Read Online Don't Ask My Neighbor by Kristofer Clarke - Free Book Online

him a constant presence in my office. I stood with my hands pressed against the immense office window, admiring the view of Washington, D.C. that sat on the other side of the Potomac. 
    After a fast-paced weekend with J.B. and a Monday that found my mind unable to focus on anything that didn’t involve him, Tuesday morning I was running a race with a sea snail, and was losing badly. I hadn’t had my morning cup of coffee. I’m usually on my second cup by 9 a.m., both prepared by Felicia just like I liked it: black, with a teaspoon of cinnamon. I did have my morning dose of J.B.; that was the pick me up I needed. I had been savoring my new position as lead attorney at Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne and my role as J.B. Graybourne’s interes t—a two-year high I had no plans of coming down from. With a little persuasion, J.B. was finally ready to mix business with pleasure, and as I would have it, I was there, ready to be pleased. I had just wrapped up my fourth small criminal case and was heading to court with another high profile case with attorneys Libby Pinder and Rodrigo Dooms.
    “Ms. Wells, do you need anything?” Felicia’s girlish voice sounded over the intercom.
    “No thanks, Felicia. I’m just going to get settled in here.” 
    Truth is, what I needed Felicia couldn’t give me.  As long as she kept my coffee mug filled, stayed her ass behind that desk and away from my man, she was giving me exactly what I wanted. I had nothing to worry about. She’s never gotten as much as half of J.B.’s attention. Why would he even waste time to look in her direction, when he had been busy looking in mine? 
    I loved that Felicia was at my beck and call, but sometimes it was at the most inopportune time. She was still sitting at her desk, but I was sure she had an ear in the direction of my office, hoping to hear fragments of my conversation with J.B. I think she lived vicariously through me. I wish I knew better, but there was nothing to prove otherwise. There were no pictures of kids or a husband strategically placed on her desk for anyone to inquire about. Valentine Days came and went, but the only flowers to come across her desk were the ones J.B. sent me, or the ones I used to send myself to make him notice me. She’s never even talked of an ex-husband, and by the looks of her, I was certain she had one or two, driven away by the woman she presented them, thinking she was presenting her best self. Believe me, I’ve seen her best self. 
    Felicia Hailey was a concoction of confusion. She was a month removed from her late twenties, but she looked like she was five years into her membership with the forty-and-over club, though I knew some in their forties that didn’t look like she did. Her black-rimmed glasses dominated her small face, and she was in need of a cut and curl, since even I was bored with the long, flat look she wore day in and day out. Thus far, the only other thing I liked about her was her smile, which had a familiarity about it.
    I sat back in my chair, allowing my body to sink into the soft burgundy leather. A few years ago, I was sitting in that same chair now occupied by Felicia, asking that same do-you-need-anything question to a lawyer who was often thinking with the wrong head. He thought because he laid the right pipe, and I was stroking his ego with cries of passion and expletives whenever he hit my spot, I wasn’t going to get what I thought I deserved. I figured I had to give something to get something back, and that’s exactly how I played the game. He was a pawn in my chess game, though he played like we were playing checkers.              
    I always had a blueprint, a plan I began to set into motion the moment I shook hands with Parker Chandler. While other women relied on their degrees and letters behind their names to climb up this “ladder of success”, and those same letters and degrees to fall back on, I relied on the sweet honey between my legs. I didn’t