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“What the fuck?!” I heard her scramble to lift the phone off the cradle and then her voice came scratchy through the receiver.
“What did you do, Andrew?”
“Oh so you’re assuming this is about me? And stop heavy breathing into my ear. You remind me of Gerald trying to climb the stairs after a fire drill.”
She huffed a laugh. “Maybe this is a meeting to discuss your freakish stalker tendencies since you won’t stop interfering in my work.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Cute.”
She hung up without a goodbye.
Again, par for the course when deal with me. Though Margo Clarke hated me now, at one point we had been friends. I had let myself wonder if we might be more. I certainly had wanted it. After a year of sharing an office I had been head over heels for her. I had tanked it though. Tanked it like the relationship with my parents, like every relationship I’d had since joining the firm. But that was firmly in the past. And now, she was enemy numero uno in the professional sense. Only one of us could make partner and I had to crush her before she crushed me. So it was better this way. Better to have no distractions. Better to make partner, prove my parents wrong.
My phone dinged. I glanced over while speed-typing an email to the junior on my most active matter. I was taking a lighter than usual tone since we were near the holidays but this guy was at the end of his leash. I’ll show you “too busy to turn these comments tonight,” I muttered.
I groaned when I saw the message was from my mother, known to Siri and my phone contacts as “Mom - Don’t Pick Up.”
Mom - Don’t Pick Up
When are you coming home? Your father is having a few guests from the club tomorrow night and wants you to be there.
“Love you too, Mom,” I muttered as I turned the phone off and tossed it on my armchair. I didn’t have time or inclination to get into a text fight with my mother, especially not with the axe of this upcoming meeting hanging over my head. Rule #1 was never to call. Rule #2 was always to respond before five pm or after she went to bed. Once she had her pre-dinner sidecar, the messages would only get more contentious.
I hit the send button on my email with a little more force than was strictly necessary and scrubbed my hand over my face, feeling the slightly too long stubble on my jaw. I had missed a spot while shaving this morning and it would drive me nuts all day until I could go home and fix it.
“You could just not go.” My older brother’s voice echoed in my head. We’d been discussing the fact that neither of us wanted to go home for the holidays and how our mother kept harassing us. She knew how to pile the guilt on.
“Yeah, right, Schwartz.” I had laughed in his face. “We’ll never hear the end of it. One of us has to show face.”
Schwartz had just shrugged. He had even less patience for our parents’ bullshit than I did, and he had better excuses too. He was newly married and he and his husband had just adopted their son, Liam. It was Liam’s first year with them and they (understandably) didn’t want to expose him to our family’s insanity. Schwartz’s husband, Matt, usually handled family gatherings by taking marijuana edibles at regular intervals.
The worst part was that I’d never been truer to my family name than I was now. I was single-minded. I slept, worked out, read each morning and evening on the train, watched the occasional football game and worked. And the work didn’t end. I knew people here didn’t understand why I ruthlessly pursued a promotion. I’d heard the whispers. Cynthia and Margo called me a good ol’ boy at least once a week. Even Ann had seemed confused when I had initially told her I wanted to know the criteria for making partner. “But why?” She had asked, as if I would be happy to swim in piles of my father’s money for the rest of my life. “Rich kid. Spoiled brat. Trust fund baby.” I’d heard it all.
Fifteen minutes passed like molasses. Steeling myself, I headed into the dragon’s den. This was probably nothing. Just a routine meeting.Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
4
Margo
Ideliberately arrived at Conference Room 2A five minutes early. Andrew was already there, smiling smugly at me from the best seat in the house. The room had a small table with a six-seat configuration. Contrary to popular belief, the best seat was not the head of the table. Today’s workplace involved collaboration, which meant the middle seat facing the door was prime real estate. Of course he had claimed it for himself. Now he could get up and greet everyone like he owned the place.
I wanted to catch Gerald’s reactions as soon he entered, so I strolled over and dropped into the chair next to Andrew. He arched a brow. His perfectly manicured index finger tapped against the table.
I smiled sweetly at him. “Remember. No kicking under the table.”
In answer he scooted his chair closer, until his thigh was nearly touching mine, and then dared me to move away with another eyebrow raise. For sworn enemies we communicated far too well without words. For example, I knew his smug look right now meantIf you move away, you’re a coward. And my leg pressed against his saidYou don’t scare me.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t as unruffled as I pretended to be. Andrew’s thigh was warm and muscular. My own leg itched at his nearness. I desperately wanted to reclaim that little bit of my sanity, but I was not backing down. Something about him lit the fire of competition in me like nothing else. Probably the simmering hatred we had for each other, or the fact that he looked and acted like he had already beaten me to the top. He shifted in his seat, the muscles in his leg rubbing indecently against mine. I glanced up at him. Mistake. He looked totally cool and composed, checking email on his phone as we waited. I was the only one affected by his nearness. Great. Was Andrew insanely attractive? Yes. Did his perfect hair practically beg for me to run my fingers through it? Yes. Did I know the exact contours of his rippling stomach muscles? Unfortunately, yes.
That did not mean I needed to act on it. Especially when he couldn’t care less about me and was constantly trying to get in my head.
Gerald and Ann stalked down the hall toward us, and past the glass wall. Both wore identical frowns. Typically they got along as well as partner-competitors could, and today they seemed particularly aligned in their mood. I gulped. Andrew and I shared a look.What the fuck is happening?Mine said.No clue but we might be getting fired. His said. A grimace tugged at the side of his mouth. We both straightened and faced forward as Gerald and Ann entered.
They couldn’t have been more different. They reminded me of the clock and the candelabra from Beauty and the Beast. Gerald was jowly, greying, and rotund from lush living. Ann was bleached of all color, stick straight, skinny, and permanently serious. When she wasn’t scowling at her associates she was scowling at her computer.
I sat up straighter. Was now the moment? Since we were both here, it had to be both of us, right?
