You stopped just outside of the glass wall of the main conference room, out of sight, and took a breath. Then, rushing like you knew you were late, you ran into the pull-door with a clang, trying to push it open.
"Sorry, sorry," you mumbled, letting the coffee you'd picked up from the staff kitchen splash a little bit out of the mug onto your hand and shirt. "Shit, uh, sorry."
Inside the room Sabrina's Uncle Bill was sitting with his back to the bank of windows looking over the street below. Mr Garrisson and Vera, an associate lawyer at the firm, were sitting with a few neat stacks of documents in front of them and a small camcorder on a tripod.
Bill just looked at you with that passive not-quite-glare, while Garrisson and Vera glanced over and then turned back to Bill.
You bumbled around them, making sure to knock a couple of chairs and muttering to yourself, before flopping into a seat off to the side and behind Garrisson. Then you took your time, hesitating over where to put your coffee cup (eventually deciding on the edge of the conference room table), and opening your notebook and flipping loudly through the pages before 'searching' for your pen and giving it a few loud clicks. "Right, thanks for waiting," you said.
"Mr Sodemeyer, thanks for coming in today," Garrisson said, not acknowledging you. Vera turned on the camcorder, and the deposition began. It started off dry enough, with Garrisson running through the current situation, and Bill acknowledging the facts that weren't in question. Then Vera began passing documents over for Bill to review, and when he did, you clicked your pen. Clickclick. Clickclick. It was loud in the silence of the conference room.
Bill didn't react.
He answered a couple of questions from Garrisson, then had to review the document again. Right when he was opening his mouth to answer, you clicked the pen again while looking down at your notebook. Clickclick. Clickclick.
Bill hesitated, then answered.
And so the games had started. For about thirty minutes, you would click the pen at the most inopportune times you could think of. You even did it once when Garrisson was rattling off a list of property locations, disrupting the flow of his monotonous list.
Bill never glanced over at you, and he didn't break out in a sweat or anything. There wasn't any big tension in the room, like Garrisson was trying to get him to admit to something. To be honest, the content was dull as shit - just confirming certain expenditures and profit portfolios, the acquisition of various assets, even down to the warranty terms left on certain machinery.
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But Bill wasn't a complete poker face. As the meeting, and your little game, went on he started to have this little vein bulge just above his ear, and he started to flex the back of his jaw whenever you clicked the pen.
Around forty minutes into the meeting, Vera had shifted an entire stack of documents over to Bill, and a minute in Garrisson shifted and knocked his own pen off the table. As he bent to retrieve it, he made a two fingered gesture where only you could see it. About thirty seconds after he did that, you made a production of setting your notepad aside and standing up, leaning over the edge of the table to the as-of-yet untouched jug of water and glasses.
You poured for yourself, knocking another glass lightly to make a pinging noise, then noisily gulped down the glass you'd poured and leaned forward to pour more for yourself. This time, about halfway through the pour, you shifted and knocked the half-full coffee cup you'd set down at the beginning of the meeting, spilling it forward across the table. "Ah, crap," you yelped, hopping away and just so happening to spill the water jug as well, covering the conference table.
"Oh, crap, I'm so sorry," you said quickly as the water spread and soaked a lot of the paper on the table. Garrison and Bill both quickly moved away from the table, while Vera - who was out of the splash range - adjusted the camera tripod but didn't turn it off.
Garrisson began scolding you while apologizing to Bill, and sent you to fetch paper towels. You jogged to the kitchen and spent a good three minutes just waiting in the before reaming off a bunch of the paper towels from a roll and heading back to the conference room in a 'rush.' Would it have been easier to just pick up the roll? Sure. But now you looked ridiculous carrying this loose paper towel, and as you entered you just tossed it all on the table, stammering apologies as you began to just sort of push around the liquid with the giant wad. Once it was sort-of clean, you grabbed the garbage can from the corner of the room and just slid the soaked paper towels into it, leaving streaked beads of liquid all over the table. Garrisson had sent Vera to reprint a ream of documents that you'd soaked, and sent you to help her.
"Jesus Christ, kid," Vera said as you entered the copy room. "Talk about going above and beyond."
"Hey, no pain, no gain, right?" you asked.
She smirked and chuckled, starting another file printing. Vera was a pretty woman somewhere in her thirties, with tan skin and dark hair that made you assume she was latina to some percentage, though she could just as easily have been a darker skinned Italian woman. With both copiers running, she stood back and leaned against the counter almost right where you and Sabrina had been intimate not two days earlier.
"Well, if you're willing to sacrifice for the team, I might have to start pulling you out for more special duties," Vera said. "I've sat in about a hundred hours of meetings with Bill, and I think that's the most I've ever seen him even flinch."
"Anything you need," you said, trying not to make it sound sexual. Your mind was definitely trying to veer that way, imagining what Vera would feel like in the same compromising position you and Sabrina had been in. She was older, and softer in places. Still stylish and attractive, just not as... you weren't even sure how to describe it. She was experienced, instead of youthful.
Vera got the documents printed, and she carried one set while you carried another. Back in the conference room, you helped distribute the documents while making sure to slide several through the still wet streaks on the table - enough to get them damp, but not wet. Then you sat back in your seat, opened your notebook, and double-clicked your pen.
The vein on Bill's temple had gone pink and you thought you could see the beating pump of his heart.
The meeting ended after a full hour and a half. You didn't notice anything weird - no 'ah ha!' gotcha moments from Garrisson or Vera, no smirks or distraught looks from Bill. Everyone stood up, Bill shook Garrisson and Vera's hand, and Vera escorted him out towards the elevators.
Once they were gone, Garrisson closed the conference room door and turned to you. "Well, that was quite the production, kid," he said.
"I may have gone a bit overboard with the water, sorry," you said.
"No, no. Actually, that was what really put the nail in the coffin," Garrisson said. "Turns out, Bill hates the smell of coffee. I had no idea until he was sniffing before you cleaned it all up. Really threw him off."
"Did you get what you wanted?" you asked.
"Sure did. He didn't even notice he contradicted himself on asset disclosures, and then confirmed the new numbers later on." Garrisson offered you his hand, and you took it. He shook you hard enough, and with a strong enough grip, that you thought he could probably put you through a wall if he wanted to. "Good work today. Head back to the intern bullpen and make sure everything gets caught up by end of day."
"Yes, sir," you nodded.
"Oh, here," he said, pulling out his wallet and thumbing five twenties out. "Buy yourself a new shirt, you got coffee on that one."
"Thank you, sir," you said, and left the conference room, pocketing the cash.
Once you were out of sight, you let yourself indulge in a little fist pump.