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With a wince, I push away the memory and step into the hallway, striding toward his office.
Ben’s assistant Claudia gives me a brief smile. “Sorry, this was last minute, and I didn’t have time to put a meeting on the schedule.”
“That’s fine, thank you, Claudia,” I say breezily, more confident externally than I feel inside. I knock lightly on Ben’s propped-open door and step inside.
“You wanted to see me?”
Ben looks up from his work and I wonder if I look as tired as he does. There are dark bags under his eyes and a stack of paperwork in front of him. He smiles grimly and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. Once I’ve sat down, he sorts through the papers on his desk and comes up with a thick folder.
“Blair, I hate to do this to you, but I’m going to need you to take on this client.”
My heart drops with the weight of this news. Over the past few months, my entire team has been overloaded with projects. In part, it’s my fault; I’m just not good at saying no. And Constance is excellent at saying no or rather, whining rather convincingly to make it sound like she already hasso muchon her plate.
After last year’s mishap, which my team had to clean up after, I’m pretty sure Ben is trying to give her as little as possible.
“I… I’m sorry Ben, I’m just not sure I can fit another client into my schedule.”
Unless I want to get home even later than I already do, that is.
He sighs, but his face takes on that expression that I know well. There’s a reason he’s managing partner.
“Blair, I really have to insist. This is a top-tier client and they need someone to handle their estate plans immediately. They parted badly with their last firm, and the patriarch isn’t a man to be turned down.” When I open my mouth to reply, he continues, “I know this isn’t your wheelhouse anymore, but I remember when you were a junior associate with the estates department. You handled everything professionally and quickly. That’s exactly what we need here.”
A headache is already pounding at my temples at the thought of adding another client. And, I loathe working on estate law. It’s considered the grunt work of the firm, and I had to claw my way out of that department a couple of years ago.
“Who knows,” a breezy, sarcastic voice comments, “it might get you that promotion you’ve been wanting.”
Ethan leans in the doorway, a smug smile on his face. Anger shoots through me and I know for a fact in this moment that he knew exactly what he was doing when he insinuated I might get that promotion.
“I can put that on paper,” Ben breaks in, ignoring the way his stepbrother’s face pales. “The promotion, that is. If you take on this account and have it done within two months, you’ll be a firm partner by the end of the year. You have my word.”
For a moment, I’m actually stunned into silence. This is the position I’ve been working toward for years now, and to have Benjamin Cowdery promising it to me – in a legal document – is a dream come true.
“I…”
“I’m not sure we’ll have room for another partner,” Ethan says quickly, dropping his crossed arms, eyes locked on his stepbrother. But Ben ignores him, taking something out of the folder and clipping it to the front.
“We will,” he says shortly before holding the folder out to me. “These are your clients; the CEO and founder’s business card is on the front, but they’re actually coming in at three today so you can meet with them in the south conference room.”
I nod dumbly, still processing the fact that in less than six months, I’ll finally be exactly where I want to be.
The icing on the cake is Ethan’s face when I turn around. I give him a smug smirk, slipping out of the room and striding triumphantly back to my office.
Even though I have tons to do I have a hard time focusing. Three o’clock takes forever to roll around, and by the time it does, my nerves are about shot.
“Thank God,” I whisper, standing and gathering the folder to my chest.
There isn’t much information in it. My client is Weaver Industries – or rather, the family who founded it. Headed by Collin Weaver, who has two children and is a widower. The brief overview of their company tells me that they’re in construction on the East Coast and are opening a branch in the UK. Collin Weaver is close to seventy and I’m guessing that’s why they’re looking into estate planning.
“Do you need me to stay?” one of my interns asks, but she’s already stayed later than she really needs to. I send her off, happy to be one of the associates who interns actually like. When I was an intern, my senior associate lorded over us all with fear and constant threats to oust us from the firm.
The south conference room is one floor up, so I step into the elevator, mind churning as I try to figure out how best to fit this client into my already packed schedule. I’m distracted as I walk down the hall, smiling at coworkers and saying hello to a couple of them.
After taking a deep breath and pushing open the conference door, my heart suddenly drops.
The last person I’m expecting to see is sitting at the large glass conference table.
The man I’d spent a night with at The Grove.
