Sunday, May 23, 2004

The Practice: Fleet Street - Sh** Happens

On Sunday morning, Tara Wilson unlocked the office doors and went inside carefully. It was very quiet and still, a great opportunity to catch up on her pulling of old files for the SUV case that Denny Crane had asked her for. In her jeans and tiny T-shirt, she was able to dive into the file room and stack files without being in that damn uniform.

Where was the Cramberg file? Tara searched and opened box after box. It was here the other day. Alan had asked about it...he must have it. Brushing the dust off her hands onto her tight jeans, she took the elevator up to the main floor. She strode into Shore's office and looked in the stack of files on his desk. There it is, right on top. She noticed the light flashing on the computer monitor. Alan, she thought, you forgot to take down your computer.

She moved the mouse and drew in her breath when she saw the picture of Sally. Tara sat down in Alan's chair with a thunk. What is this? Tara could not help herself as she checked the opened emails and saw the series of provocative pictures and invitations.

Stop it, Tara, she thought, you are being silly to be jealous. You practically pushed him into Sally's arms and now you are sitting here ready to cry like a schoolgirl? Just stop it.

And then Tara remembered that dance at dinner. She closed her eyes and remembered how it felt to dance with him in his arms. He was so amazing that night, that dance. She felt shameless excitement at the memory of his touch. Damn Alan Shore.

When she reached for the phone, all thought of Sean Clay was out of her head, which would have pleased Alan immensely...

She dialed intently, the now familiar number in her head. One ring, two...answer.

"Alan Shore."

No shit, she thought, controlling her speech with effort.

"Alan, it is Tara. Are you busy?"

"No, not at the moment." Alan sounded suspicious.

"I am at the office, looking for the SUV files that Denny needs for Monday's conference. I cannot locate the Cramberg file. Have you seen it?" Tara tried to sound businesslike and casual.

"It is on my desk, on the left."

"I am in your office and it is not on your desk. I looked."

"Tara, I had it Friday and I left it there. Look again." Alan sounded annoyed.

"Alan it is simply not here." Tara said as she held the file in her hand.

"I am on my way down."

Tara hung up the phone and smiled. At least Alan would not be lazing the day away in the arms of his little playmate. She walked out of the office and took the file into Matthew Billings office, laying it on top of his desk. Matthew was always coming in on Saturday. Tara went to the ladies room to freshen up her makeup. No need to look like a slob.

By the time Alan walked in, dressed in khakis and a sweater, she was sitting at her desk, organizing files, with an innocent look on her face. Nodding at her, he walked straight into his office, and she could hear him muttering to himself as he rifled through files and papers.

Alan Shore was incredulous. It was right on his desk. He was reading it right before he got the email from...the email. Shore looked and realized that he had not taken down his computer. He moved the mouse to see the picture of Sally in the sexy teddy on the bed. He smiled at the vision...then realization struck him. This was not the most recent email. He had left with the picture of Sally nude up. Who had read his email? And where was the file?

Shore walked out to see Tara studiously working at her desk. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and he could see the slightest hint of a blush on her cheeks. Shore leaned against the door frame.

"Tara"
"Yes, Allan?" Tara dared not to look up. She was not good at deception.
"Where is the file?"
"I have no idea."
"I left it on my desk."
"I do not know, Alan." Tara wrote furiously in a file, trying to look busy and disinterested.

Alan was now angry. Angry at being played with, angry at Tara's little game that pulled him out of Sally's bed, angry at being angry. Where would she have put it? Not Crane's office, it is locked. Not her own, she would know he would look there...he turned and saw Matthew's office door ajar. You would make a terrible crook, Tara, he thought, as he strode into the office, up to the desk and picked up the file.

Tara looked up to see Shore angrily standing over her desk with a file in his hand. He slapped it onto her stack of files and turned to leave. He was really angry, she thought. This may have been a mistake. Too late now.

Alan started to leave, then spun and stalked back to her desk.

"What is wrong with you? Do you think that I have nothing better to do than come all of the way down here for nothing?" Alan was furious.
"What are you accusing me of?" Tara asked him, as innocently as she could manage.
"Cut the crap, Tara, it is not becoming. You read my private emails, then you created this scam to get me down here and away from Sally...who YOU pushed me at!"

Tara could not take it anymore. She stood and looked at him, her eyes flashing fire and her face flushed with fury. She let it go, not caring what the consequences were.

"NOT BECOMING!!!!!!!!!!!! You insufferable PIG! You tell me about feelings that you have for me, but do you ever give me the chance to tell you how I feel? NO! All you can see is you. Then you go and chase the tail of the first infant who sends you some smutty emails, like some rutting dog. And then you accuse me of lying when you have no proof. Not once have you considered how I feel, what I want or what I need." Tara was fully worked up and steaming, "Maybe you should handle the Dembry case, Alan, the doctor who was screwing his teenage patients? I am sure that you two will hit it off beautifully." Sarcasm dripped off Tara's tirade.

"I thought you were taken with Mr. Perfect. I thought that you were too good for the likes of me, Tara. I am some debased, degenerate deviant monster. I have not done anything wrong here. I did not lie to you. I did not lure you down here on false pretenses. I did not judge you and try to analyze you. Don't blame me because Mr. Clay has found you worthy of attention, but has not lowered himself to sleep with you!" Alan could feel the blood roaring in his ears.

Tara's hand reached out to slap Alan's cheek before she even knew that it had happened. Her eyes widened at her own act. Alan caught her wrist, bringing it behind her back. He had the overwhelming urge to throw Tara across his knee and spank her until she had an ass as red as her cheeks. His face was next to hers, his nose so close to hers that he could see the tears unshed in her eyes.

"Don't ever do that again, Tara, or I will do something that you will regret." Shore's voice was menacing and dangerous.

Tara steeled herself. Her fury could not be contained. She struck out again, with her free hand.

Alan effectively caught her wrist with his other hand before it connected with his face. This was more than Shore could bear.

He spun Tara around, bending her at the waist over her desk. Grabbing both of her wrists with one hand, he used the other to firmly deliver three firm swats to her butt. The sound echoed in the offices. He bent down over her, whispering in her ear:

"Are you done? If I let you go, will you behave?" Both of them were breathing heavily.

Shore became uncomfortably aware of her body next to his. His thighs and crotch were resting against her upraised ass. She could feel him becoming aroused. He raised himself off of her and released her. She sat on the edge of the desk, breathing hard. Shore backed away from her, trying to take his eyes off of her breasts in the tight T-shirt. He forced himself to turn and walk into his office.

Walking to his desk, he opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle of Scotch. He poured some into a glass and drained it quickly. He saw his hand shaking. His emotions were mixed. Shame, satisfaction, desire, anger.

Tara sat on the desk, and clarity hit her as firmly as Alan's hand had hit her butt. She rose and walked into Shore's office. He was refilling his glass and did not notice her close and lock the door. A few moments later, he saw her hand reach over from behind him, taking the glass. Shore forced himself to keep his back to her, sure that it was the only way he could control his anger. Her hand reached back to hand him the glass, now empty again. He poured more, as he heard her soft voice.

"You hurt my butt, Alan."
Alan sighed. "I am sorry, I should not have done that."

"If you are really sorry, then maybe you should kiss it and make it better."

Alan was relieved by her attempt at humor. He turned to face her, hoping that the joke would ease the mood. His breath escaped him as he turned and saw Tara standing in front of him. She had shed her jeans and top, and was standing there in simple white cotton bra and panties, trimmed with little pink roses. She took another drink from the glass, and set it on the desk.

Without a word, they stared at each other. She then reached behind her and released the bra, tossing it to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. She was magnificent, gold and rose and incredibly sensual.

"Alan, I am tired of having to do all of the work for you. You can remove the rest." Tara smiled.

She took his hand and put it on her hip. Her arm curled around his neck, and he felt those lips press against his. The soft sweetness of her mouth drove all reason from him. He picked her up and laid her on the couch, quickly shedding his own clothes. For the next few hours, they made love like animals starved, with fierce tenderness and tears. When they were spent, in the darkened room, they did not speak. Nothing needed to be said. They slept in each other's arms, on the sofa.

Neither of them noticed Sally, face stricken, backing out of the office and going down in the elevator.

1 Comments:

At 10:28 PM, Blogger nikkie said...

Eagerly awaiting next installments on The Practice: Fleet Street:A New Beginning/Sh** Happens, Soapy Spader Series, When Paul Returns!

 

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