Overtime Calls Cause Confusion

Sinead was working on a weekend. Again.

It wasn’t the first time, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. The problem was that she wasn’t working on a **** case, or a missing child, or anything that necessitated the overtime. And Jules, of course, refused to humour her and said that if she wanted to hang out she needed to promise not to mention work. They’d spent the majority of the last two days together poring over the field that Marc had gotten for Sinead, trying to find patterns and a way to get into things in a more legal way.

Victor Barisha was into a bunch of shady shit, but parsing through the finances, legal filings and commercial deals was like trying to put together a puzzle that had been faded in the sun for a decade or two - there were some details on each piece, but most of it was washed out and hard to figure out how it would line up next to its neighbours, let alone what the entire picture would be.

“Bonjour, Detective,” Marc answered his phone.

Sinead felt like her heart had jumped into her throat as soon as she heard his voice, and she immediately regretted doing it. Sitting in her living room with dozens and dozens of printed files spread around her had made her feel a little lost, and even a little lonely. Thoughts of their previous night, of how extravagant he’d treated her and then how she’d earned his punishment, had been hovering over her for days. In her mind this should have been easy - ask Marc for his expert opinion on putting together the financials in the files, and pay him back with… whatever he wanted. After last time she knew she would go to ridiculous lengths for the case.

And it was for the case, and not the man. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

But now that she had him on the phone, she froze. She didn’t freeze when she had a gun or a knife threatening her life, held by some scumbag she had no doubt would use it on her, but Marc’s fucking voice made her freeze.

“Mon Dieu, Sinead,” he muttered. “Did you buttdial me?”

“No, no,” Sinead said quickly. “I, um, was wondering if you were available to help with some work. Something more casual. I could bring over the files to your place, or you could come here…”

“Ton sens du timing est impeccable, Detective. I am unfortunately booked up for the rest of the day,” Marc said.

“It’s not something you could shift?” Sinead asked, already feeling silly. Of course he was busy on a Saturday. Everything she knew about him said he had a full life. Hell, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d flown somewhere for the weekend.

“I’m sorry but no, Detective,” Marc said. “And I hope you understand that I do not value your time lightly, or that I would not give up simple pleasures to help with your situation and to find a new way to play our game. But tonight is not an option.”

“I… understand,” Sinead said, trying to keep her voice neutral. She wasn’t even sure how she felt herself - disappointed? Relieved? Happy, or melancholic, over what he was saying?

Horny?

“Marc, I’m here,” a voice sounded in the background of the phone call as if someone had said it from a distance.

“Mes excuses, I must go,” Marc said. “Call me on Monday and I will see what I can do to fill in some blanks for your case. Bon week-end, ma petite rebelle.”

Sinead didn’t even have a chance to reply before he hung up.

“Who the fuck was that?” she said to herself out loud. The voice had been distinctly female, and if she wasn’t reading into things it sounded like she was familiar with him. That just got her thinking about the more concrete question she had from their last night out; the name that had kept coming up in conversations near her, but never to her. Felicity. Was that her, in the background?

Did Marc have a girlfriend?

She knew he wasn’t married from the original investigation that had brought them together, but there was no way to know outside of word of mouth if he had a long-term girlfriend. Was he cheating on his girlfriend with Sinead? Or was the woman aware of things?

Marc had a collection of sexual tools, or toys, he’d been able to pull from. She’d been so overwhelmed in the moment that she hadn’t put together that he would have a reason for owning them, and someone to use them on.

Sinead sat back on her couch, the files forgotten for the moment, and she swam in a sea of her own confusion. Who was Felicity, and was she the same woman in the background of the call? How did Sinead feel about Marc having someone else, someone… more important? Who he did ‘things’ with?

Or the reverse, what if it was all innocent and Sinead was his only focus… sexually? Was that… good?

It would be a long time before Sinead would stand, no closer to answers. There was only one thing she knew for sure - she wasn’t going to get any work done when she’d worked herself up to her current level of horny.

“Fucking Marc,” she grumbled to herself as she hopped over some of the files and headed for her bedroom. Her dildo would help ease her nerves, and then maybe she could figure out how to make some progress without him.

<U>Translations</U>

• Ton sens du timing est impeccable, = Your sense of timing is impeccable,

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