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If Darla’s not able to get those papers back for me, it’ll be my arse on the line, not hers. Out of the entire time she’s worked for me, this is by far her most egregious error.
Who sends a messenger away?
I can’t let this one ride. I have no option but to talk to Mr. Simons and explain how incapable she is. Maybe there’s a position somewhere else in the company for her. I don’t really care where she ends up as long as it’s not working as my right hand.
The thought of my right hand reminds me what I was doing this morning during my shower. Jacking off to the thought of Finn’s little sister, Kenzie, is bloody asinine after the events that took place last night. And makes me feel like a complete creeper, being that she’s my best mate’s little sister.
It’s confusing as hell, given that I couldn’t wait to get away from her last night. I mean, her long blonde hair has always been my preference on a woman, and her bright-blue eyes sparkle, and no male could miss her plump lips. Regardless, the woman is an overgrown toddler excited for Santa to arrive. What exactly did my subconscious find alluring about that?
I push all thoughts of Kenzie from my head and stand from my desk, taking a moment to adjust myself now that I have a half-chub from thinking of her. Bloody hell.
Once I’m situated, I head out of my office and down the hall toward Mr. Simons’s office. I can’t let Darla’s ineptitude slide any longer. But I’m going to have to approach this subject delicately because pussy-whipped is too soft a term for what Mr. Simons is for his new, younger woman.
I approach his office, which is situated at the corner of the high-rise and looks out over Manhattan. The adjoining office is where the other partner, Mr. Berns, now works. If he retires next year, it will probably be mine or Tom Harding’s.
When the time comes, I’m pretty sure Mr. Berns will give me his vote and I suspect Tom Harding will be getting Scofield’s. Which makes Mr. Simons the tiebreaker.
Mr. Simons’s assistant isn’t at her desk, but his office door is half-ajar, so I knock. My stomach feels a bit sour at the idea of having this conversation, but I’ve done harder things and dealt with the aftermath of my decisions before, so I push aside the fear that he’ll take offense.
The door opens slightly when I knock to reveal that Mr. Simons is sitting behind his desk and, lucky me, his fiancée is adhered to his lap.
Of course she is. Could anything in my life come easy?
He drags his attention away from the woman who I’d consider too young for me, and I’m thirty-four while Mr. Simons has a couple decades over me. He removes his hand from her hip and waves me in. “Andrew, come on in.”
“I can come back if you’re busy.” I nod at Bethaney. “Hi, Bethaney.”
“Andrew.”
A few months ago, after Mr. Simons proposed, he brought Bethaney around and introduced her to everyone. He said it was because we’d be seeing her around the law firm from time to time and wanted us all to be comfortable, but I suspect he was showing off his new prize, as though his new piece of arm candy negated the fact he’d divorced the mother of his children for her.
It wasn’t like he ever said that, but timing being what it was made it obvious.
“Nonsense, come on in. I was just trying to make Bethaney feel better.”
Bethaney’s pout looks perfectly practiced.
I take a few more steps into the office. “Everything okay?” I ask, feigning interest. What could this girl be upset about?
“The planner for our Christmas party quit. She said I was too demanding or something.” Her face twists into an expression to suggest the woman is crazy. “Now I have no one and the party is less than two months away. It’s going to be a disaster!” Her shoulders drop.
Mr. Simons wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. They’re one of those couples where, due to their age difference, you can’t help but think of them in bed and it’s not the best image to imagine.
“It’s okay, we’ll figure something out.” Mr. Simons kisses her temple.
“Ricky… you don’t get it.” She throws her arms around his neck, pressing herself to him.
Ricky?I barely stifle an eye roll.
“Everyone who’s any good won’t be able to take the job with this short of notice. This was supposed to be my coming-out party to your office. I wanted to throw the best party the company has ever had. I want everyone to like me.”
I’m surprised at the note of vulnerability in her voice. But truth be told, Mr. Simons’s first wife was an exceptional party planner. She had connections though, ones I’m sure Bethaney doesn’t. His first wife was big on charities, so the party favors were usually for a specific cause. During Labor Day, she gave everyone a specific animal that she’d adopted for them from the rain forest. And you get monthly updates on said animal. I believe her long-term goal was for us to continue to give money to the charity and it worked for me. A specific amount of money is taken out every month to care for my orangutan, Bongo.
“Everyone does like you. Right, Andrew?” He looks at me with an expression that clearly says I’d better agree.
“Of course. Everyone here thinks highly of you, Bethaney.”
Her pout makes a reappearance. “You guys are just saying that. I want to prove that I belong. Plus, Christmas is my all-time favorite holiday. I can’t screw this up.”
