fold her arms across her navy jacket, pulling it tight across her bosom. The movement was putting a serious strain on the front buttons of her suit jacket. Maybe they’d pop open to reveal what was underneath. A see-through lacy teddy would make her day complete. Jennifer licked her lips in anticipation.

Meanwhile, Sloan’s smile grew broader. She knew the woman was gearing up to say something flippant. She was curious as to what it would be this time.

Humph! Make yourself useful and follow me upstairs, please.

That was straight to the point, Sloan mused but didn’t say aloud. Yes, Ma’am.

O-o-o, I’d follow you anywhere, Attorney Sweet Tits and Ass, Jennifer murmured softly, leaning over her desk to watch Sloan do a quick about face and stride off behind plenty of swinging, swaying hip action. This time, Jennifer left teeth impressions in the fist she pressed against her mouth. Sloan, if you don’t jump on that one tonight, you are absolutely not the woman I know and love. God, the woman is…incredible, amazing, unbelievable… oh, just fill in the goddamned blank with descriptive adjectives!

The two women waited for the elevator in silence. When the warning bell pinged and the door opened, Sloan held it for the feisty attorney to climb aboard, then she stepped inside, noting how the woman chose a far corner at the back of the elevator. They were taking the ride to the fifth floor alone. Sloan caught Attorney Davis’ eye, winked, then placed a broad right hand on her own chest and raised her left, pretending to take an oath. I promise not to bite or suck your blood or hit you upside the head or do any of the other things you think I might do to you when we’re alone.

Humph! I don’t think you would harm me in any way.

Oh, sure, you don’t think that. Isn’t that why you’re huddled in that far corner?

I just like my personal space, that’s all.

Sloan nodded at the familiar ring to her words. She enjoyed using her height and sturdy build to make people a bit nervous. As long as she scared the right people, she didn’t give a shit. It was good that kids and dogs seemed to ignore her potential for making trouble and came right up to her to talk or wag their tails. Ah, it’s the old ‘personal space’ excuse…like I haven’t heard that one before. She held up both hands in surrender. I really am harmless. Just ask anybody who works here.

Why is it so important for me to trust you? I don’t know you. Anita Davis sighed as she stared at Sloan in her maintenance uniform. I’m not even sure I want to know you.

Now see, that’s where you’re…wrong. I’m...

The elevator opened on the second floor, interrupting her speech as three people entered, two women and a man. All of them wore business suits. The women recognized Sloan immediately. One woman nodded at Sloan, then giggled at some recent memory she shared in whispers with the second woman. The second woman was much bolder. She moved next to Sloan, making contact. Her hand rubbed against Sloan’s right hip before she whispered, I’m free for lunch today. How about you, Sloanie; are you free too?

I’m on the job right now. Sloan faced forward, staring straight ahead, pretending to watch the floors lighting up. In reality, she was trying mightily to ignore the earthy stirrings between her legs. Lunch with either woman never meant eating from the menu. To Leslie, lunch meant packing in as many mind-blowing, scream-your-lungs-out orgasms as they could muster in an hour. The record so far was six. No, it was eight.

The second woman gave Sloan’s hip a subtle pat, then a pinch no one could see unless they were huddled in a far corner. You’d better call me, you big devil.

Preparing to answer her, Sloan caught Anita Davis studying her closely from the far corner as if she was waiting to see how she’d handle being approached and fondled in public. She grinned at the woman touching her. I promise when I finish work, okay, Leslie? Mavis, you take care now, she remarked, holding the door for the two women to exit on the fourth floor. The man stepped back to allow her space to be polite. Upon reaching the fifth floor, she and the attorney exited the elevator, leaving the sole occupant with the entire cab.

You lead the way since I don’t know which office is yours, Mrs. Davis. Sloan stepped back to allow Anita to walk ahead. The move also allowed her eyes to roam freely over the snug but not too tight skirt and short jacket, both of which fit the shapely woman just fine. The woman stopped suddenly and Sloan bumped into her backside, nearly knocking her into the glass door. At the last second, Sloan grabbed on to the woman’s waist with one hand, then stretched a hand out to balance against the wall with the other. It prevented them both from crashing through the glass doors.

Anita felt the strong arm around her waist holding her up and supporting her in a way that felt good. For a moment, she closed her eyes and enjoyed a stranger’s closeness. Hearing the labored breathing…which belonged to her and Sloan the maintenance woman…she realized how they must look to anyone walking down the hallway right now. She shoved out of the half embrace to confront her rescuer. Shit! Watch where you’re going! You nearly splattered me all over the door.

Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.

I’ll just bet it was, Anita retorted sarcastically, tugging on her skirt, then brushing it off and adjusting the navy jacket. She glared up at the tall woman. It was on Leslie and Mavis, individually or together. But no doubt on them just the same and what’s for lunch, I’m sure.

Sloan grinned, then opened the front office door with a flourish and bowed deeply. Please, you go through the door first, My Dear Queen.

CHAPTER TWO

The law office was similar to most of the offices on the floor. The inner double doors opened into a large room filled with cubicles in three or four rows and small offices along the perimeter walls. A receptionist and waiting area sat just off the first set of double glass doors.

Hello, Sloan. Did you finally come to fix my pipes with your marvelous tools? Jen said you might be stopping by. Rose, the receptionist, grabbed her mirror, patted her short spiky red hair, then checked her makeup. She formed pouty lips and re-applied dark red lipstick to them. She shrugged out of her business-suit jacket to reveal an ultra-tight, V-neck tank top. Her naturally long eyelashes fluttered at Sloan provocatively. She nodded in recognition to Anita Davis.

Good morning, Rosy. I love your blouse. Sloan rested her hands on the tool belt at her waist, then walked over to sit on the edge of the receptionist’s desk. She loved the view it gave her of the freckles sprinkled across Rose’s nose and elsewhere on her eggshell pale skin. She was a cute kid but way too young for Sloan. It would be like screwing her baby sister. Anyway, Jennifer had it bad for the cute redhead with the amazing bright green eyes. Nope, not today, Sugar. Today, I’m stuck fixing light fixtures for one of your lawyers.

She watched Rose sort through some papers, looking for repair ticket requests. She pulled out a handful from a drawer. Ah, here we go. I told Mrs. Davis about fixing things around here. Since she brought you up here, she gets dibs on your services first. But you’d better look at these too.

Sloan groaned as she sifted through the work orders; there were at least ten tickets for lights out in various offices and cubicles in the room. Oh hell. Now she was gonna be up and down on the ladder all day. Goddamn Jimmy was assigned this office. He was the boss’s nephew, which meant he came and went whenever he wanted. He made time and a half every weekend for doing nothing but sleeping in the back room of the basement boiler room or screwing the creepy, skanky women he sometimes brought down there. She waved the tickets at Rose. Did Jimmy ever do any work around here, Rosy?

Not really if he could help it. Rose pushed her chair back and preened for Sloan, crossing and uncrossing her legs, then pulling up her skirt a little to expose long, shapely legs.

Anita watched the entire scenario play out between the two women until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Playtime with the female lothario and her potential bedmates was over. Clearing her throat loudly, she waved a hand at both women. Hello, Ladies, I’m right here in front of you. I’d like my lights fixed sometime today. Is that too much to ask? I have lots of casework reading to do before tomorrow and I’d like to go home before midnight, huh?

Sloan slipped off the edge of the desk, then winked at Rose, who purred at her like a pretty little kitten. Duty calls, Sugar. She played with the tickets in her hand. It looks like I’ll be here for a couple of days, Rosy. For now, I’ll go check out what I’ll need. Mrs. Davis, lead the way to your office.

Rose grinned, nearly bouncing up and down in her chair like a small child at Christmas time. Oh goody, I’ll get to see you for two whole days. I’ll ask Jennifer to help me bust up some fixtures and switches to keep you here longer.

Not if Leslie and Mavis have anything to say about it! Anita muttered, eyeing the tall woman as she marched through the open door that led to a main room where everyone worked.

Sloan quickly followed Anita and caught up, matching her stride. She leaned near an ear to whisper, What was that, Mrs. Davis? Were you saying something?

Do you ever stop scoping the ladies?

Sloan pulled her head up away from Anita’s face and chuckled. Nope, I don’t stop. When I see a beautiful woman like you, I feel it’s my duty to tell her about her beauty.

Anita opened the door to her small office. It was a bigger than a walk-in closet but not by much. She was proud she had one. She’d finished law school, even if it was at night. She’d passed her bar exam on the second try. Now she was standing here in her very own office. It didn’t matter that she had a female version of a Don Juan nipping at her heels in the tiny space. The space was hers and hers alone. She earned it and it was time to let the female Romeo know it. In case the Missus in front of my name didn’t give you a hint, Sloan, I’m married.

"You said that to say what? I’m not interested in your wife. Although I’d like to compliment her on her taste in women."

Sloan didn’t follow Anita into the office. She stood at the door, looking up at the ceiling fixtures. She flipped the switch on and then off. Nothing happened. She flipped the switch on and waited. One tube of the six tube fixtures lit up, giving the room an eerie look…not dark but not enough light either.

Anita’s eyes darted around her small office and then to the exterior workspace outside. She grabbed Sloan’s sturdy arm and tugged. Could you just get in here? God, the woman was solid and difficult to maneuver, but she managed to get the hint and step all the way inside. Chest heaving from the exertion, she closed the door, then leaned against it to catch her breath. Do I have a rainbow sign written all over me or something? I’m not out on this job. I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak about wives so loudly. She was so tired. All of a sudden, a wall of weariness hit her full force, and she nearly slid down the wall. When she opened her eyes again, somebody had carried her over to her desk and sat her in her chair.

Sloan squatted down in front of Anita and placed a hand on her knee, rubbing it absently with the pad of her thumb. She cleared her throat. Your doctor’s office called. They wanted to know how you were handling the chemo today since you hadn’t checked in with them. They called because they were worried about you. I told them you’d fainted. They want to see you. She studied Anita’s anxious face. I didn’t tell anybody outside what just happened. I won’t unless you say it’s all right.

Anita’s eyes closed. Thank you. For the second time today, you’ve kept my secrets. I really appreciate that. Sloan’s thumb kept stroking her knee and it felt tingly but nice.

You really should go home and get some rest. Chemo can be really draining for some people. Anita heard Sloan’s low, rumbling voice giving her unsolicited advice. Her eyes flew open and she glared at her rescuer as she sat up, knocking the gentle touch away from her knee. Humph, what do you know about such things?

I just know, okay? Sloan reached into a back pocket, pulled out her wallet, and took two flattened Lucy sticks from it. The next time you feel nauseous after chemo, smoke one of these. She noted how Anita’s eyes widened as she stared at her. Don’t worry, it’s for medical purposes. You light it, then inhale. Try to hold the smoke inside as long as you can to absorb it into your system. You’ll feel lightheaded, but you won’t want to vomit. You might get cravings for stuff—food mostly—after you smoke.

I’m a lawyer, Sloan. That joint is illegal. I could lose my license if I got caught.

So don’t get caught; wait until you get home.

I come here after the chemo when I can.

Jesus Christ! Sloan roared.

Damn it. Keep your voice down, Anita hissed, nearly clawing a hole into a muscular forearm. Nobody knows about this either. I don’t want it known. I just got this job. I’d like to keep it."

Lowering her voice, Sloan studied tired eyes in a sad face as she checked her own arm for damages. There were several deep indentations from Anita’s fingernails, but none looked life threatening. Is that why…this morning in the bathroom…you just came from it, huh? She watched Anita bite into her lower lip, then nod slowly. Are you eating okay? She watched Anita duck her head and then exhale loudly. Okay, how about somebody escorting you to chemo? Do you at least have that? Anita sighed again. You’re married. What about your wife?

Anita rose and went to the file cabinet to avoid the prying questions and penetrating eyes. She leaned against it, then opened a drawer, pretending to look for a case file. You ask far too many questions. Could you just fix my lights, please? I have work to do. I’m behind as it is. She could feel warm puffs of air against her neck. She thought for a moment that Sloan might embrace her from behind. If that happened, she might lose what little control she had today and start bawling like a newborn. It had been so long since anybody acted as though they cared about her welfare.

I’ll have to get up there to see what’s going on before I go get supplies. That means bringing a ladder in here, which means moving your desk or finding another place to work for the rest of the day. Sloan reached out to soothe stiff shoulders, then thought better of it and dropped her hands to her sides. Can you do that?

Anita turned around slowly but wiped her tears quickly away. No, I don’t want anybody to see me like this. I hate to ask, but could you work around me in here?

Hazel pools of sadness confronted Sloan. She sighed, knowing she’d do anything for a woman who looked at her like that. I’m not supposed to. Company insurance won’t cover your injuries if you get hurt. She rubbed her chin and then eyed Anita thoughtfully. I’ll make a deal with you. She watched the wariness and then suspicion pop back into Anita’s eyes. She grinned broadly as Anita took a confrontational stance, folding her arms across her chest. You’re married, remember?

Humph. You’re the one who needs a constant reminder of my marital status.

Sloan chuckled. The low, soft, throaty sound was nice to hear, but Anita would never tell her that. The overly confident woman already had a big head. Why make it larger by paying her a compliment that she was certain to take the wrong way and make another pass at her?

I’m buying you lunch today. You’re gonna eat all of it.

Even my own mother gave up telling me what to do years ago.

Sloan moved closer, eating up the distance between them quickly. They were in a nearly intimate embrace for the second time, the first time being their almost crash through the glass entry door. I’m adopting you, Attorney Anita Davis. I’ve decided you need looking after. You are going to eat proper meals. Get plenty of exercise and more rest. I want you shipshape to fight this thing inside you. She studied Anita’s eyes. It gave her a great deal of satisfaction to read the surprise filling them. You can’t always tell a book by its cover, she mused.

If I don’t want to be your project, what then?

You haven’t tasted my soups and smoothies yet. Believe me, when you do, you’re gonna fall in love with them.

Ha, is that what worked on Leslie and Mavis?

Nope, they were easy. They just like to screw and get screwed, which I’m quite good at, by the way. We enjoy ourselves immensely at lunchtime.

Yes, I can tell, Anita remarked, rolling her eyes upward and sucking her teeth loudly.

Sloan chuckled. What gave me away?

Anita stepped back to study Sloan, getting a full-length view of her. I think it was your big balloon head. I’m surprised you could enter my ever so small office with it still attached to your neck. She wasn’t sure what to expect from the solid woman standing a foot and half away. She re-examined the silent warm brown face in front of her. Why did she push it so hard with her? Suppose she sought revenge or something? That could mean all sorts of things for a maintenance person with electrical skills. Computer malfunctions, missing fixtures, no lights, no electric, chairs that collapsed under her weight, or file cabinets containing important documents that wouldn’t open. God, the list could go on and on. She cleared her throat, struggling with an apology. I’m…ah. I shouldn’t have taken such liberties with you.

Sloan grinned, then winked at Anita. Actually, I enjoyed having liberties taken with me. You have a surprisingly dry wit. She glanced at her watch and frowned. Damn, time flies when you’re having...

So this is where you’re hiding! A short man dressed in a gray shirt and slacks with a patch on his shirt pocket identical to Sloan’s stood at Anita’s door. Watson, how many times do I gotta tell you to leave the females alone and do your work?

Sloan’s friendly, pleasant manner changed abruptly. Her eyes turned hard as her jaw line tightened. She pulled a handful of repair tickets from a back pocket and waved them in front of George Brooke, her immediate supervisor. I’m not hiding. I came up here because one of our clients needed me to inspect the light in her office. When I got here, the receptionist showed me a stack of work requests that needed to be inspected for supplies. Since I was here anyway, I thought I might as well do them too.

You thought…you thought, Watson. How many times do I gotta tell your black dyke ass you don’t do the thinking around here? I do it for you.

And how many times to I have to tell you, Brooke, if you keep calling me that shit, I’ll report you to the Labor Board.

Humph, like that would ever happen. Watson, you’re so full of shit. I’m surprised you can still walk around without stepping in it. Next time, you’d better report in. You start thinking again or you will go on report. There won’t be any goddamn OT for a month. Got it, Watson?

Sloan rubbed the back of her neck, then sighed. She looked at her supervisor. Yeah, I got it, Brooke.

That’s Mr. Brooke or Sir to you, Watson.

Yes... Sloan deliberately paused for a count of five, staring hard at the little man she towered over. She sighed loudly. Sir.

George Brooke noticed Anita for the first time and politely nodded at her. "I hope this little dressing down didn’t upset your work schedule, Attorney Davis. I’m afraid my staff isn’t the best workers. They need disciplining from time to time. The more public I can make it, the less likely they’ll repeat the same stupid shit