J'adore New York: A Novel of Haute Couture and the Corner Office

by Isabelle Laflèche

  “We could have, but Antoine told us that you would take care of it. You guys need to get your act together.”

  Furious, I add the share price and the logo and send off the draft prospectus. Why did he make me come back to the office for something he could have done in two seconds flat? As I’m about to leave, Antoine looms in my office doorway.

  “Listen, not to be overly critical, but I don’t think you’re taking your role here very seriously. You need to get your hands dirty like the rest of us if you want to get ahead in this place.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’ve been working extremely hard and putting in long hours. I’m doing the best I can—I have big shoes to fill, you know.” I throw that last bit in there, hoping that a little flattery will go a long way.

  He crosses his arms. “I’m concerned about your future at the firm. You don’t want to be perceived as someone who’s more interested in glamour and shopping than in doing the legal work. I handed you the Dior file so that you can impress them with your legal skills, not to attend their sample sales. The client has expectations and so do I.”

  “Have you seen the hours I’ve billed so far? I’ve been doing my share of legal work.”

  “I have. Your hours are acceptable but, frankly, aren’t enough. We require your full commitment in order to make this relationship work.”

  Great, now he sounds like one of my ex-boyfriends. Is he truly concerned or is he jealous that Scott asked me to attend client events while he stays here getting paper cuts?

  “Catherine, you really need to focus on your career if you want to be considered for partnership.”

  He knowingly hits my weak spot and I get a knot in the pit of my stomach.

  “Listen, Antoine, I’m really giving it my all here. I’ve been working day and night. I’m not sure what else you want from me. I’m sorry about the shopping incident, but I apologized for that already.”

  “It’s not just that.”

  “What is it then?”

  He stares at me in silence and his lips form a tight pucker.

  “What?”

  He responds with a shrug and stares at his shoes. I wonder whether this has anything to do with the email I had sent him the other night. This is no time to bring that up. Keep it professional, Catherine.

  “What is it?”

  He remains silent.

  “The Mel Johnson thing?”

  He replies with a blank stare and a nod.

  “Scott asked me to attend that stupid gala so I shouldn’t have to justify going,” I respond, fuming. “I already explained what happened and, frankly, I’m really upset that Scott hasn’t sided with me on this. I could file a harassment claim against the firm for putting me through this.”

  “You could have handled it differently.”

  Differently? How? By sleeping with Mel? I can feel tears of frustration welling up and I want to scream.

  “Is that so? How?”

  “By not going.”

  “I didn’t have a choice, Scott asked me to go, I already told you.”

  “We all have choices, Catherine. You don’t have to attend every single party or concert you’re invited to.”

  “Are you suggesting I should’ve said no to our boss?”

  “All I’m saying is that you need to keep your eyes open. Don’t you see what’s going on around here? Things are about to change and I don’t think that you should trust that anyone’s looking out for anything but their own interests.”

  “Then why should I trust you?”

  His face turns a deep shade of red. I can see him take a deep breath.

  “It’s quite simple really. If you look good, I look good. You have a lot of work on your plate, deadlines to meet, and I’m counting on you to help make my transition to Paris go smoothly. Got that?”

  So this is all about saving his reputation, not mine. I’m humiliated that I didn’t see it earlier—god, and to think that I flirted with him. I start past him to signal that our conversation is over. He remains planted in the doorway.

  “What? Is there anything else you’d like to criticize?”

  “It’s just—”

  “Just what? Tell me,” I plead, my face inches from his and my heart racing.

  “Never mind.”

  He walks back to his office and slams his door.

  “Best of luck to you in Paris,” I murmur as I leave the office, flustered.

  Back at the concert hall, I anxiously wait for the intermission to find Jeffrey. I catch a glimpse of him and wave.

  “Sorry for the disappearing act.”

  “I figured you either got kidnapped or you went back to Per Se for more foie gras!”

  “Sorry, I got an urgent call from the office.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I got the note. How about a glass of wine to help you relax?”

  Relieved that I haven’t ruined the evening, I smile back

  and nod.

  “Fabulous idea. What about your colleagues?”

  “I see them often enough as it is. Let’s go to the bar.”

  We sip our wine while strolling through the Rose Museum, reading about Carnegie Hall’s history, and gazing at treasures collected from famous performances.

  “I hope I wasn’t being too forward at dinner.”

  “Maybe just a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say in jest.

  “I rarely meet women who are as captivating and who smell as good as you do,” he says while staring at a picture of Andrew Carnegie.

  “Thank you. As for the scent, you can thank Mr. Dior.” “I’ll make sure to send him an email first thing in the morning.” He smiles as he gestures for us to walk back toward the main entrance.

  We slip back into our seats and enjoy the second half of the concert. This time, as I turn off my BlackBerry, the lady sitting next to me gives me a dirty look.

  “That was fantastic, wasn’t it?” he asks as we head toward the exit.

  “It was.”

  Outside, the smell of spring fills the air.

  “Shall we walk? It’s such a beautiful evening.”

  “Absolutely.”

  We stroll along majestical Fifth Avenue and turn right on 68th until we finally reach my doorstep.

  “Thank you for a wonderful evening. I’m really sorry about the call from the office.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the drill.”

  He leans forward and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. The heart of his lips seems to burn itself onto my skin. Keep it professional!

  “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Lambert.”

  “Bonsoir. Thanks again for the great evening.”

  He walks toward the street and waves goodbye as I enter the building.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t call you at two in the morning just yet,” he shouts. “Unless you want me to.” He smiles, both hands in his suit pockets.

  I wave good night to signal that our evening is over.

  “Good night, Catherine.”

  As soon as the door is safely shut behind me, my head starts to spin. My god, this guy is so perfect. I need to call Lisa for a quick debrief.

  “I have a 6:30 a.m. conference call with a European client. This better be important.”

  I recount my evening in excruciating detail and wait for her response.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m attracted to a client, but I shouldn’t be. I’d like to date him, but I can’t and I won’t.”

  “Okay, Mom. I guess you’ve already solved your big dilemma.”

  “You think I’m being old-fashioned?”

  “Maybe. I mean, how often do you get a chance to meet somebody you really connect with? Just keep your options open.”

  “I’m worried about my reputation at the firm.”

  “Why? You can date whomever you want. Attorney rules of conduct don’t prohibit it. Only lawyers involved in family law and divorce are forbidden from having personal relationships because
of the weak emotional state of their clients.” She pauses for a moment. “Unless you use undue influence or coercion to obtain physical favours…but that could be kind of fun, don’t you think?” she adds jokingly.

  “Very droll, mon amie. I don’t like the idea of mixing my personal life with work; I want to be taken seriously. I’m already on thin ice.”

  “Just because this Antoine guy is a head case doesn’t mean you’re on thin ice. And you’re working on a deal with Jeffrey so you’ll see him again. You don’t have to decide right this minute. You could always wait until the deal’s done to get involved. Listen, kiddo, I’m going to bed.”

  “Good night, Lisa. Thanks for being a good listener.”

  I lie in bed analyzing every word that Jeffrey and I said during our evening alternately from the point of view of professional Catherine and crushing Catherine.

  I finally fall asleep, exhausted like a tennis pro after winning a grand slam.

  Chapter 17

  “Lucky you to have someone watching out for you,” Scott remarks as soon as I set foot in the office the next morning.

  “Excuse me?”

  He throws a printed copy of Mel’s second email on my desk.

  Ah, merde! Rikash sent the email to Scott without my consent. How could he?

  “Listen, Catherine, I want to apologize. I should have believed you and told this bozo to f-off in the first place.”

  I sigh with relief; Scott does have moral backbone after all.

  “Why didn’t you forward me this message? I would have resolved it immediately.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I was upset and wanted to think about it before reacting. I have my own way of handling things.”

  “You can say that again.” He nods toward Rikash’s cubicle.

  “He can be rather unpredictable.”

  “That’s an interesting way to describe him.” He winks. “He’s clearly looking out for your best interests. That’s a rare commodity in this place nowadays…” His voice trails off. “I just want you to know that you’re a valued member of the team.”

  Ahhh, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I’m not naïve enough to think that Scott is complimenting me out of the kindness of his heart; I’m working (and docketing) long hours on his Browser deal and I’m helping him keep the client happy. And this gives him an edge in the mighty battle of the warlords. Antoine may be right about Scott using me, but at least he’s taking care of me, too.

  “We’re going to meet some prospective banking clients at the Met Bank for a sales call. Care to join us? I think they would really enjoy meeting you since they have plans to expand in Europe.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Bonnie, Nathan, and I.”

  “Sounds good, thanks for thinking of me.”

  “Great. I have a car waiting for us. We’ll meet you downstairs in five.”

  “A car? It’s only a few blocks away.”

  “I know. Bonnie doesn’t like to walk. It ruins her shoes.” Scott pulls a face—and I smile too, thinking of the time Rikash “forgot” to get her a car.

  Nathan, Scott, and I sit in the cramped back seat of the Town Car for thirty minutes before Bonnie makes her grand appearance in a skin-tight powder blue power suit.

  Scott stares at her disapprovingly.

  “What? Is there a problem?”

  She throws her briefcase on the front seat and nearly knocks the driver out of his.

  “You’re very late,” Scott hisses.

  “I was on a call. As usual, a client wouldn’t let me go.”

  “A bit on the short side, don’t you think?” He glares at her suit.

  “Are you kidding? It’s Geevenchee.”

  “Whatever,” he mumbles under his breath while shaking his head.

  At the Met Bank offices, we’re greeted by an energetic woman and three men dressed in business casual.

  “Hey, Scott, glad you could come meet us.”

  “Sorry about being late, Amy, we hit some traffic.”

  “No problem. Let’s have a seat in the boardroom. We’ll be more comfortable in there.”

  “Amy, you know Bonnie and Nathan, but I’d like you to meet Catherine Lambert, who worked in our Paris office for six years before joining our New York group. She has significant banking experience and she’s been an excellent addition to the team.”

  Bonnie and Nathan discreetly roll their eyes.

  “Amy Lee. I’m the Director of Legal and Compliance here. Lovely to meet you. Would you like some coffee or anything to drink?” she asks.

  “That would be lovely,” Bonnie answers, sprawling herself out at the head of the table before anyone else has taken a seat. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cappuccino machine, would you? I’m always in the mood for some good coffee.”

  Scott gives her an evil stare.

  “I’m afraid not,” Amy replies with a frown.

  “Okay, then I’ll have a Diet Coke.”

  As soon as everyone is seated, Bonnie cracks open her can of soda, throws her feet up on an empty chair, and launches haughtily into a soliloquy about her achievements and the firm’s accomplishments.

  “You’ve probably read articles in the Journal about Edwards and White being lead counsel on that Blue Crest deal. We’re also at the top of the league tables in the IPO category and we represent most of the top-tier banks.”

  Halfway through her speech, she drops her head and whips out her BlackBerry.

  “So sorry,” she says while rolling the trackball. “There’s a reason they call these little things CrackBerrys, they’re so addictive.”

  Oh mon dieu, she’s really lost her marbles now. I sit at the opposite end of the table shell-shocked. How is it that this woman became a partner? Shouldn’t she be focusing on the client’s needs rather than going on about our firm?

  “The only problem with these little babies is that if you use them too much, you develop a BlackBerry thumb. It’s killed my squash game.”

  Scott is now a deep shade of violet. Trying to save face, he interrupts Bonnie and mumbles something about an article in today’s Times about Met Bank’s positive financial earnings. Uninterested in Scott’s spiel, the four in-house lawyers sit transfixed, gazing at Bonnie as if she were medusa. The male attorney to Amy’s right seems particularly interested in the length of her skirt.

  Actually, this is kind of fun. All of a sudden, I’m humming the words to ZZ Top’s “Legs” in my head, a song I used to dance to with Lisa back in law school.

  “So what are your biggest challenges these days?” Bonnie asks nonchalantly. “I’m assuming it must be difficult for you to keep track of all the new banking regulations and exceptions under Regulation R of the Gramm Leach Bliley Act?” she continues before Amy or anyone else can respond.

  The four lawyers nod in agreement.

  “While keeping your outside counsel fees low?”

  They again nod in tandem.

  “I’ve found that some of my clients save time and money using an electronic banking regulation service. If you’re interested, you can use our access free of charge for a few weeks. Also, you shouldn’t worry too much, since Regulation R includes a delayed compliance date—you’re safe until the first day of the first fiscal year end after next September. Which for you means February 1st next year. And I definitely think your activities fall in one of the bank registration exemptions. If you want, I’ll send you a memo I drafted last week on the subject.”

  “That would be fantastic!” Amy responds, her eyes wide with excitement. “And we’d love to try out that service.”

  “That would be really great!” the lawyer to the right of Amy tells Bonnie’s calves.

  “I’ll have Catherine send you the memo and a link to the service,” she finishes before standing, ready to leave.

  Now I get why Bonnie gets away with her outlandish behaviour: she’s a damn good lawyer. With a performance like that, it’s easy to see why she’s one of the top-rated corporate attorneys in t
he city and I can see how clients feel that she truly understands their business needs and genuinely respect her for it. I glance over to see storm clouds gathering on Scott’s face—this clearly isn’t going to be his client any longer.

  “I assume you have final say on retaining external counsel?” Bonnie asks Amy while reaching for her briefcase. “If not, we should probably be meeting with someone at the bank who does.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Amy answers. “I do.”

  “Great. We look forward to working with you then. This was a very productive meeting, don’t you think?” She extends her slim Verdura-cuffed arm to shake Amy’s hand.

  “Yes, very.” The three men concur while rising to catch a better glimpse of her cleavage.

  A perplexed Nathan, an angry Scott, and an amused moi follow in the waft of her heavy perfume.

  Back on the twenty-eighth floor, I notice that Antoine’s office is empty.

  “He packed all his stuff overnight,” Mimi remarks as she sees me peering into the vacant space. “I guess he was in a rush to get to Paris.”

  “I thought he was leaving at the end of the month? No goodbyes, no going-away party?” I ask, stunned.

  “Nope.” She shakes her head. “You know Antoine, he’s all work and no play.”

  I feel a pinch in the pit of my stomach. How could he leave without saying goodbye? A mixture of sadness and disillusionment comes over me. I had thought that we might’ve eventually become friends after he asked me to be his main contact in New York, but our last conversation ended any hopes of that happening.

  “So how was it?” Rikash asks as I walk by his cubicle.

  “Fascinating. I’ve never seen someone land a client that way.”

  “Not the meeting, silly girl. Your date with Mr. Browser. Did you get lucky?”

  “First of all, it wasn’t a date, and even if it was I would never do that on the first date. Don’t you know that men never call you back if you do?”

  “That’s exactly why I do it. Anyway, do tell me about your evening.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Really? I would’ve guessed otherwise, given what’s sitting on your desk.”