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She raises her eyebrows with a question she doesn’t verbally ask.
“He’s meeting my parents this weekend.” She smirks because even though I’ve not told her, I’ve never attempted to hide it.
“I knew there was something there, you know.”
Me, too, the second I met the man. As much as I’ve tried to deny it, I can’t ever explain this draw we have to one another. I guess it’s what love truly is.
* * *
The time on the clock reads 1:13 p.m. Luca will be here in forty minutes, and an old client of mine had a fire I needed to put out, taking me away from the case I’m supposed to have my full attention on. I finally get a chance to leaf through the files Harry had dropped off. I don’t know why he can’t just email them, and instead, takes an hour out of his day in this fucking Chicago traffic to bring them to me personally.
I take one peek inside. Son of a bitch. He was supposed to have his staff pull the last five years of waste elimination contracts. Meaning, specific jobs that have been under a contract within the last five years. Why the fuck am I looking at IRS statements and financials of De Santos Inc.? It’s like I asked for a dog. Not only didn’t he bring me a fucking dog, he dropped a large-ass dairy cow on my desk.
Goddamnit, this man is infuriating. I take a peek at the time and decide I’m changing plans on Luca. I hit the number for Shaelyn.
“Mr. De Santos’s office. How can I help you?” she asks.
“Shaelyn, it’s Anisten. Can you tell me if Harry is in his office?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he’s just walking out from a meeting with Mr. De Santos. Would you like to speak to him?”
Oh, I’d love to speak to the idiot. But it will have to wait. “Would you be able to tell Harry I’ll be over in thirty minutes, and he better be there.” I’m not in the mood for pleasantries or pleases when it comes to Harry. “But, could you take Mr. De Santos aside? Instead of picking me up, we can leave from his office.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. Meeting the parents. I’ll be sure to tell him. Let me grab Mr. Lane before he leaves for his office.”
“Thanks, Shaelyn.”
I pull for my suitcase, stopping right next to Caroline’s desk. “Leaving already?” she asks.
“After I make it clear to that fuck-up Harry Lane that I’m tired of his shit.” I hand her the file. She knows what I had asked for and looks back at me.
“What the hell is this?” She’s as confused as I am.
“Yeah, my point exactly.” As I leave, I try to calm my nerves because this coming to Jesus moment may just include some very choice words, mainly about his incompetence.
* * *
Velma, his secretary, is at her desk outside of Harry’s office. I’ve dealt with her a few times and she’s very pleasant and helpful, unlike her boss.
“Oh, Ms. Atkins, Mr. Lane said he could not be disturbed.”
Fuck that. I give her a polite smile and open the door to his office, anyway.
“Anisten, I do not have the ability to deal with you right now. I’m knee-deep in another matter and will get back…”
I place one folder on his desk, interrupting him. I left the rest of the boxes in my office for the weekend but took one.
“And I’m tired of this shit. I asked for the last five years of contracts and am given IRS statements. It seems as though you’re trying everything possible to derail this case.”
He grabs for a few sticky notes askew around his already cluttered desk. “See, here is a message from Caroline.” He reads it out loud. “Ms. Atkins needs five years of IRS docs.”
He seems pleased with his answer. “Why would I need those documents? Christ, Harry, last week I asked for your investigator’s notes before we took over, and I still haven’t seen those. The week before, I’d asked for the name and phone number of the foreman, and you gave me the wrong guy’s information.”
He pushes away from his desk. “Listen, I asked HR for his name. They gave me the wrong information. The investigator hasn’t gotten back to me. I did what was fucking asked of me with the IRS forms. So back off.”
I lean onto his desk, staring straight into his eyes. “I haven’t shared any of this with Mr. De Santos. Because we’re both adults, and you should be doing better. But if you don’t get your shit together, I’ll tell my client how hard you’ve been to work with.”
I turn around to leave, but his words have me stopping mid-step.
