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“Thanks. I mean, I hate it. But I know it’s important. Besides, you know I love to hear myself talk.” I propped my hands behind my hand and gave her a cocky grin.
She cracked a smile at me. “That you do. I wish I was as good as you are at handling those situations. Client management is one of the things I dread the most about being partner.” I tried to control my shock at her admission. Margo Clarke did not show weakness in front of me.
“All your clients love you though.”
“Thanks, but not really.” She made a face and turned back to her computer. Now was my moment to extend an olive branch. I could not sit in this office for weeks and have her barely tolerate me. I ignored the voice in my head that told me craving her attention and approval was going to put me right back to where I was at 25, desperate for her and devastated when our relationship, such as it had been, went up in flames. Nope, I was over that.
“I can help you with that if you want.”
She turned back to me, eyes wide. “You would help me?”
“Of course.” I kept my expression neutral, trying not to scare her. Her eyes were full of mistrust but also something soft. Something that might have been hope. “We were friends once, Margo. I know you think I hate you, but I don’t,” I added quietly, holding her gaze, watching her cheeks flush and her eyes darken. It was true. I had always told myself it was hate, but it wasn’t. Hating her, being her rival, it was easier than whateverthiswas.
“Thanks, Andrew. I might take you up on that.”
16
Margo
Day two of hell. It was seven am. I had gotten here early to prep for our first meeting on the Bankman deal. I had leggings hidden in my desk to change into later. No matter what Andrew said, I was wearing them past eight pm, which would probably be the beginning of a long night. Andrew and I had both cleared our schedules for the next two weeks in order to hit the start of this deal hard. I didn’t really know how we would work together, but I would do my best. It was incredibly rare to staff two senior associates on one deal, so we would be writing the playbook as we went.
I sipped my coffee as I reviewed the initial summary and materials we’d been provided. Was seven am a tad early? Perhaps, but I was going in to this guns blazing. Andrew might take the money for granted, but to me making partner was my lifeline.
My parents had provided well for us through our lives, my father making decent money as an electrician and my mom working as an accountant, but we had never been rich. My sister and I had been lucky enough to have Barbies (but only one each), clothes from Gap (but never Abercrombie), and a beat up old Honda civic that we had shared when Emily was 18 and I was 16.
And now I did my best to provide my parents with the little luxuries they had never had. Never too extravagant, or my mom would exclaim “Margo! How much did this cost?” I would always claim I got things on sale, at a super discount price, so my parents couldn’t refuse. Papa Clarke loved a good deal on gear as much as the next Vermont dad. Len and my dad scoured the outlets for the exact right fishing poles and hiking boots for their summer exploits.
Emily, on the other hand, was as bougie as they came and relished receiving my extravagant presents every birthday and Christmas. Vets made good money, but I know Emily was saving for a house and was socking money away to help my parents out as they aged. My mom was still working part time, but I knew the combination of their social security checks didn’t stretch as far as traveling to see family every year or leaving the country. Andrew definitely never had to think about that. I scowled involuntarily, thinking of the photos of the Markman family estate that Cynthia and I had pulled up once. The Litchfield County property had been featured in Town and County and the accompanying photos of the grounds and the ancient home had been enough to make both of us shriek with glee and envy.
There was money and then there wasmoneyand the Markman family had the latter. Andrew had attended Philips Andover, and then Yale and Yale Law. His farther bought and sold expensive cars like they were trading cards. His mother’s Lambo had been featured inSpending Itmagazine, much to our delight and Andrew’s chagrin. I still remembered the day Gerald had brought the article up during one of the associate lunches, waving his copy of the magazine around like it was a scarlet letter and asking Andrew if his mom had purchased the car new or at a private auction. Andrew had been red in the face while Ann had been practically salivating at the thought of bringing Daddy Markman on as a client.
It was a good reminder that Andrew and I had totally different motivations and that it was imperative I beat him in the race to partner.
But on days like today staying focused was a slog. It was unusually warm and I kept sneaking looks out the window at the sun. Gerald was up early for some unknown reason, perhaps just to torture me, and already firing off nonsensical emails about ideas he had for the deal.
I sent a “will do” before settling in to ignore him for at least an hour. Right as I was getting really digging in to the docs, I spied Andrew down the hall, full suit firmly in place, briefcase slung over his shoulder. He pushed his hair back with one hand, looking like a sexy professor. I ran my eyes over him and then mentally chastised myself.
He pushed open the door, exclaiming in a jaunty voice, “Oh, Margo, funny you should be here too!”
“Har. Har.” I left it at that, silently reminding myself to be nice, or at the very least, cordial to him.
He set his bag down squarely on the shelf, and began removing his suit jacket.Oh no. I watched the play of muscles under his white dress shirt as he hung the jacket up and turned to face me. I quickly looked back at my document while my face flamed. This whole sharing situation was going to be horrible. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he began unpacking his stuff. How was I supposed to get any work done when he was taking up all the space in here? It felt like our desks were right next to each other even though we were at least five feet away. He began placing all of his papers and folders in neat stacks and I rolled my eyes.
“Andrew, what would you do if one day you came in and your papers were out of order?”
“Go postal,” he replied promptly.
I laughed despite myself. “Don’t tempt me.”
He gave me a half grin, his green eyes bright. “I know you would like to see nothing better than me absolutely lose my shit. Don’t worry. Sharing an office might put me over the edge.”
“Well, at least we can agree on that.” It might push me over the edge too. Andrew had a way of looking at you that made you feel like you were the sole focus of his world. I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Because I hated him.
“My need for
“Come on, we agree on lots of stuff” Andrew responded.
I raised a brow at him.
