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liked the fact that the people at GBH were willing to celebrate my birthday—real or not.
    “How many slices of cake would you like me to wrap up for you, Mr. Hamilton?” Jessica tapped my shoulder.
    “Three,” I said. “And I’ll take a cup of lemonade, too.”
    “You’re not going to stay for the “Who Knows Mr. Hamilton the Best” game?”
    “None of you know me.” I returned to my office and locked the door, setting the new birthday gifts on top of my bookshelf.
    The envelope from Mr. Greenwood contained a note that said he appreciated my hard work and dedication to the firm. Beneath his written words was a gift card to his family’s other multimillion dollar entity: A golf course.
    The gifts from the interns were all “I.O.U.” letters that begged for extra time on their assignments. I held all of those over my shredder.
    Jessica’s black box was next, and as much as I wanted to throw it away and never think of it again, I couldn’t resist knowing what she bought me. I took the top off and removed the paper, pulling out a soft piece of silk and a note:
    I overheard that you like to keep these in your pocket… Here are mine. PS—I took them off in the bathroom five minutes ago
:-)
    Jesus…
    I buried her panties at the bottom of my trashcan and crumpled that note.
    I stared at Aubrey’s silver box for a while, wondering if I should wait until later to unwrap it, but I couldn’t help peeling off the paper.
    Inside of the box was a small black photo frame. It was handcrafted—bordered with iron pressed images of pointe slippers, law scales, and the words “Alyssa” and “Thoreau” in smooth white letters.
    The picture in it was one of us, one of her laying against my chest in my bed and smiling at the camera. Her cheeks were flushed red—like they always were after sex, and she was dressed in one of my T-shirts.
    I remembered her forcing me to take that photo—insisting that she “wouldn’t share it with anyone” and only wanted it for herself. She even forced me to smile…
    I set the frame down and took out the other object in the box—a sparkling silver watch with an inscription etched across its back:
    Subject: You.
    I liked you as “Thoreau,” but I love you as Andrew.
    —Aubrey (Alyssa)

    My glass of wine sat untouched at Arbors Restaurant, and the candles in the centerpiece were shedding sheets of their wax onto the table.
    I was expecting a date any moment now, but I couldn’t stop staring at the watch Aubrey gave me. She’d clearly thought about each and every part of the design; no element was by mistake.
    I noticed two interlocking A’s in the corner of its screen, and earlier, in the sunlight, I’d noticed that my name was etched on the edge of its frame.
    “Are you Thoreau?” A woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts, making me look up.
    “I am.”
    She smiled and took the seat across from me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m a regular here and the waitress asked if I’d be having my usual when I arrived. I told her you would have the same.”
    “I don’t mind at all.” A small feeling of guilt welled inside my chest, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from pursuing what I needed tonight: Pussy. ASAP.
    The waitress placed two steamed dishes in front of us, and I checked the time. I was only giving this woman one hour.
    “So, what type of cases do you normally handle?” she asked.
    “Corporate for the most part, but I’ve done government and tax as well.”
    “Interesting. Have you lived in Durham long?”
    “Too long.”
    “And is this your normal M.O.?” She leaned back in her chair, dragging her nails against her see-through top. “One night stands?”
    “Is that a problem for you?”
    “It never is.”
    I raised my eyebrow and looked her over. She was actually quite appealing—long blond hair, curvy figure, and perky breasts.
    Physical attributes aside, we seemed to have a lot in common. She was a real lawyer in the next county over, she read