I like Akiko, but she serves food portions so miniscule they would barely satisfy a two-year-old. My brothers and I always feel like we’re starving at the family dinners. It’s so bad that Ares grabs a Big Mac and Bryce scarfs down half a pizza before heading over. I usually get a couple of beef-and-cheese tacos from Manny’s.
Dad snorts. “I’ll let Akiko know.”
I make an exaggerated motion to check the time. “Well, gotta go. Those contracts aren’t going to review themselves.” I get up and go to my office.
The pink flowers Klein placed on my desk yesterday make a cheery greeting. I start my laptop, pull the largest blossom to my nose and inhale. The baby-soft petals tickle, the scent soft and sweet, just like the woman who brought them in.
How am I going to ask her to stay engaged to me for six months?
Based on the conversation yesterday, she doesn’t seem to believe that there’s any future between us. Not only that, she wants to marry somebody she loves—and I’m ninety-nine percent certain that isn’t me. It doesn’t seem fair to ask her to waste half a year of her life just so I can avoid Dad’s consequences.
But a selfish part of me wants to. I can’t bear to be seen as unworthy of the family motto—or of carrying on the legal legacy. Without those, I’m just…lost. Might as well be a fucking Dunkel.
I shove my hand into my hair and flex my fingers, huffing out a frustrated breath. The slight pain on my scalp doesn’t help me focus any better.
A knock at the door, and I put the flower back into the vase. My heart skips a beat with anticipation at the idea of facing Klein, even though I still don’t know what I’ll offer to convince her to stay with me for six months.
The door opens, and Barry sticks his head in. Something inside me deflates.
“Hey, heard you got engaged,” he says.
I sigh. “The video?”
“Of course! Everybody’s seen it, unless they live in a cave somewhere.”
I make a bland noise in my throat. He isn’t here to congratulate me.
“We gotta have a bachelor party,” he says.
I knew it.“That’d be a little premature. We haven’t even set a wedding date.”
“So? We can have one now…and then another one later, if you want.”
“You meanyouwant to have another one later.”
“Hey, practice makes perfect. Have I ever failed anyone at the firm? It’s going to be amazing. And you should thank your lucky stars—I have thisgreatidea for your party.”
“What about Bryce?”
Barry makes a face. “I was actually going to use it for Bryce’s party. But he says he can’t until his wife gives birth, so you’re the lucky winner.”
“Let me guess.” I tap my chin with mock seriousness. “Instead of ten strippers, I get twenty.”
Barry’s eyebrows go up. “That’s not a bad idea. You’re learning.”
I roll my eyes, although I can’t help my mouth twitching.
He just laughs. “Anyway, congrats! I’ll let you know!”
“No party until the wedding date’s set—!” But the door shuts, and knowing Barry, he’d just ignore me even if he heard.
I read an email from Ted, which happens to be at the top of my inbox. He’s insisting on getting fifty percent off on the option if he and the writer happen to sleep together, especially since he’s convinced he can sleep with her before the contract’s executed. I swear to God, the man’s mind has one track, nothing else. I almost wish his vasectomy would fail again and he’d get hit with another seven children, all under the age of one. That would keep him occupied. When he’s distracted, he makes a great client because he basically does what I tell him without arguing. The real problem is Joey. He flatters and encourages Ted in every ridiculous folly, clapping and cheering like some kind of demented one-man fan club.
I send a quick email shooting down the idea and advising Ted to just lower the sum if he doesn’t want to pay what the author asked for. That’s part of a proper negotiation, not trying to put a clause accepting monetary compensation for sex into the contract. Besides, the author lives in Vermont. She’s not going to fly out to California for Ted, no matter how nice his dick might look in a pic.
I drop my forehead in my palm. Good God, I hope he hasn’t sent one to her. That would really mess things up—for me. Why can’t I have normal clients? I picked entertainment and intellectual property law because I love movies and music. But if I’d known practicing it would bring in so many weirdo clients, I would’ve done something more like corporate tax, or mergers and restructuring, like Ares.
I roll my shoulders and check the time. Klein is late.
