by DL White
We walk into a room lit by bright rays streaming through the windows. Around the perimeter are long tables where, every few feet, a monitor is plugged into a docking station with a wireless mouse and keyboard. Even in this room, as functional as it seems intended to be, bright canvas prints hang, celebrating Black blues, jazz and soul musicians.
"Legal Library, but make it modern. Everything we need is already online. WesLaw, LexusNexus, even Case Text. Every associate will have a login and a VPN connection, so you can research from home.”
A few doors down, past a modern kitchen the size of my apartment with miles of cabinets and a stainless steel refrigerator is another room. It’s spacious, the centerpiece being the long conference table and padded leather seating.
“Board room for those Monday Stand-ups or Tuesday Crush or… whatever modern offices call their staff meetings.”
On one wall hangs an enormous screen. The wall opposite showcases a series of photographs by Gordon Parks in mahogany frames. Preston reaches to the middle of the table and flips one edge of an almost invisible square cut into the middle, revealing power and USB plug-in ports.
“I had a conduit run from under the table, through the floor to the wall. Plug your laptop in here; it beams onto the screen. There are mounted cameras at the front and back of the room so we can do video conferences. It's also a TV, in case you need to catch up on How To Get Away with Murder.”
We walk more around the first floor, finding the copy room with several machines ready to put into service. "These are all coded. Punch in your file number and it adds the cost to the billing for that case. Wait until you see the legal accounting system Wayne uses. He helped design it. Revolutionized law billing."
Preston sounds excited, and I would be too if I got to be a part of a firm that was operating in the current century. The building I work in doesn’t even have a paved parking lot.
We pass a few closets—network room, supply closet, filing, storage, and then climb the stairs.
"Associate offices are downstairs. Senior staff and partners are on the second level.”
We pass a duplicate of the conference room downstairs, only smaller. The offices are larger, with space for an executive desk, lateral files, meeting tables, and chairs. Bright, airy, spacious.
I'm jealous.
"Uncle Wayne’s digs,” says Preston, leading me to a room at the furthest end of the floor. “Corner spot, biggest office, the most responsibility."
An antique desk, credenza, computer hutch, and leather chair, still wrapped in plastic and tape from the moving company are already in the room, standing ready for use. A sliding door reveals a private conference room with the same setup as the others, only smaller.
“Is… is that a real Basquiat?” I ask, pointing to a framed canvas leaning against the desk. Though it’s wrapped in thick plastic sheeting, I can plainly see that it’s the well-known King of Street Art print.
“It’s a replica,” says Preston. “Still cost him a mint.” Preston points to a few wrapped objects of varying sizes. “He’s got a couple of nice pieces. He told me not to touch them. He’ll have them hung when he gets here.”
He leads me out of Uncle Wayne’s office. A few doors down, he stops and swings into an open room. “This is my office.”
The carpet is dark steel gray, but the room is otherwise empty. "Furniture comes Monday. I bought the standard dark wood, executive set. I figure I’ll wait on art until I get the furniture in here. Settle into a vibe. I don’t want it to look anything like my office at Perry.”
Preston turns, pointing to the TV mounted on one wall. "Got the important part installed, though."
"Your office. So, you're working for your uncle.”
He walks to the window and perches on the edge of the windowsill. "With. He'll still do some work for New York, so he’ll be back and forth for a while, but he wanted to come home. I'd been talking to him about Perry, getting advice because I was ready to leave. Except for opposing you, I hated my job."
He stands and paces the room, hands in his pockets. "They told me that if I won Bailey, we could start talking about becoming a partner. That should have made me happy, but it felt more like a ball and chain.”
“If it kept you there, it would behoove them. Your win rate is impressive.” I knew because I always tracked his cases.
"Being ruthless is hard work. It ages you, and it doesn't pay enough to hear from the woman you love that she's ashamed to share your profession. They didn't care how close to the line I walked, how many rules I bent. If I almost got myself disbarred or had to go in front of the disciplinary committee. Whatever it takes to win. That's not law."
He bites his lip, staring into the air. “That’s a game. I can’t play with people’s lives in my hands.”
“Preston, why was this such a big secret? I mean, I’m jealous as fuck, but did you think I wouldn’t be happy for you?”
He crosses the room and stops when he stands in front of me. He brings his hands out of his pocket and slides them around my waist, pulling me closer to him. I don't object or fight it, letting myself be pulled right up against him.
“First… I didn't want a lot of questions, because I didn't know the answers yet. My uncle moves slowly. He's a thinker, a slow planner. I didn't know if he'd come through. And when he did, I wasn't sure he'd be on board with what I want to do with this place."
"What you want to do? Isn't this his office?”
"Our office."
My eyes widen in surprise. He laughs.
“Preston Reid, Managing Partner. I’ll be running this place, with his direction. The staff, the budget, growth planning—that’s all under my direction. And hopefully practicing a little bit of law."
“Being bossy. You're good at that. And the law, too." I wink and give him a long, loud, moaning kiss. "Congratulations, baby. This place looks amazing already. I'm proud of you."
“Thanks. And good. I hoped you'd be impressed."
"Me? Why?"
He steps back, then grabs my hand and leads me out of the room, down the hallway, around the U-shaped bends to the other side of the building.
“The second reason to keep this project a secret,” he says, pulling me into a room that is the size of his office.
Same set up. Same carpet. Also empty.
“There’s no furniture yet. I didn’t know what you’d want. We can look through some catalogs and pick out something. Won't take long to get here."
He's standing in the middle of the room and talking, saying words, but I don't understand—something about picking out furniture for this room. Preston’s eyelids slide closed, then pop back open. He shakes his head, keeping a smile at bay.
“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
My throat is so dry. I'm lightheaded, so I back up and lean up against a wall.
"This... is my office?”
"If you want it to be." He kicks at a loose tuft in the carpet. "I didn't want to assume that you'd come and work with me. Before I knew you were so miserable, I thought you might turn me down. Lately, it seems that this would be a dream come true for you."
He waves his arm around the empty room and shows me what my dreams could be made of.
"Practice the kind of law you want to practice. Work for people that aren't demanding that you compromise what you believe in. Not to mention the leadership position and being able to work under somebody like Wayne Reid. You’ll learn more in your first six months than the seven years you were at F&R.”
Preston pauses, as if he’s unsure if he should continue, but does.
“You're great at what you do, Evangeline. Like I said that night, I don’t want to be your enemy any more. I’d really like to work alongside you and not against you."
“Alongside you. Not for you?”
“We both work for Wayne. I wanted that to be clear when I proposed it to him. The rest of the staff works for me."
"Holy shit."
I pace, fanning myself be
cause I'm suddenly hot. And breathing faster because I'm hyperventilating. There aren't words to describe how badly I want to run to Flanning & Rourke, grab everything that is mine and run back out, screaming fuck you and setting the world on fire.
"So, I come to work for Wayne Reid. And I practice the way I want, I take the clients I want without someone lording over me. And there's no pressure to win at all costs?”
“Well, now…we want to win. Winning is good. But we want to win in the way that lets us sleep at night and look at ourselves in the mirror.”
I stop pacing, landing in front of Preston. "Uhm. Us... I mean..."
“Me and you?"
I nod. The very last thing I want to do is poison our love life by combining our work lives.
"We're at opposite ends of the floor. On purpose. It doesn't take much effort to see me if you want to. If you don't, we won’t run into each other around every corner. We won't be in court together unless you want to be. We won't be on the same cases. I won't be your boss.”
He stops to smirk, knowing that it would make me happy not to have him dictating anything to me.
“I can’t promise that I won’t get on your nerves. That is my job, after all. But I won’t be your superior.”
I step out and around him and take a turn in the room. My office. Where I can breathe and move. Not only at the same firm as Preston but on the same floor… what are we even doing?
I turn again, facing him. “This sounds so good, Preston. Too good. What’s the catch? Do I sign my life away?”
“You have to ride to work with me every day. And yeah, it’s good. Every complaint you or Troy or I ever had about working for a firm, I tried to answer that. I want people to fight to work here."
“So, when would I start?"
"When you bring your cases and start billing." He turns in the empty room, his voice bouncing off of the walls. "I'm not buying furniture for this office without a commitment."
"Yes. Yes! Please, oh my God, yes.”
I don’t know if Preston expected an answer so soon or so quickly or with so much conviction, but if I don't jump on this chance, I'll be stuck indefinitely, jealous of Preston in his new office and regretting not taking the chance because I was scared of working with my man.
"Yeah? You're sure?"
I laugh and open my arms, feeling so much weight fly off of my shoulders. He crosses the room and steps into them, grabbing me up and hugging me so hard he lifts me off the floor.
"You won't regret it," he says when he puts me down. "I'm making that promise to you. Between Wayne and me, you'll be happy here. We decided that has to happen."
"I appreciate being a high priority. But… Troy…”
"There’s a plan already in place to offer a position to Troy," he said, reading my mind, answering my question, granting my request in one statement. “We uh… we have to be creative with him. He doesn’t like how easy he thinks I’ve had it. He’s dogged about not getting help from Uncle Wayne. He wants to do everything on his own. And I understand that, but I can’t, in good conscience, leave him to twist in the wind. I hope he takes my offer, but there’s a chance that he won’t.”
My mouth drops. Preston is full of surprises today. "I'm not sure you realize what you've done."
That shy smile comes back, the one that says he does know, but he's strangely humble. "I want the people I love to be happy, and if there's anything I can do to make that happen, I'll jump on it."
"The people you love…”
He pulls me close again, drops his lips to mine, and gives me a long, deep, sweet kiss.
"I didn't want you to say it until I deserved to hear it. Despite what our friends think, you had every right to feel how you felt. I was grateful you took me back. I know it was a risk to you, to your heart.”
"I took you back because I wanted to be with you again. Because—”
I wonder if he's going to let me say it.
He swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard, and bites his lip. His lashes drop to his cheek as he closes his eyes. "I need to hear you say it.”
I step close to him, place my hands on his face, and stroke the soft hairs in his beard with my thumbs. "Open your eyes, Preston.”
His eyes open, and I get to watch them glass over. “I. love. you. You are my first love, my only true love, the love of my life. No one has ever compared to you. And now no one ever will. And you don't have anything else to prove to me."
I pull him to me to brush my lips against his. His head tilts, and his mouth opens, and the kiss deepens. I feel every emotion coursing through his body as he holds me. He squeezes me in his arms so tight I can barely breathe.
Hell if you’ll catch me protesting. I belong here. Right here.
"I love you, too." He's maintaining calm, but shaking with the effort. "My mother made me promise that this would be it for us, because she’s ready for you to be family. For real.”
Our laughter lightens the mood but not the emotion. I'm still basking in the glow of knowing I have a new job curated for me, that my man loves me this much. And I love him back.
"So..." Preston pulls back and grabs my hand, winding his fingers between mine. "What do you think you'll do with your office?"
I gasp, looking around. “My mind is…mush. A blur. I don't even know. I can't believe I'm going to have room enough to move around. Troy can walk into my office without the door banging into a chair."
"He’ll be excited about having an office. It’s much smaller than this, but it’s not a cube in the bowels of the building.”
Preston flicks his wrist up to check the time and glances at me. "He'll be pulling up any second. Let's head downstairs."
We retrace our steps through the halls and back down the stairs. As soon as we round the reception desk, Troy and Jade are at the door, looking up at the building, squinting into the sunlight.
Preston rushes toward the door and pushes it open. “‘Sup, bro. Come on in. Got something to show you.”
36
We are twenty minutes into Netflix and Chill. We do cute couple things now like snack on chunks of Genoa salami, sliced Havarti, buttery Cabaret crackers and, Preston’s favorite, Funky Chunky popcorn. The film he picked is subtitled, and I’m clueless about what’s happening on screen. It's a cerebral mystery that someone told him was worth watching.
After plowing through half of the crackers and all of the cheese, I’m nodding. I drop a kiss on his cheek and leave him to his boring flick. I could use some time to myself to process this monumental day.
I head to my favorite spot in the house, the master bathroom with the huge garden tub. I'm so thankful, especially tonight, that we don’t have to pack up and leave it. Although, knowing Preston, he wouldn’t move anywhere that didn’t have a garden tub.
I tuck my short hair into a bonnet and sink into the tub. The rising steam, infused with lavender, spreads a light scent into the air from the bath beads that I tossed in. When the tub is full, I shut off the water and lean back with a rolled-up towel under my neck.
My brain is full. Between my dad, my job, and my boyfriend, every synapse is occupied by some thought, plan, or action and, all of them fight for top rank. It’s pea soup, and I can't sort everything out.
I thought I was stressed when I was unhappy, mad at the world, and buried in work so I could ignore my life. Now I have a life I've always wanted to live, and I'm still stressed out.
When Preston opens the door to pop his head in, a wisp of cool air blows across my shoulders. "Hey. You okay in here?"
"Yeah. Close the door. You're letting in cold air."
I expect him to step out, but he walks in and shuts the door behind him. I watch him unbutton and unzip his jeans, then push them down and kick them off. His socks and boxers follow, creating a small pile in the middle of the room. He grabs the neck of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head then, tosses it toward the pile.
I take a few seconds to admire his body before he climbs into my bath. He
may have gained a few pounds, but his form and physique are still beautiful. Broad shoulders, arms so thick and bulky that he makes a hug an erotic experience. Without even trying, his chest is manly: a light dusting of hair, a pair of well-formed pecs, and a wide rib cage that narrows to a slightly growing waist and, we both agree, his best feature.
I'm smiling at the memory of the first time I saw him, hard and erect, red at the tip, yearning for something, anything warm. Experimenting with him was fun; he was hypersensitive and eager to try things. He never had a problem getting to orgasm. And he never had a problem returning the favor.
Most of his body is submerged in bubbles and opaque, bath bead infused water, but he doesn't seem to mind. He stretches his legs out, resting his feet on either side of my hips. He leans his head back on the edge of the tub.
"You missed a great movie.”
"No, I didn’t.” I toss my bath puff and gel at him. "Make yourself useful, as you would say."
He sits up, squeezes a dollop of gel onto the puff and rubs the mesh together until it's luxuriously foamy. I turn around and present my back to him so he could start there.
"Big day, today."
I nod, head down, enjoying the sensation of Preston's circular scrubbing motion. It’s the best massage. “I’m processing.”
"You want to talk it out?"
“Where do I even start?”
"The middle. The beginning. What's screaming the loudest?"
"I'm worried about my dad."
"Yeah? He's okay."
"Yeah, says his doctor. But he's been seeing that doctor for years, and no matter what my dad's symptoms are, he says he's doing okay. Maybe he should see other specialists, or try different medications and treatments. It's hard to see him in a wheelchair while Michael J. Fox can work. And walk. I know everyone presents differently, but..."
After a few seconds of nothing but the sound of the puff dipping into the water and the mesh against my skin, Preston prods me to continue. “But?”
"I'm ashamed to be thinking about it, because it's not about my dad being better. It’s… it’s something entirely more selfish.”