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I was hoping to at least start on building the air hockey table I gave Jace for his sixth birthday. Three weeks, and it’s still sitting in the box. I know he must be dying to play, but he’s such a good kid—he hasn’t begged me once. I figure we can put it in the empty dining room, since we always eat at the kitchen island and I’m probably not going to need a formal dining set anytime soon.
The other associates give me high-fives and cheer me on as I walk in, giving them thumbs up. Good news travels fast, as they say.
“So you tore him a new one, huh?” Mike asks in passing.
“Total bloodbath,” I say.
Kenzie chuckles. “As if we could expect anything else?”
I wink at her. More interns pop from their cubicles, and soon, they’re all applauding me. It’s like my own ticker-tape parade. I milk it, bowing, hoping it’ll continue so that some of the partners will see and realize that this farce of a competition between me and Tenley Bayliss shouldn’t even be happening, and I’m the one they want.
At the thought of Tenley, I glance toward her office. The door is open, the light on. I don’t know what she’s doing in there, but I can guarantee it’s not applauding for me.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, checking the clock before heading into my office. Work calls. Hopefully not much of it. I’m hoping I can finish up with whatever emails I have, clock out at a normal hour, and be home so I can make burgers and dogs on the grill for dinner. Jace loves cookouts.
But the second I sit down, I see it.
One meeting request.
I grab my mouse and click on it. I get these all day long. It’s probably for next week.
Except that it isn’t…
It’s for today. For now.
What the hell? Only a masochist would make a meeting request for five pm. on a Friday evening.
As soon as my eyes land on the meeting organizer, it all makes sense.
Tenley Bayliss. Who, despite all her ruses to make it seem like she actually does have a life outside of Foster & Foster, clearly doesn’t.
Taking great satisfaction out of hitting the DECLINE button, I type into the box for a reason: Because it’s Friday night and I want to live.
A moment later, I hear purposeful footsteps coming my way before Tenley appears in my doorway, that typical frown on her face. “I just had a call with James Perry’s attorney, and he told me he wants full custody and he’s not going to spare a single penny. This is going to get ugly.”
The chances of Jace playing with that air hockey table before he hits puberty are officially slim to none.
I stare at her. I knew this case was contentious and bitter, but now it appears the situation is quite a bit more dire than I’d expected. Full custody battles are lengthy, expensive, and exhausting. Part of me can’t help thinking it might be because of my partner. I remember her on the phone earlier saying: I won’t accept anything less.
Did her lack of tact get us here? There’s a time and place to be a shark and there’s a time and place to be a friendly, affable golden retriever.
“Why were you on the phone with Perry’s attorney?” I ask. “As your partner on this case, you should have conferenced me in.”
She gives me a confused look. “I had a quick question. I wanted to ask if—”
“Do me a favor and leave the communication to me from now on,” I snap, annoyed. Grabbing my pen and paper and heading toward the conference room she reserved, my movements tight and clipped. This is definitely her doing—her and her goddamn stubborn streak of hers. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She doesn’t follow me. “What do you mean?”
I turn back to her to find her staring at me accusingly, hands on her hips. “I mean that you’re no Winston Churchill.”
“What?” Her brows knit.
“There’s such a thing as tact, and you don’t have it. And you’re now the reason why I can’t go home and enjoy my weekend.”
“I did no such thing. How about you do me a favor and save the theatrics for the courtroom?”
“Right.” I draw the word out so she can hear all the doubt in it.
“What, did you have a hot date tonight or something?” Her question comes out of left field, but I’m too worked up to care.
“Something like that.”
“Guess your intern of the week will just have to reschedule.”
I almost laugh. Is that what she thinks of me? The office manwhore?
“It’s called being nice to people Maybe you should try it sometime,” I say.
“I’m sure you’re more than just nice.” She stampedes past me, as other people on the floor pack up and say their weekend goodbyes. A few of them stop and watch us. This entire exchange reeks of a divorcing couple locking horns, a scene far too common around here some weeks.
