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As I see the entrance to the side, I take a breath. I am thankful it’s Friday because exhaustion is nipping at my heels and the weekend can’t get here quick enough. Working day and night in order to keep my business afloat has been brutal.
I push open the large double glass doors and head to the elevators, giving Antonio, our security guard, a quick smile and a small wave. He is a quiet man, and more of a concierge than security. I almost put money on the fact that he couldn’t fight me, let alone anyone else of significant height or build. Antonio is Italian, I think. In his late sixties, at a guess, and he always smiles brightly whenever I come into view. But today, he is not meeting my eye for some reason, which is odd. I have little time to worry about that, though, as I slip into the elevator to head up to my floor.
My floor.It has been five years since I became a practicing lawyer and now I own my own small boutique firm. Obviously, the years of me secretly listening in on my father’s business deals served me well because, up until recently, I was one of New York's most up-and-coming, sought-after lawyers. My name was really starting to climb, business was fruitful, and for someone married to their job like me, I finally felt like things were coming together.
Until my father ruined it. Fraud. That is my specialty. White-collar crime. Ironic, really. Even though I have been estranged from my family for years, his name still haunts me and continues to ruin my reputation. Since his fall from grace, I’ve lost clients left and right, to the point I am now wondering how I can even dig myself out of the small pile of invoices that sit on my desk, begging to be paid. My heart rate increases when I think about them. I’m not sure how I will meet next month's lease payment, and I’m even more concerned I will need to let go of Cindy, my assistant.
The only new clients coming my way now are dirty, and Idon’tdo dirty. I am as clean as a whistle, straight as an arrow, and play firmly on the right side of the law. I didn’t spend years at law school, dreaming of this career, building my reputation, in order to throw it away like my father did. It’s is all I have.
My mom passed away when I was just a baby and growing up, my brother and father treated me like I was nothing. It was a very lonely upbringing that led to me planning for a way out. I buried my head in books, got a full scholarship, and moved to the other side of the country for college. I didn’t want him involved in my life, and I especially didn’t want his money.
I worked two jobs through college just so I never had to ask my father for anything. To this day, I’m not sure he even realized I left. Once I returned to New York, I built my practice, ignoring both him and my brother completely. I hadn’t seen him until my brother's funeral, and I wasn’t planning to. I figured that New York is big enough for the both of us, that I could pretend he doesn’t exist. Yet that is becoming more and more difficult as the weeks go on.
The elevator opens, and I am not surprised to see the reception desk empty. In desperate need of a coffee, I look at my watch, deciding to wait another thirty minutes until Cindy arrives. Cindy was a barista before she became my assistant. When I saw her working at Bobby’s Diner, I knew her sparkling personality was exactly what I needed and offered her a job on the spot. And it’s just a bonus that she makes the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had. In comparison, I still haven’t worked out how to use the new fancy coffee machine. It’s something I splurged on before shit hit the fan and my professional life started to crumble around me. Probably should have saved that money considering where I’m at now.
I slip off my trench coat as I strut to my office, eager to start on the pile of files I need to work through before I can end the week. As I push through my office door, I make it exactly two steps in before I stop short.
“Who the hell are you, and why are you in my office?” I nearly shriek in both surprise and fear, as I see the back of a man standing near my office window. He is tall, broad, still looking out on the cityscape below, not at all startled by my arrival.
“Hello, Miss Cole.” The man's deep, much too calm Italian accent vibrates through me, and I try to steady myself. I watch him as he sips on a takeaway coffee, then turns around slowly, piercing me with his eyes as they immediately lock onto mine. Deep chocolate brown against his olive complexion and dark hair. My eyes search his face for his intentions, but all I notice is how devilishly handsome he is. If I wasn’t so startled, I might actually swoon.
“Who are you?” I ask again, my tone firm as I throw my coat and bag on my armchair and put my hands on my hips. In my years of working in law, it was a steep learning curve for me to understand the different intimidation tactics men try to use. I have built a thick layer of protective armor around my body. I now know that in order to succeed in getting what I want, I need to match their energy and demeanor. However, this man has caught me before my morning coffee, so I already feel sorry for him. I feel my wrath building, patience at a zero.
I see his stubble covered jaw tick, and I wait a few beats for him to respond, but he doesn’t. He remains silent, just looking at me. His stance is casual, with one hand tucked in his very expensive-looking suit’s pocket, as he takes another sip of his coffee. But looks can be deceiving.
“Who are you and what do you want? You are inmyoffice, so answer me when I ask you something,” I demand this time, breathing slowly and trying to keep them from chattering too much as I watch his eyes narrow ever so slightly. My nervous system is now entirely out of control, from his good looks or fear or his extreme arrogance, I am not yet sure.
“I am acquainted with your father,” he states as he begins to walk toward me, like he is approaching a wild animal.
I huff, my teeth now grinding. “How is my father?” I ask sarcastically, because I really don’t care.
“A handful. But he speaks highly of you and your career to date. In fact, he recommends you.” A smirk quirks his lips, and I feel my stomach churn. I try to remain unaffected and raise my eyebrow a little, my fingers gripping into my sides to prevent my hands from shaking.
“My father is an entitled piece of shit who thinks only of status and money. I want nothing to do with him or you.” I say, making it extremely clear that I am not going to be working for any of my father’s men. Despite my career going down the toilet, working for my father or any of his associates is where I draw the line.
“He hasn’t been doing too well financially…” the man says as he comes to a stop right in front of me. Mere inches separate the two of us, but I am not budging. He is trying to intimidate me, and I will not show weakness.
“He owes me and my family a lot of money.” And the penny drops.
“Well, I am not a bank, so you will have to find it elsewhere. You are not getting a cent from me.”
The man’s face has softened a little, almost like he finds me humorous, but I am most certainly not joking. Whatever mess my father has landed in is his alone. I am not digging him out. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and that’s all because of him.
As my confidence increases and my nerves dissipate, I meet the man in his stare off. He has an air of power to him, along with a healthy dose of cockiness. He is very measured with his words, not really answering me entirely, yet is watching me like he is waiting for me to tell him something. What that is, I still don’t know.
“I don’t need your money, Miss Cole…” he says, his voice grittier, almost husky. I clench my fists at my sides. The way his voice skirts over my skin is enough to have my heart racing.
“I have no idea what he does or doesn’t do. I haven’t seen my father in a very long time,” I lie.
“You were at your brother's funeral, were you not?” He cocks an eyebrow, obviously pleased he caught me out. I squint at him, frustration now taking over any nerves. His hand rubs his jaw, eyes melting into my face as he waits for a response.
“Yes, I was at the funeral, and that was the first time I have seen my father since I was seventeen. I have no plans to see him ever again. I don't even know where he is.” Whatever it is my father’s done has absolutely nothing to do with me.
“He thinks you are an excellent lawyer.” I tilt my head at that; my father doesn’t give a shit about me. He only cared for Daniel. The pride at having a son to help him rule the world was the only thing that ever mattered to him. He was more than happy to let me leave and move to the other side of the country, no longer wanting me to be an annoying little girl who demanded daddy’s attention. The older I got, the more clearly I could see that I was not his precious daughter, but a mere disruption in whatever plan he had at the time.
“He said you are one of the best lawyers he knows. Probably going to be the best lawyer in all of the country soon…” I blanch as he continues. My fathernevertook this much of an interest in what I did.
“Well… I don’t—” I can’t even get myself to form a coherent thought before he cuts me off.
