Justice

This story contains very little sex; however, it does contain more than 80,000 words.

Justice

Chapter One

"Based upon the evidence presented and witness testimony, the Court finds that the management of Draper Holdings was aware of past employee complaints of sexual harassment and by willfully ignoring these complaints, did create a hostile work environment as defined under section 465.29 of South Carolina labor laws. Subsequently, the Court rules in favor of the Plaintiff and awards the Plaintiff twenty-two months of back wages as compensatory damages, and three million dollars in punitive damages. Case closed."

Minerva Hart was reading her copy of the judge's ruling as he announced it to the court. Her experience in hundreds of courtrooms made it easy for her to avoid visibly smiling or showing any other outward signs of satisfaction with the ruling that extended her perfect record of wins for her clients. Hearing the gasp from her client sitting next to her, followed by a sob of joy, Minerva patted the young woman's hand, silently encouraging her to control herself while still in the courtroom.

Sounds from the defense table across the aisle drew Minerva's attention. She had been expecting this.

"Your Honor," began Tom Peyton, attorney for Draper Holdings, "The defense requests a stay of the court's ruling pending appeal..."

Minerva didn't even bother rising to object. Judge Nathan gave a weary glance in Peyton's direction, "Request denied. Court is dismissed."

Quickly shoving the pages containing the complete court ruling into her bag, Minerva stood and took an elbow of her still-seated client, "Let's get you out of here. Can you meet me in my office at three this afternoon?"

The young woman retrieved her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and checked the current time, "As long as it doesn't take too long, I can be there. I have a date with my boyfriend tonight and he wanted to pick me up at five so I'll need time to get ready."

Leading her client out into the hallway of the Oconee County Courthouse in Walhalla, South Carolina, Minerva considered her client's time constraint. The woman lived in Westminster and had worked at Draper Holdings' facility outside of Seneca. Minerva's law office was in downtown Greenville. It was just before noon, and while her client could easily make the forty-six-mile trip in time to meet in her office at 3 pm there was little chance that she would be able to get back to her home in time for her date considering Friday afternoon traffic.

Not being as familiar with the court staff here in Oconee County, Minerva was reluctant to impose on them by allowing her office to transmit some forms here that her client could sign rather than doing so in her Greenville office. The forms would be needed for her office to represent the client in beginning the process of collecting the judgment ordered by the court, but from Minerva's perspective, the forms were needed for her to get her cut of the settlement.

Oh, well. It wasn't like she needed the funds immediately. Her private law practice operated well in the black, with more clients than she could sometimes take on at one time. As they approached the client's car, Minerva told her, "I don't want to risk you not getting back in time. I'll have my assistant contact you next week to set up a time when it will be more convenient for you to come in. Okay?"

"That sounds good. I work the early shift at the call center next week, so I'll be available any day after one."

Minerva saw Tom Peyton and his client exiting the courthouse, so she hurriedly bid her client farewell and ushered her into her car. The client's car was backing out of the parking spot when her opposing counsel barked, "I don't know how you live with yourself, Minnie! Some backwoods country girl snowflake gets her feelings hurt and you fight to put a company out of business and cost dozens of other people their jobs."

'Minnie'. Peyton had used her nickname as if they were friends or something. True, Minerva felt that her given name sounded as ancient as the Roman goddess from mythology from which it came, but it was still her legal and professional name. She wanted to re-establish some professional boundaries with her adversary.

"Mr. Peyton, if you have something that you wish to discuss, I would appreciate it if you addressed me in a more appropriate manner."

Peyton's face became redder as he leaned forward into Minerva's space in an attempt at intimidation, and said, "Fine, Ms. Hart. You know damn well that the judgment that the court just awarded doesn't stand a chance under appeal. We both know what the law says and there is no way that a reasonable person could have construed compliments about their appearance as sexual harassment..."

Minerva smirked at Peyton and responded, "The incidents before the court were not simply some random coworkers complimenting my client on her hairstyle or her shoes. They were blatant and repeated sexual innuendos related to her physical attributes, including her breasts, lips, legs, and ass by her coworkers, her direct supervisor, and his immediate supervisor, the man standing behind you right now."

"But they were all said in fun," the man from Draper Holdings argued. "There was never any intention to make her feel like anything but part of the team. Workers tease each other all the time over all sorts of things. No one knew that she was so sensitive..."

Minerva gaped at the man in disbelief. Was he that ignorant? "You heard the witnesses, including your personal assistant, tell the court that my client had voiced her concerns to her manager, to you, and to the HR department of your company and you all dismissed them. She felt embarrassed, intimidated, devalued, fearful of the work environment, and that was proven to the court."

Minerva calmed her voice and continued, "Look, I know that Draper Holdings started as a family-owned business and you pride yourself on the loyal local employees that have been crucial to your success. However, behaviors acceptable between a group of male coworkers out hunting or fishing on the weekend are no longer appropriate within a business environment. Unless you develop and implement policies that have your employees interacting and behaving more like they were in church instead of a pool hall, your legal problems will continue. That's the best advice I can offer you."

Without waiting for a response from either man, Minerva unlocked the doors to her three-year-old SUV and climbed behind the wheel. She watched the men walk away, Tom Peyton still pointing in her direction as he spoke animatedly with his client. As the car started, she blocked them and the court case from her mind and tried to decide which route to take back to Greenville.

If she took US 123, that would be the most direct route, and she would be able to drive through any number of fast-food places to grab something for lunch that she could eat on the way. The downside to that route was that it would take her right past Clemson University, and worst, the off-campus apartment that Athena had lived in while a student at the university.

Minerva didn't need the tears or the guilt today. No, instead, she would take Highway 11 south through Seneca and down to where it met up with Interstate 85. She could then take that north into Greenville. It would add a minimum of thirty minutes to the drive, but it would be tear-free.

Navigating Walhalla's narrow, quaint, small-town roads, Minerva considered whether she would even bother returning to her office today. Since the client in this case wouldn't be able to meet with her until next week, did she have any other pressing office matters requiring attention? She hit the speed dial icon for her office and waited for her assistant, TJ to answer. Hopefully, he hadn't left for lunch yet.

Her call was answered by the deep, melodic voice that always reminded Minerva of the singer, Barry White. "Good, morning, Miss Hart's office," TJ practically sang as he answered.

TJ Washington presented a massive presence that most people agreed, matched his voice perfectly. He stood almost seven-feet tall and weighed a very muscular two-hundred and fifty pounds. Frequently assumed to be a former football or basketball player, TJ had little interest in any organized sports. His passion was Tai Chi, which he spent his spare time teaching the youth of Greenville. If ever the term "Gentle Giant" applied to a man, it fit TJ to the letter.

Not that TJ was averse to using his size and obvious strength for intimidation if the circumstances warranted it. He was proudly protective of those he cared for, and there was no one TJ cared for more than Minerva. Well, he probably cared more for her nephew, Alexander but Minerva remained high on the list. Anticipating the day next month when TJ learned whether he had passed his bar examination was bittersweet for Minerva. While she looked forward to eventually bringing TJ on as a full partner in her private law firm, she dreaded having to find an assistant to replace him in that role.

"Hi, TJ. Have you had lunch yet?" Minerva asked.

She heard his deep chuckle before he replied, "I was waiting to hear from you about how the case went..."

Minerva laughed and explained the court ruling, asking TJ to schedule the meeting for next week with the client. He assured her that he would handle it as soon as he came back from lunch.

"Why don't you forward the phone to your cell and work from home this afternoon," Minerva suggested. "As long as we don't expect any clients in the office, we might as well close up for the day."

"I can do that," TJ said. "Lana wants you to call her when you have a chance. Something to do with your schedule for Myrtle Beach next week."

"Crap," Minerva thought. She had forgotten that next week was her regularly scheduled time to spend in her Myrtle Beach office. The paralegal who staffed that office, Lana Street, seldom required Minerva's presence with anything other than court appearances, and none of those were scheduled. She decided that she would call Lana and see if the visit could be delayed for the month.

"I'll call Lana in a few minutes," Minerva told TJ. "You should go grab some lunch and head home. I'm going to pick up Alex and make an early day of it myself."

"He won't be out of school for another three hours," TJ reminded her.

"I know, but by the time I get back to Greenville it will be close to two, so if I stop by the grocery store on the way to his school, I shouldn't be too early."

TJ said, "Well, I'm sure he'll be glad to see you waiting for him. He tells me all the time how boring the study hall is on the days when he doesn't have practice after school."

"Believe me, I know," Minerva assured her assistant. "We worry about Alex being involved in too many sports and activities, but he thrives on participating and it seems to make him try harder with his academics."

"Come on," TJ teased, "We all know whom he inherited his competitive spirit from."

Minerva recognized the playful jab by TJ. She reflected on when she had changed to become as competitive as she was. She certainly hadn't been that way when growing up with Athena. Even with the two-year age difference, the sisters had always been supportive of one another and never sought to outdo the other. They encouraged each other to be the best they could be, just as their parents always had, but it was never done with the spirit of "win at all cost", which is how Minerva now approached almost all aspects of her life, personal and professional.

She didn't have to guess. Minerva remembered exactly where she was on the day and time that her view of the world had changed. She had been standing beside Athena's hospital bed as her sister pleaded with her final whispered words, "It's too late for me. Get Justice from Coastline. Get Justice for Alexander."

Chapter Two

Hayden tried not to deal with inter-office e-mails while he was outside of the office, and the one currently on his laptop screen was exactly why. He didn't mind spending a few minutes on a Saturday morning corresponding with a client or vendor, but issues such as the one on his screen at that moment seemed to just sap any good feelings that he had about the weekend right out of his mind.

The only reason that he had opened the e-mail from Emily Willis was that it had been sitting in his inbox for three days, and he owed the head of his Human Resources department a timely reply, even if she likely wouldn't see it until she came into her office on Monday morning.

Ashanti Cox was lodging another employee complaint. Reading the e-mail from Emily, Hayden saw that Ashanti was upset that her request for a vacation day on the Friday before Memorial Day had been refused by her manager. It was obvious from the manager's explanation why the request had been denied, but Ashanti had demonstrated her propensity to use the "race card" or "gender card" whenever she didn't get her way. In this complaint, she was alleging that two white male employees had been granted their requests for that day off, but hers had been denied, which in her mind, was a clear case of discrimination.

Employees of Coastline Multimedia received six fixed holidays each year when the company closed all but essential operations; New Year's Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Thanksgiving Day (plus the following Friday), and Christmas Day. They also received three floating holidays that they could use with manager approval. Since some departments within the company operated twenty-four-hours a day, seven days a week, while others needed to maintain minimum staffing to meet internal and external customer service expectations when the company was open and operating, department managers had to weigh any vacation or personal time requests against the staffing requirements for their department.

While he trusted the explanation of the manager involved, Hayden launched the corporate personnel scheduling application and verified the information it contained on Ashanti Cox. He saw that she had requested and been granted floating vacation time for Friday, January 13^th, and Monday, January 16^th, which allowed her a four-day weekend to celebrate MLK Day. She had also requested and been approved for Friday, June 16^th, and Monday, June 19^th, which would give her another four-day weekend to celebrate the Juneteenth holiday.

Further research into Ashanti's past time-off requests showed Hayden a history of her requesting every Friday before a Monday holiday as a vacation day. On five of those occasions last year, she had been granted her request, frequently at the expense of another employee in the same department being denied their request. Hayden also saw what he was certain that Emily and Ashanti's manager had seen, which was that in all five instances, she had called in sick on the following Tuesday after the holiday.

Composing a reply to Emily Willis and copying Ashanti's manager didn't take Hayden long. He stated his concurrence with the manager's decision and asked Emily to further remind Ashanti Cox that employees who took sick days were required to provide a note from their doctor upon returning to work. He knew that most managers didn't enforce that policy unless they felt it was being abused by an employee, or they were intimidated by an employee such as Ashanti. Hayden made a note to have the senior manager speak with the manager of the production print department where Ashanti worked.

Finished with the e-mail response to Emily, Hayden scanned through his inbox. He had three hundred more unread internal e-mails that had come in on Friday, but almost all of those were communications between directors, managers, and employees of Coastline Multimedia that he had been simply copied on to keep him in the loop on whatever the particular subject was. Seeing that he had nothing further in his inbox that required his attention before Monday morning, he shut the lid on his laptop and headed for his bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of his king-size bed, Hayden brushed a strand of red hair off the angelic face of the woman sleeping there.

"Wake up, sleepy head. If you want to watch the sunrise from the beach you've only got about twenty minutes to get out there."

A groggy voice replied, "You live on the fucking beach. All I have to do is step outside. Let me sleep a few more minutes..."

Stacy Bloom tried to cover her head with one of the pillows, but Hayden grabbed it from her hand.

"I'll let you sleep, but I'm heading out for a breakfast meeting. If you miss the sunrise because you fell back to sleep, don't blame me."

Reluctantly, Stacy rolled onto her back. Opening one eye to test the light in the room, she asked, "What time is it?"

"It's 6:45 on a beautifully clear Saturday morning," Hayden shared.

Finally opening both eyes and examining Hayden, she grinned and asked, "What's the point of having a 'friend with benefits' if he doesn't deliver any of the benefits?"

Chuckling, Hayden gently squeezed her breast under the sheet and said, "You need to remember that I am just a lowly working stiff. Maybe if the other 'friend' arrived here at a decent hour she could recognize some of the benefits that she is alluding to."

"I had to stay until the pub closed," Stacy whined. "And drop that 'working stiff' bullshit. You own half of the Grand Strand, and what you don't own, you control."

Hayden stood and said, "You exaggerate, and you know it. But what I do have I got by getting out of bed at a decent time and working hard."

Stacy rose from the bed and stretched her arms over her head, purposely using the motion to thrust her bare breasts out at Hayden and giving him an unobstructed view of her remaining slim yet shapely nakedness. That view had the desired effect.

"What the hell. I'm the boss so they can wait for me."

Some of Hayden's words got distorted as he pulled his polo shirt over his head but Stacy understood enough of them to take up the task of unbuttoning his pants for him. For the fast and aggressive pounding that she always craved from Hayden, his pants only needed to clear his waist.

Due to his physical reaction at the sight of her naked body, Stacy had to stretch out the waistband of Hayden's boxers with one hand as she pressed his growing erection against his body with the other. Hayden's hands were busy retrieving a condom from the top of his dresser.

Stacy took the condom from Hayden, tore open the package, and rolled it onto him with practiced expertise.

"God, you make me so wet!" Stacy moaned while stroking his latex-covered erection.

"I assume you want this to be one of our 'Wham-Bam, Thank You, Ma'am' quickies."

Stepping back to get into position on the bed, Stacy replied, "It better be a "Wham-Bam, Thank you, Sir' session if you want me to remain your 'friend'. So, I'll tell you what. I'll help you out by getting in a position that always works fast for me."

Watching her lay on her left side with her knees bent and her ass barely on the bed, Hayden recognized what was expected of him. He quickly stepped to her and assumed the position that would complete the "Sicilian Corkscrew". He had taught it to Stacy when they had first started having sex and she had quickly made it one of her favorite positions whether their time together was rushed or not.

Always the helpful little trollop, Stacy reached out and guided the head of Hayden's still stiffening erection to where she wanted it the most. With the familiarity that comes from shared experiences, Hayden began to slowly and teasingly enter Stacy.

While Stacy would eventually be begging Hayden to pound into her faster and harder, she always appreciated this slow, steady approach that allowed her body to adjust to his girth.