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CHAPTERSEVEN
Taylor
The following Wednesday, I was sitting in my car with the heat on, trying not to freeze my ass off while parked outside of a Perkins restaurant, listening to some last-minute advice from my grandmother.
“They’re looking not only for legal advice but for validation,” she said as I upped the heat another degree before rubbing my hands together. Nan’s voice was loud and clear over my Bluetooth. “They’re working in a female-dominated space but managed by majority men. That’s how it is across the nation, so, like you said, he told them if they’re not happy, they can leave. But where would they go? To another club, where they may or may not be treated like they matter by men who most certainly only see dollar signs.”
I agreed with a hum, and my grandmother’s voice softened. “You sound muffled. Where are you?”
“I’m sitting in my car, freezing.”
“Why don’t you go inside?”
“Waiting for Hargrove to get here. He’s late as usual.”
Nan laughed. “This is the real test.”
“Of what? Wills?” I would’ve liked to say I knew I’d win that one, but I honestly wasn’t sure. This tug-of-war game was never-ending, and just when I thought I had the upper hand, he pulled me back into his territory.
“To see exactly how well you can work together.”
I huffed. “We don’t. That’s the whole point of this. Dominic is setting us up to see which one gets the promotion.”
“I don’t think that’s what he’s doing,” Nan said.
“What else is it, then?”
A moment passed before she answered. “This is your opportunity to truly work with each other.”
“We work with each other every day.”
“But this is your first case together,” she said sagely, and I didn’t like the wordfirst, as if more would be coming down the pike. “And a little competition isn’t a bad thing between you and Dean. It’ll force you to be your best. Like your grandfather and me. We hated each other until we realized we were better together than we were separate.”
I especially didn’t like that leading statement.
“Dean and I arenotyou and Pop-Pop.”
“Well, even if this doesn’t bring you together on more friendly terms, you can at least learn each other’s strengths and weaknesses, so you can help each other better when the next job comes along.”
I already knew his weaknesses. His refusal to follow directions, his terrible communication, his typos—Jesus, his typos! A sixth grader could do a better job proofreading his files.
“I’m proud of you,” Nan said, and I jerked back at the unexpected sentiment. Not that she hadn’t said it before, but that it came out of nowhere.
“Thanks. I’m proud of you too,” I replied, and she laughed.
Movement in my rearview mirror caught my attention, and I watched Dean blow out a foggy breath as he shut his car door. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets, lazily making his way toward the entrance of the restaurant.
“He’s here, Nan. I gotta go.”
“All right. Call me later to let me know how it all went.”
“I will,” I promised. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” she said, and the call disconnected. I slung my bag over my shoulder and opened my car door, calling out, “You’re late.”
Dean held his cell phone out toward me, the time displayed, 9:59. “We’re meeting at ten.”
“Yeah, and now we don’t have any time to prepare,” I said, catching up to him at the entrance, where he didnothold the door for me. Shocking.
