“I can’t wait for Memorial Day,” Amanda starts. “My boyfriend rented a house for us in East Hampton. We love taking our new Porsche for a ride out there.”
And they’re off!
“Unfortunately, I won’t be there this year. I really need a break from the city. I’m heading to a private island.” Leanne moves into first place.
“So, Catherine, what are you doing for the Memorial Day weekend?” Beverley asks perkily.
I give Lisa a panicked look. Long-weekend planning isn’t billable so it’s been the last thing on my mind. Suddenly, I wish I had mobilized Rikash on my summer plans.
“Um, don’t know yet. Frankly, it’s hard for me to make plans these days with work being so hectic.”
All three of them stare at me in silence with a look of disappointment. Clearly we’re not going to be best friends. Despite the fact that I have no interest in being one of these girls, I suddenly feel completely uninteresting and bland.
“Give Catherine a break, she just moved here!” Lisa tries to rescue me from my pathetic social life.
“I can’t wait. I’m getting my hair done at John Frieda next week.” Lisa changes the subject to outrageously priced beauty treatments. I hope she hasn’t lost her down-to-earth side to become as precious as her friends.
“Oooh,” they all coo at the same time.
“I’m going for a peel next week at Elizabeth Arden. My skin is so dull looking, I look like I’m in my late thirties—so scary.”
The waiter finally arrives to take our order and saves me from spa hell.
“Mademoiselle,” he addresses me first. His piercing blue eyes look right through me and this gives me a frisson.
“Bonsoir, monsieur, je vais prendre le ravioli en entrée ainsi que votre filet de sole, merci.”
The three of them gape at me. Score one for Catherine; go ahead, ladies, and try to match that. I watch gleefully as all three awkwardly place their orders, steering clear of pronouncing anything in French on their menu. I spend the next fifteen minutes thoroughly investigating Daniel’s red wine list. Once our meals arrive, Lisa and I dig into our ravioli while the rest of them fiddle with their dressing-free arugula salads.
My savouring the pasta is interrupted by the buzzing of my BlackBerry. I’ve received an email from Antoine.
I need to discuss an urgent matter. Do you have a couple of minutes?
I excuse myself from the table and rush to the ladies room. I need to respond to his message without letting on that I’m out on the town and have had a few Comtesse cocktails and glasses of wine. Just keep your cool, Catherine, and remain vague.
I reply with:
Of course. Can you tell me what it’s regarding? I’m working remotely this evening.
I figure the expression working remotely is ambiguous enough that I could be at the courthouse library buried under a pile of statutes and case law. I hold my breath in the marble stall and nervously click on his reply:
I’m going over the American Bank prospectus and need your help with the capital requirements section. You’re the pro on this, not me.
No problem, just send me the draft. I’ll be happy to look at it once I polish off what’s on my plate.
Proud of my smooth comeback, I relax and plant my feet against the stall door. Keep it up, Catherine. So far so good!
It sounds like you’re swamped, wherever you are.
Yes, totally inundated.
Do you need to be rescued?
God, do I ever. Please save me from the conspicuously shallow trio. I try to end our email exchange before Lisa sends the waiter after me and busts my cover.
I’ll manage, but thanks for the offer. I’ll pop by your office tomorrow morning to go over the requirements.
If it wasn’t so late, I’d suggest reviewing it over a glass of wine.
I’m surprised by the flirty tone of his response. If I wasn’t stuck making polite conversation with a bunch of navel-gazing divas, I would gladly accept the invitation. But these are Lisa’s friends, and I need to play nice.
That would be a welcome treat, but this is no time for temptations. I’ve got other fish to fry at the moment. Bonsoir, Antoine. X.
I can’t believe I just ended my email with a kiss! What if he thinks I’m a complete idiot? Or maybe he’ll just think of it as being a French custom. I scramble to find the recall feature on my BlackBerry when it vibrates a few seconds later. I hold my breath and nervously click on his reply:
Bonsoir, Catherine. X to you too!
Hmm. Not bad. I guess he’s not so square after all. Proud of having got him to play a little and of deflecting a potential outburst over my night out with the girls, I get back to our table for a final round of the over-the-top one-upwomanship contest.
My dining companions give me a strange look as I take my seat.
“So sorry, work.”
“Cat, look what our waiter brought over just for you!” Lisa exclaims.
A plate of delicate chocolate truffles is placed in front of my seat.
I now recognize the look on their faces: envy.
“I think he has a crush on you!” Lisa gushes. “How sweet.”
If that’s the case, that’s just fabulous news for my ego. I give the waiter a grateful smile. Despite Lisa’s questionable choice of friends, it hasn’t been a bad evening after all: I managed to leave the office at a decent hour, enjoy a cocktail fit for a queen as well as a fantastic dinner in one of the city’s most fabulous restaurants, and flirt like a bandit with not one but two men. Not bad, n’est-ce pas?
“I’ll have to excuse myself. I’m on my way to San Fran first thing in the morning for a business meeting over the weekend,” Amanda says as she gathers her all-Prada cell phone, keychain, and handbag.
“Bye, girls, see you next week at spinning class.”
Amanda leaves the table without offering to pay her share of the bill.
“Oh, she probably forgot; we’ll just cover for her. She’s so busy these days with work,” Beverley says, staring at the bill.
Busy with work? Nice excuse. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to pay for some obnoxious stranger’s expensive dinner. Especially not for someone who insulted me less than two hours ago. At almost $300 each, this hasn’t exactly been a Thursday-night snack with the girls.
After I air-kiss our waiter on my way out and thank him for his generous gesture, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, mademoiselle. I’m heading to Staten Island for Memorial Day.”
Chapter 12
As mornings-after go, there are few combinations more deadly than a BlackBerry, too much alcohol, and flirting with a colleague—no matter how subtle. I wish I could channel my inner Edith Piaf and hum, “Non, je ne regrette rien,” but it just isn’t so. I wish I’d been able to call back that last email to Antoine—I knew it as soon as I hit send last night; I knew it when I woke up blushing with embarrassment this morning; and I really knew it when I ran into him in the photocopy room and he didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
I stare at my computer screen and wonder what this will mean for our relationship going forward and, more importantly, my career. Why would he give me the cold shoulder? Does he think I have a crush on him? After all, he’s the one who brought up going out for a drink! Catherine, you can’t let stress and too much wine make bad decisions for you.
Rikash dashes into my office holding a stack of receipts.
“What’s wrong? You seem preoccupied.”
“I need your help, dah-ling. I’m under tremendous pressure.”
“How so?”
“Bonnie just snapped at me for not having finished the expenses for her most recent trip to Europe. I’ve been working on them for three days, but I can’t seem to reconcile the receipts.”
“Why not?”
“There’s one I’m not sure how to handle…It’s for a garter belt and a bra from a lingerie shop in London.”
“What? You’re joking?”
“Does a thirty-four C c
up from Agent Provocateur sound like a meal to you?”
“I can’t believe she would expense that. Why would Bonnie expense her underwear? She makes enough money to buy the entire lingerie company. Then again, her undergarments are as key to closing a deal as her sharp legal mind. On second thought, forget what I just said. They’re her main negotiation tool.”
“What should I do?”
“There’s got to be something you can do. Wait, lots of restaurants use numbers in their names, right? Eleven Madison Park, Candle 79, and Five Napkin Burger. So why not Thirty-Four C Regent Street?”
“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, thanks, love. By the way, are you okay? You look a bit down and out.”
“I’ll be fine. Just busy with work.”
Despite a steady increase in women’s enrollment in law school and legislation to promote equality between the sexes, it looks like women are still heavily outnumbered in the world of high finance. I show up at the meeting Scott arranged at the Swiss Bank offices and there are only two women in the room: the woman putting together the coffee cart and me. The large boardroom is filled with young men speaking rapid-fire financial jargon while taking notes on a thick draft prospectus; I feel a bit lost in an ocean of Dockers and blue shirts. For a split second, I wish I was in Dior’s boardroom discussing counterfeit Lady Dior bags. But I quickly dismiss it; this testosterone-charged high-profile deal is exactly what I need to forget Antoine’s silent treatment. I’m seriously regretting that silly email exchange. How could I let my guard down so easily, especially in a time of war? It’s a tactical mistake and a tough lesson to learn. Catherine, never go to battle without your suit of armour. My thoughts are interrupted by a man’s deep voice.
“Good afternoon, everyone, and thanks for making it to our meeting on such short notice. My name is Jeffrey Richardson. I’m the CFO of Browser.” A stunning man with dark hair and broad shoulders is standing at the front of the boardroom wearing a light pink shirt and a tailored pinstripe suit. He looks like Nacho Figueras, the Argentinian polo player and Ralph Lauren model. Any lingering thoughts about Antoine quickly disappear.
“Just so everyone is aware, we’ve selected the firm of Edwards and White as our lead counsel. Is anyone from Edwards present this morning?”
My pulse begins to race.
“Yes, hello, my name is Catherine Lambert.”
“Very nice to meet you, Catherine. Glad you can be with us here today,” Jeffrey welcomes me with a bright smile. My palms turn sweaty and I fear I will soon turn into a babbling idiot. Be professional, Catherine! Remember the lesson you learned just this morning!
“The main contact at Edwards on this deal, I presume?”
“Scott Johnson, our department’s managing partner, will be the senior lawyer on the file, but I’ll be the main contact.”
The others around the table introduce themselves but I have trouble paying attention: I am totally mesmerized by Jeffrey’s good looks and warm smile.
“How quickly can we expect your firm to complete the due diligence process?”
My neighbour’s hand taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, miss, I think that question was directed at you.”
“Oh, sorry, can you repeat the question?” I awaken from my trance.
“Yes, hello, Catherine. My name is Howard Greenblatt. We represent the underwriters. What’s your firm’s expected time frame to get the documents ready for the due diligence process? We’re trying to get a handle on the upcoming deadlines and establish a legal timetable.”
“Of course, yes, yes. To answer your question, I don’t foresee any delays and I can assure you that this file will be a top priority for me, I mean, for us at Edwards and White.” Not the most eloquent answer, but it does seem to satisfy Howard. Come on, Lambert, you’re not going to let a hot guy distract you like this, are you?
“Perfect. Thank you.”
A question period starts after the introductions are over.
“What’s the burn rate of the company?” one banker asks.
“What is the company’s EBITDA? How many rounds of financing have you gone through so far?” asks another.
I try to keep up with the fast-paced questions by frantically transcribing every question and answer on my laptop. After an intense two and a half hours, Jeffrey thanks the crowd and tells everyone that we will continue at the next meeting.
I’m packing up when Jeffrey walks over.
“Very pleased to hear this file will be a priority for you. I guess that means that you and I will be talking on a regular basis from now on, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I guess it does.” I pass him my card.
“Great. I’ll ask my secretary to add your name to the working group list.”
“Perfect.”
I catch him glancing at my outfit. “Beautiful suit.”
“Thanks.” I look up and his eyes meet mine; despite willing myself not to with every fibre of my being, I begin to blush.
“Like the woman wearing it.”
My heart stops; I fumble for words. Pull it together!
“I should be getting back to the office now. Um, I’ll talk to you soon.” I stammer, colour still rising in my cheeks.
He winks in response. I want to die.
I walk through the glass doors toward the exit while he stands in the lobby watching me; he waves goodbye.
Mon dieu, it will be difficult to refrain from flirting with him. I stroll along Park to get back to the office and can’t help but think about Jeffrey. I replay our brief conversation in my head; it’s obvious that there was mutual attraction, but I’m not prepared to navigate the murky waters of dating an important client. No thank you.
“Rikash, can you please open a file for Browser, Inc.?”
“Browser? I read about them in the Herald Tribune over the weekend.”
“You read the Herald Tribune?”
Rikash never ceases to surprise me. I knew he was cultivated and well read but never thought he’d be reading international newspapers.
“Of course. I like to be well informed. I hope you have direct access to their senior management.”
“Why’s that?”
“Their CFO is one seriously attractive male.”
He totally catches me off guard and I’m sure he can read the look of surprise on my face.
“How do you know?”
“There was a picture of him next to the article. I could definitely show him a whole new meaning to the expression playing with the numbers.”
Hmm, so could I, if only he wasn’t a firm client…But dishing about his good looks with Rikash is not off limits.
“God, tell me about it. I almost fainted when he shook my hand. He’s not attractive, Rikash, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. His name is Jeffrey, by the way.”
“Do you know which way he goes?”
“Not your way, I’m afraid.”
“In that case, you need to jump his bones because if I can’t have him, someone I know needs to.”
Here we go. Put on your seatbelt, Catherine. I’m sure that Rikash will try to lead you astray.
“He’s a client and I want to keep it that way.”
“Just remember, dah-ling: good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.”
Before I can go on with our conversation, Scott walks into my office.
“How did the meeting go?”
“Extremely well.”
“Great, happy to hear. I’ve been invited to attend a Browser function at Carnegie Hall next week, but I can’t make it. Now that you’re involved, I’d like you to attend on my behalf.”
“Carnegie Hall?” I hesitate before answering. Scott had also asked me to attend a benefit Mel’s wife was hosting for the St. Matthew’s Society next week and I need to get my billables up. If only I could bill the hours I’m going to spend at these functions, at least then they’d be worth my while.
He senses my apprehension. “I know I’m asking you to attend a lot of client functions these days, b
ut I’m afraid it comes with the job. Clients need to be wined and dined.”
“Of course, I understand. I’d be delighted to go.”
“Great, I’ll ask Jeffrey’s assistant to contact you with the details.”
A few minutes later, Nathan walks into my office looking perplexed.
“I heard you’ll be working on the Browser IPO.”
“You heard correctly.”
“Won’t that interfere with your other mandates? You already have most of Antoine’s files on your desk.”
“I can handle it.”
“If I were you, I would delegate some of my work. You don’t want to be accused of malpractice. It can totally happen under a heavy burden, you know.”
This is a very weak attempt at appearing concerned about me. It is true that my load is getting a bit heavy and I’ve fallen a little behind in my Dior research, but there’s no way I’ll let him get his grubby fingers on Browser’s IPO; it could be my ticket to partnership. It’s been said that to get ahead you must bite off more that you can chew and then just chew it.
“I appreciate your concern for my professional well-being, but I’ll be fine, really.”
A frustrated Nathan walks out of my office empty-handed.
“It’s Mel. Do you want to take it?” Rikash calls me on the intercom.
“Sure, put him through.” I put my finger in my mouth in mock gagging.
“Hello, counselaaar, looking forward to seeing you at the St. Matthew’s charity ball on Monday.”
“So am I. I’m especially looking forward to meeting your wife.” I wonder whether my nose is getting longer.
“She, um, can’t wait to meet you also…Do you have some time now to go over the memo you prepared?”
“Sure, let me get my file.”
Fifteen minutes of questions later, my other line rings and Browser pops up on the screen. I glance at Rikash to make sure he gets it. He answers and waves at me with big hand gestures.
J'adore New York: A Novel of Haute Couture and the Corner Office Page 9
