Stories of Tie Up Games

Jenny_S wrote: 1 day ago Maybe Erica has poked the hornet's nest here.

As seems to be her 'role' in life!

Dear @LunaDog, she seems to have a talent for that.

Erica moves with practiced efficiency, pouring two scoops of her favorite chocolate-flavored protein powder into the tall cup. Warm almond milk swirls around it as she snaps on the lid, the familiar motion a brief moment of calm amid the storm brewing in her mind.
Sasha Lambert’s case is going to be a battle, and she needs to be at her sharpest.

Exiting the break room, she takes a sip of her protein shake, her mind already sifting through the next steps in Sasha’s case. The hearing. The missing evidence. The Dean’s evasions. Her phone vibrates - who’s calling?

But before she can check it…
“Where the hell is she? I want to see her NOW!”

Erica freezes mid-step, pulse quickening. The firm is a place of order, control. Nobody raises their voice here - certainly not like that.
She glances toward Claire, who looks up from her desk, eyebrows raised in confusion. A silent question: Who is that? Claire shrugs, just as clueless.

Then another voice - Holly Beck’s, their young receptionist. Strained. Nervous. “Sir, please lower your voice. If you have an appointment…”

“I don’t NEED a damn appointment!” the man bellows.

Erica’s jaw tightens. Her heels click sharply against the polished floors as she strides down the hallway, Claire trailing close behind.

The scene that greets her is enough to make her blood simmer.

A massive man looms over Holly’s reception desk, his broad shoulders heaving with barely restrained fury. His face is flushed, veins bulging at his temples, and his hands press into the desk as if he’s about to turn green and rip the furniture in half.
Holly, usually composed, grips the edge of her chair, looking like she might dive under the desk at any second. Her fingers tremble, her face is pale but determined. The way the massive man looms over her - fists planted, shoulders squared - makes it clear that he’s one word away from violence.

Erica doesn’t hesitate. Her voice, cool and razor-sharp, slices through the commotion like a gavel striking a courtroom bench.
“What is going on here?”

The man’s head snaps toward her. His dark eyes blaze, but he hesitates just a fraction of a second - enough to tell Erica that, despite his fury, he recognizes authority when he hears it.
A tense silence stretches between them.

She squares her shoulders, gaze unwavering. “I suggest you lower your voice and explain why you’re terrorizing my receptionist. Before I throw you out myself!”

The man exhales sharply, nostrils flaring. He straightens, towering over Erica by at least a foot, but she doesn’t flinch.
“I’m here to talk about that little skank Sasha Lambert,” he says, his voice tight with barely restrained anger.

Erica’s fingers tighten around her shaker. The pieces click into place.
Of course.
She lifts her chin slightly. “And you are?”

His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Steve Lonnegan’s father.”


~~~


Erica meets Ernest Lonnegan’s seething glare with an unshaken stare of her own. He’s a man used to getting his way - used to people stepping back when he steps forward. But she’s not intimidated.
This is her office and she will not back down.

“Mr. Lonnegan.” Erica’s voice is measured, calm. But there’s an edge to it, sharp as a scalpel. “You have two options.” She takes a step forward, letting the weight of her words sink in. “One: you take a breath, lower your voice, and we have a civil discussion.” She tilts her head slightly, voice softening just a fraction. “Or two: I show you the door and you can yell at the NYPD instead.”

The words hang in the air like a poised blade.

Lonnegan’s jaw tightens, his face flushed from barely restrained anger. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to slam a fist onto Holly’s desk. The veins on his forearms bulge beneath the cuff of his tailored shirt.

For a moment, Erica wonders if he’s going to explode after all.

Then, with a visible effort, he exhales through his nose, straightens his shoulders, and smooths a hand over his tie. A businessman collecting himself before a negotiation.
“You’re the lawyer who talked to my son on the training field this morning,” he states. His voice is still edged with aggression, but he’s holding himself back.

Erica nods, crossing her arms over her chest, her stance firm. “Exactly.”
Then, in a deliberate move, she extends a hand. “Erica Sinclair.”

For a second, he hesitates.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. As if deciding to test her, he grips her hand - firm, almost crushing.

But Erica doesn’t flinch.
She meets his eyes, unwavering.
And just as quickly, he releases steam, lips pressing into something that isn’t quite a smile. A new kind of assessment flickers in his gaze.

Erica smiles curtly. The unexpected civility, the gesture, threw him off balance.
Just as she had hoped, instinct takes over.

“Ernest Lonnegan,” he says.
The handshake is brief but telling. He respects strength.

“I was hoping…” he begins, but Erica is already moving on. She turns toward Claire, who’s been watching the exchange with wary eyes.

“Would you please fix some coffee for Mr. Lonnegan and me? We’ll be in the large conference room,” she says, her tone light, as if they’re discussing a simple business matter.
Without missing a beat, she gestures down the hallway. “Second door on the right, Mr. Lonnegan. Our coffee is excellent.”

She doesn’t wait for his reply.
Turning on her heel she walks ahead, fully expecting him to follow.
And he does.

Behind them, Holly leans back in her chair, exhaling a slow, disbelieving breath. “I swear to God, Claire, I thought he was going to snap.”

Claire watches Erica’s retreating figure. “He still might,” she murmurs. “And I think she knows it.”


~~~

It's quite easy to see just where young Steve gets his arrogance from. Very much a case of 'like father, like son.'

Dear @LunaDog, exactly. He's a chip off the old block. But something tells me that they are going to meet the axe...