I hear Brynn’s phone vibrate and see her look down at it, but it must not be important because she turns her pretty brown eyes back towards me and smiles as I continue to plow into her. I pump in and out, up and down until I can't take it anymore.
"I'm coming," I tell her, feeling a bead of sweat form on my forehead and trickle its way down onto her bare chest. "This feels so fucking good."
As I let myself go, my body fusing with hers, becoming one with hers, my brain turns itself off momentarily. But as soon as I'm beside her in bed, panting and exhausted, it turns itself back on.
Could this be it? Could I really be in love? I never thought it would be possible to experience anything like this again. Not after everything that had happened in my life.
I put my arm around Brynn and ask, "You okay, Doll?"
But she begins snoring softly, and it's the cutest sound in the world.
I guess she's as exhausted as I am. Which tells me that she enjoyed herself as much as I did.
I never thought I'd fall for a lawyer, or a single mother. But life doesn't always work in the exact same way I'd expect or plan. I know that more than anyone.
I should just go with this. Keep seeing where it leads.
I drift off, into a peaceful and relaxed slumber.
But when I wake up, Brynn's gone.
So I guess that's where this leads. To absolutely nowhere.
I was a fool to think otherwise. But I suppose that’s what love turns even strong men like me into. Weak and pathetic fools.
Chapter 27 – Larson
There's a note on the night stand beside the bed.
Dear Larson,
I got called into work. It shouldn't take long. I didn't want to wake you. Sorry.
Brynn
P.S. Last night was hot.
I look at the alarm clock: 9:00 AM.
I can't believe I slept in. That's late for me, even on a Sunday. I'm usually an early riser, preferring to jump on my bike and ride into the sunrise. But then I remember that it's only seven o’clock in the morning my time, Mountain Standard Time. That's a little better.
I scrutinize the note again. Despite the presence of its very accurate “P.S.,” I feel a little bit blown off by it. I have no idea when Brynn went into work or how long she's going to be there. I can't help but think she wrote the "P.S." just to placate me because she knew I'd be upset.
I don't begrudge the fact that she has a job to do. But she'd told me she had taken the weekend off, and this is my last day here. I wish she would have at least woken me up to let me know she had to go. Maybe thrown in a BJ as a parting gift, a peace offering of sorts.
I sigh. Then I head downstairs. Maybe she has some bagels in the kitchen or something. If not, I'm sure that bagel shops abound everywhere in Brooklyn. Even if there's no green chile in the bread.
I soon hear Caleb's voice, but he's speaking in Spanish.
Even though I grew up in New Mexico, no one in my family or among my friends speaks Spanish, so I never had an occasion to learn it. But Caleb's voice sure sounds cute as he babbles in the lilting lyrical phrasing of the Spanish language.
"Hey buddy," I say, as I turn the corner into the kitchen.
"Hey buddy," he repeats. Then he points at me and says "Mo-to-cycle man. Larson."
"Good job," I tell him, proud that he can say my name.
"Nice to meet you," says his nanny, extending a hand for me to shake. "My name is Esmeralda."
"Hey Esmeralda." I nod at her. "Nice to meet you."
Caleb is eating Mickey Mouse- shaped pancakes. A vision of Brynn's naked body spread out on the table jumps into my mind, and I don't know whether to laugh or feel guilty. I shake my head.
"You like those pancakes?" I ask him.
"Esie made." He smiles. "Yum yum yum."
Esmeralda beams.
"He likes the Mickey Mouse," she informs me. “And he calls me Esie.”
It appears that Caleb is in good hands.
"I'm going to go grab something to eat," I announce.
"Mommy working," Caleb says.
"I know, buddy," I tell him.
The poor little guy looks as disappointed as I feel.
"Larson come back?" he asks me, looking hopeful now.
"I'll come back after breakfast," I tell him.
"Larson go library?" he asks.
I cock my head at him.
Esmeralda laughs.
"Caleb goes to story time at the library," she tells me. "He invites you."
"Well that's very nice of you," I tell Caleb. I hope that Brynn is done working in time to go. "We'll see."
"We'll see!" he repeats excitedly.
I head out the door and before I know it I'm on the M-train. The one that takes me to Manhattan and to Brynn's office building. I feel propelled in her direction, to be near her even though I know I can't see her.
My stomach rumbles— I always like to eat meat and potatoes first thing in the morning, or anytime of day for that matter— and I decide I'll go back to The Argonaut. That sausage skillet dish I had yesterday was great. I know they had some other flavorful- looking options as well.
And maybe if Brynn's done working soon, she can join me for a meal. She’s probably worked up quite an appetite, having to go in so early on a weekend day.
I look at my phone, but she hasn't texted. I resist the urge to text her. I'll just look desperate, pathetic. As if eating at the diner near her fucking office isn't desperate and pathetic enough.
I'm about to walk into the diner when I see something in the big, open glass window that I just can't believe.
It's Brynn. And she's with a guy.
Steven, I immediately think. But as I peer around the corner to get a better view, I realize it's even worse.
It's Clay Tucker. The Albuquerque billionaire. In New York, at the same time as I am. Eating with Brynn at The Argonaut diner, just as I had.
Except that, as far as I know, he has no reason to be in New York City. And I thought I did. But Brynn's little note didn't mention Clay.
Nor did it mention that he’d be reaching across the table to pat her hand, as I can clearly see him doing through the window. She doesn’t do anything to encourage him in return but she certainly doesn’t do anything to discourage him either. And then I see them get up to go and she takes his arm.
What the ever loving fuck? I try to tell myself that everything is just for business. She’s always saying how she has to schmooze people. This is just her schmoozing him.
But then I remind myself that I hadn’t even known he was in town or that she was meeting with him today or that she’d have to schmooze him. So now I have no idea what to think.
All I know for sure is that I can't have the sausage skillet today. And maybe not ever again.
Maybe Brynn is playing me. I don’t want to think of that possibility. I can’t believe she’d do that or that I’d be so foolish as to not figure it out until now. But I don’t want to be fucking naïve. I just don’t know if I can trust her after this, no matter what is going on.
Chapter 28 – Brynn
Well, shit, I think, as Clay Tucker asks me to pass him the salt and pepper. This is not at all how I thought today would go.
"This dish is bland," he announces.
I resist rolling my eyes.
"We really didn't have to come here," I tell him for what feels like the hundredth time.
"Your receptionist was kind enough to tell me that this diner is your favorite place to eat," he says, after he seasons his scrambled eggs. "Even though greasy dives aren’t my kind of joint, I figured I'd take you wherever you want, to explain my proposal to you."
I look at him skeptically. And I blush. Leave it to Wanda to tell the firm’s biggest client that my favorite place to eat is this shithole.
I mean, it is. But I certainly wouldn’t have told anyone that, let alone Clay Tucker. Except for Larson, of course. But Wanda has always hated me, ever since I chose Mary instead of her to be
my legal assistant when it was time to promote from within the firm.
"Your proposal?" I ask Clay.
“Yes, the reason that everyone dropped what they’re doing this weekend and rushed into the office to hear my plan,” he says, smirking at me to drive home his point about how important he is.
I did think it was weird that my receptionist, my assistant, and pretty much every other lawyer and staff member were called into the office today. I had fallen asleep last night under Larson’s arm but I woke just a few short hours later in a panic, remembering that work had called me earlier and I hadn’t answered. That’s grounds for firing in some situations. An associate is basically on call 24/7.
But luckily one of the partners had sent me a text, telling me to come in early in the morning for a meeting. I’d hesitated, looking at a peacefully sleeping Larson and wishing I could stay cuddled up next to him in bed, and thinking about Caleb curled up in his own toddler bed, dreaming of going to library story time with me later today.
When it came down to it, though, I had no choice. When work calls, I answer. That’s just how it is. And I figured that the sooner I arrived at the office, the sooner I’d be able to see Larson and Caleb again.
I’d left a note for Larson and snuck out, half hoping I’d be back before he even wakes up. It’s Sunday, and he’s on vacation, and it’s two hours ahead here from the time zone he’s used to. So if I play my cards right, maybe Larson and I can fit in a little early afternoon delight while Esmeralda watches Caleb a bit longer, and then we can head to the library.
Library story time is the one thing I look forward to on the weekends when I don’t have to work. Sadly there aren’t many times I can count on taking Caleb on an outing, and Sunday afternoon is one of the few times that usually works.
I was not expecting to see Clay at the office, though. His presence there surprised me even more than Steven’s surprise visit had on Friday.
It seems the douchebag guys in my life are popping up all over the place now that I’m dating Larson.
“Brynn!” Clay had said, as soon as I’d walked into the lobby, swooping in on me and leading me to a conference room.
“Clay?” I’d asked in confusion.
“Brynn,” said Paul Makens, the partner who had called and texted me last night. “So glad you could make it in. Clay is a big fan of your work.”
His voice sounded cheery but fake and his skin stretched tightly across his face as he talked, betraying the barely hidden stress and anxiety poking out from underneath. Story of every non-equity partner’s life, it seems. And a glimpse into my future.
But what else could I do? I’m $100,000 in debt from law school and I have a son as well as bills to pay. So I do as I'm told and come in when I’m called, and read the faces of the stressed out partners as they transmit instructions to me, despite the fact that the hottest, sweetest guy I’ve ever met is at home in my bed and will only be there for one more day.
“You are?” I asked, looking at Clay. I hadn’t worked on many of his projects in the past. We’d never had much interaction.
“Yes,” he said, winking at me. “After you were so nice to have attended my Halloween bash, I knew I needed you on my team.”
“Oh,” I’d nodded, but I was still confused.
“Brynn was happy to have made your event,” Paul said, nodding at me to look more enthused, so I did. “Here at Makens & Holstead we go above and beyond the call of duty to provide for whatever a client needs.”
He passed me a sticky note— much like the one I wrote the note to Larson on earlier and left on the bed stand— which I held in my hand until we reached the conference room.
Don’t fuck this up, the note said when I finally read it.
I’d looked up at Paul— hurt that he thought me capable of fucking it up, whatever “it” is— but his look signaled a mix of alarm and excitement. Then I realized he was as clueless about what the meeting would entail as I was, and he was just hoping everything would go smoothly and reflect well on him as one of my mentoring partners.
“Thank you all for coming in today to meet with me,” Clay had said, once everyone was gathered around the conference table. “But I’m going to need a one on one meeting.”
“A one on one…?” Jane, another of the partners who heads up the consulting and advising team, had said, looking as confused as I felt. “…with whom?”
“Why, with Ms. Elliot here,” Clay had said, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. His touch made me shiver, and not in a good way like when Larson touches me. “She’s my favorite lawyer here, and my plan involves her to a great extent.”
“It does, does it?” Jane had said, looking nervous.
Well, great. Not only was I finding out that Clay Tucker had some weird plans involving me, but I was also finding out that my superiors didn’t think I was up to the task of managing a client and whatever project he had in mind.
“You do know that Brynn is just an associate, right?” Paul had asked, narrowing his eyes at Clay as if Clay was an idiot.
“Of course I know that,” Clay said. “But what do you mean, ‘just’ an associate? She was bright enough to get hired on here at your esteemed firm, wasn’t she?”
“Well yes,” Paul had said, sitting up a bit straighter.
I didn’t know whether to cheer on Clay or boo him. I was glad he was standing up for me, but suspicious of whatever plan he had in mind and I certainly didn’t like the surprise attack manner in which he was carrying it out.
“And you bill me $350 an hour for the work of Brynn and other associates like her, don’t you?” Clay asked.
“Um. Well, yes,” Paul admitted.
“So you must think her plenty capable. I’d just like to meet one on one with her. I want to pitch my idea to her, see what she thinks and then we can come back here together and tell you all about it,” Clay had said.
Oh, great. It was beginning to sound like today’s “meeting” would last longer than expected. By that point I realized that Clay was the type of person who was always insistent on getting his way, and that I might as well get this over with. Whatever “this” might entail.
“I’d love to have a one on one meeting with you,” I’d told him, and the partners had looked at me with a mixture of relief and fear. “Where exactly were you thinking?”
“Your receptionist told me you’re a big fan of The Argonaut,” Clay had said with a grin.
And that’s how we ended up here, in this same booth that Larson and I had sat in— I swear they always like to seat me in the same place— discussing Clay’s “proposal.”
I can’t believe I’m having to spend the morning with him instead of Larson. What a huge mess today has become. I just hope it’s over quickly and that Larson doesn’t hate me for leaving. But I won’t know what will happen with Larson until I deal with Clay.
Chapter 29 – Brynn
“Okay, shoot,” I tell Clay, eating the cinnamon oatmeal I’d ordered.
I’d decided to switch thing up a bit. It’s breakfast, after all. And a part of me felt guilty for thinking of ordering the same thing I had just eaten when I’d come here with Larson, even though I know logically that makes no sense.
“What is this proposal of yours?”
“I want Makens to open a branch in Albuquerque,” he says, smiling proudly, as if he just suggested an idea worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize. “And I want you to head it up.”
“Me?” I almost choke on a nut in my oatmeal.
What do I know about running a firm? Or even a branch of a firm? Absolutely nothing at all, that’s what.
“I don’t think I’d be exactly the right person…” I say, trying my best to politely turn him down.
“Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up,” is all I can see in my head, written in founding partner Paul Makens’ handwriting on the damn sticky note I’d thrown in the trash but can’t erase from my mind.
“Sure you are,” he says, reaching across the table to pat
my hand. “Because I say you are. I want you and only you.”
His hand pat is so eerily reminiscent of what Larson did while we were here that it takes all my energy not to jump out of the booth and run away. But I don’t, because that would officially count as fucking this up. And I know I will lose my job if I do that.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Let’s just say that I am the right person. What exactly do you have in mind for this Albuquerque firm?”
“Oh you know, the usual,” he says, signaling to the waiter that he’d like our check.
This guy wastes no time. I’m sure he’s already envisioning heading back to the office to let them know I’ve agreed.
“Advise me on all my corporate transactions. Be local general counsel for my Albuquerque division. Maybe handle some court matters that come up down there. It gets expensive paying for the Albuquerque lawyers and you guys. I figure I’ll be better off if I can streamline it into all one firm. The New York branch and the New Mexico branch.”
This guy’s such a narcissist he thinks he can redesign the entire structure of the firm just for him. He thinks we’ll open a new branch in an unsustainable market based on the type of law we practice, just for him.
And he’s probably right. Because that’s how much money he brings to the firm each year in revenue. That’s how big of a profit he makes for us.
I open my mouth, but think better of it and close it. I’m about to say, I don’t like litigation. I don’t want to have to argue in court. I also like working in New York City. I don’t want to have to uproot my son.
But I keep quiet. Because I don’t want to admit anything that could be construed as a weakness in my legal skills to one of the firm’s biggest clients. And I don’t want to say anything that dissuades him from his goal.
Let him present the idea to the rest of the firm and see what the partners think, I decide. If they think it’s doable, I can’t be the one to quash the idea.
Tackled by the Team Page 107
