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It was hard to know how to sort documents on the desk of a man who kept every paper in its proper place. Evidence and deposition transcripts paper-clipped neatly together, receipts so pristine they looked as though they'd never seen the inside of a pocket, color-coded sticky notes at perfect right angles.
Apollo had spent the afternoon organizing these piles by case and date, and then by type of document in the order he thought Mr. Gavin might like to see them as he worked. Everything was stacked in the file organizer as neatly as he could manage. The daylight was growing thin, and Apollo wasn't sure when Mr. Gavin would return to dismiss him.
Alone, as the grandfather clock ticked, Apollo stared at the desk drawers and wondered whether his perfect boss had any shortcomings at all. Maybe he chewed his pens, or he kept a notebook where he doodled or bitched about the clients. Maybe he secretly ate Burger King and stuffed the wrappers in a little drawer until he could sneak them out into the dumpster.
I shouldn't…Apollo thought, his hand resting on a polished brass drawer handle. Well, maybe just a peek.
It wasn't a drawer of burger wrappers, or chewed up pens. There was a blank notepad and a box of paper clips, but Apollo already knew where in the office Kristoph kept his notepads and paper clips.
There was a felt bottom to the drawer with a little ribbon at the back. Apollo pulled it. Concealed within the secret compartment was an appointment book that was mostly unreadable, with names penned in Mr. Gavin's handwriting but with none of the usual elegance. Times and dates were crossed out, and other times rewritten with minor details changed. None of the names were familiar to Apollo. D. Misham…. V. Gramarye…
There was also a phone number, penned in red ink, the numbers engraved into the page with such force that it left an impression on all the rest of the subsequent pages. Had Mr. Gavin been angry when he wrote it? Or desperate?
Then he saw a name that struck him as odd. P. Wright... a coincidence, I'm sure? It was scribbled erratically, a large blot of ink where the T ended. All of this seemed so unlike Mr. Gavin.
Apollo's stomach started to churn. He felt that he had stumbled upon something that he wasn't meant to see. Something about the angry scribbles, the number in red, the clock ticking in silence, all combined to leave him feeling ill at ease with no evidence why. Well, he must just use this for personal appointments. Right?
"Justice?" Apollo swiveled around to see Mr. Gavin looming in the doorway, smiling graciously. "I don't believe I gave you permission to organize that particular drawer."
"Sir!" Apollo's heart caught in his throat as he shoved the notebook back in the drawer. Too late — he knew he'd been seen.
"Rifling through a man's personal effects…" Mr. Gavin's tone was warm, but a hint of malice lurked behind those eyes. "Well, it's hardly considered professional, don't you think?"
"I'm sorry, sir! I was—I just got curious…" Apollo smiled sheepishly. Usually this was enough to get his boss off his back, but this time his tall, imposing boss seemed to straighten up even more imposingly. He strode slowly toward him, his leather loafers clacking precisely with each step.
"Let me impart a lesson to you, Justice. Curiosity can be a boon for an attorney, but that doesn't mean it always serves your interest."
Apollo gripped the edge of the desk—for safety? For comfort?—as Mr. Gavin drew closer until he loomed over him.
The smell of his boss was intoxicating. Vanilla, bourbon, aftershave. Mr. Gavin's finger tilted Apollo's chin up to look at him, and Apollo shuddered. Their bodies could touch.
"If you direct your curiosity aimlessly, you may find yourself in situations far more dangerous than you had bargained for. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Apollo said, hearing his own shaky breath. Mr. Gavin's hand lingered a moment to stroke his cheek—soft, almost maternal. Apollo felt the rush of warmth and pleasure even as his body trembled.
"Good." Mr. Gavin smiled again, seeming to return to normal. "You are dismissed for the day, Justice. See you bright and early tomorrow morning."
"Of course, sir." Apollo's mouth was dry. He wanted those hands to return to his face, whether it was to threaten him or caress him. Even so, he took the hint and scurried away.
Those pages, the sound of late-night scribbling, of pages nearly torn through with angry force, haunted his dreams from time to time.