ASI and other investigatory agencies like them only got the tricky subpoena cases; the district attorney’s office and the bigger law firms had their own people to serve papers to those witnesses and defendants who weren’t trying to hide. Sullivan was only sent after the dumb asses who couldn’t be quickly located by an intern.
Giff and the other guys like him were supposed to be the hard cases, and it had still been by the numbers. Textbook. Easy cash.
Unsatisfying.
That familiar discontent settled over him like a blanket, and he could feel himself getting moody. As angry as he was about Tobias’s manipulative blackmail attempt, at least that was interesting. The contrast between the work he’d done just now and the work he’d been doing on Nathalie’s case had never been so clear, and for a second he couldn’t help acknowledging that he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to solve it. He’d go crazy doing nothing but serving subpoenas for the next year.
* * *
After dinner, as he was nodding off on the couch to a nature documentary about wasps, his cell rang. He checked the screen, saw Caty’s name, and set it aside. The ringing continued until voicemail kicked in, then stopped. For a moment, anyway, before resuming. Went to voicemail. Ringing resumed again. Over and over.
There was a long pause. Nearly three minutes passed.
He was beginning to think he’d weathered the storm when his cell rang again. Lisbeth’s number this time, and he sighed.
He answered with, “I’m not talking about it. I’m not. I’ll hang up first.”
Even before she said a word, Lisbeth’s habitual calm wafted across the line like a subtle perfume. Pleasant. Soothing. Sweet. Especially compared to Caty’s yelling in the background. He only caught about every third word or so, but he got the gist from coward, and delusional and bastard.
Lisbeth said, “I don’t want you to talk about your feelings, Sullivan.”
“Good. How’s work? Write any confusing contract lingo today?”
“Nope, we’re not doing that, either. You’re going to listen while I explain something, and then, once you’ve thought about what I’ve said, you’re going to call Caty and deal with this like an adult.”
“No promises.”
She waited silently.
Eventually, when it became too awkward to stand, he said, “All right. Fine. God.”
“Thank you.” She was serene in her victory. “Please hear me out before you respond. I won’t take long.”
He turned off the television and resigned himself to misery.
“We’re not friends because we like each other, I think you’ll agree. We’re friends because you love Caty and she loves you and she belongs to me, which means, by extension, you do as well. And since I have no motivation to sugarcoat uncomfortable truths to protect your feelings, I think you might find my read on things more objective than hers. So here it is: you’ve been unkind.”
Sullivan sucked in a breath. In the background he could hear Caty’s yelling elevate to a more fevered pitch.
“One moment, please, Sullivan.” There was a rustle on the other end of the phone, then a thud that might’ve been a door closing. Caty’s shouts became distant.
“Sorry about that,” Lisbeth said, placid as ever. “Now, I think you’ll agree with me that the situation with Nick was badly handled on your part, although I suspect we would give different reasons for why we think so. That you’ve reacted by adopting celibacy leads me to believe that you’re suffering a persistent insecurity.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Is there anything Caty doesn’t tell you?”
“There are no secrets in a healthy Dom/sub relationship,” she replied, only a little smugly. “Where was I? Yes, I think you’ve been unkind—to yourself. You’ve allowed him to warp your opinion of yourself, and since his opinion is very limited in experience and open-mindedness, you’re judging yourself by an inferior standard.”
“Lisbeth—”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she explained, so brutally plain about it that it made an actual lump rise in his throat. “I know it’s difficult not to internalize the judgments of people we care about, but it’s something we all have to learn not to do, because the alternative is to be miserable and subject to other people’s whims. You gave yourself impossible expectations to live up to, and you’ve been cruel to yourself ever since you decided—erroneously, I might add—that you failed.”
“Lisbeth—”
“Be quiet, please.”
He closed his eyes.
“The relationship failed because you attempted to change yourself to make him happy, not because you’re monstrous. You’re not an animal; you’re a dominant. That he couldn’t see the difference is a flaw in his thinking, not yours. Punishing yourself like this is both wasteful and blind to the reality of the situation.”
“You can’t know that.” He sounded like he was choking.
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“No.”
“Have you ever thought me kind?”
“No,” he murmured. “No, you’re not kind.”
“Then hear me, Sullivan. What Nick said was untrue, ignorant and cruel. And, to my way of thinking, unforgivable when said by a lover or a friend.”
His chest hurt. Fuck, it hurt like a boulder lay on it.
“Do you understand?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Call Caty when you’re ready.” Lisbeth hung up on him.
Sullivan rolled over on his couch and pressed his face into the cushion. His skin felt hot and too tight, his stomach sick, and that damn boulder was still there, crushing his chest into fragments. He smothered his wet, ragged breaths into the couch cushions and pretended that he couldn’t still hear Nick’s words in his head.
This is disgusting. You’re like an animal. These things you want...they’re monstrous.
Why can’t you just be normal?
He had to force himself to tune those out, to hear Lisbeth’s words instead: there is nothing wrong with you.
Eventually he slept.
* * *
He woke up to an eleven-mile dawn.
The morning was full grown and his legs were jelly by the time he was done. In the shower, he sat on the floor of the tub and let cold water beat down on him. He toweled off and drank half a
