One More Kiss (A Too Many Men Romantic Comedy / Chick Lit Novel)

by Stephanie Rowe

  So, deep breath. I had to call Otto. I walked to the conference room phone and dialed the operator. "Kathy Michaels, please." Okay, so I was a wimp. I'll bet almost every person in the firm would call Otto's secretary instead of calling Otto himself. Besides, he preferred it that way. It was old school never to take a phone call that hadn't been screened by his secretary, and as I said before, Otto was old school.

  "Kathy Michaels, can I help you?" His secretary had been with Otto for twenty years, and she appeared to be completely unaffected by his tantrums. She was lovely to work with, and was always happy to protect the rest of us from her boss's ire. I'd taken her to lunch twice before to find out how she managed not to stress about being abused by Otto, but her only advice had been to stay off his radar as much as possible.

  Advice that really didn't help me, even though I appreciated her effort.

  "Hi Kathy," I said. "It's Shannon. I have thirty-six attorneys here now. Do you think Mr. Nelson would be available to return to the conference room?"

  "I'll check." The phone went on hold, and I noticed I'd dug deep crevices in the palms of my hands from my fingernails. How was I going to make it through the summer?

  "Hi, Shannon. Mr. Nelson is on his way."

  "Thanks." I hung up and walked over to the door to head off three attorneys who appeared to be sneaking out. "Hi. Sorry. You can't leave yet. Not until Mr. Nelson has given his speech." As much as I tended to over-dwell on my perceived inferiority toward the attorneys in the firm, bossing around people who had no reason to listen to me wasn't particularly daunting when faced with the alternate possibility of disappointing Otto again.

  I literally blocked the door and gave them my sweetest smile. Got a few rolled eyes, but they clumped next to the door and didn't try to run me over. Thank heavens for the burden of having to behave in ways "not unbecoming to the firm"—namely, not trampling the social director.

  I heard a throat clearing behind me, and I looked back. Crap. "Oh, hello, Mr. Nelson. Sorry to be in your way."

  Otto said nothing, simply walked past me into the room, surveyed the crowd, then nodded at me.

  Right. My cue. I clapped my hands and raised my voice. "Can I have your attention everyone? I have a special guest. Mr. Otto Nelson, Managing Partner of Miller & Shaw." I then proceeded to give a glowing recitation of all of Otto's professional successes, and I was exceedingly grateful for a few wide eyes and whispers. Feeding Otto's ego could only help my cause.

  I finished with a plea for a rousing round of applause, which I got. Then I stepped aside and let Otto take over.

  Damn. Someone had moved the chair. If he looked down and slightly to the right, he'd see the big wet spot on a very expensive carpet.

  I spent the next twenty minutes cringing every time Otto's eyes wandered toward the spot, but he never looked down. Too busy judging the worth of each intern according to their facial reactions to his brilliant prose.

  He finished to another round of applause—thank God—then walked over to me.

  I swallowed. He'd heard about the casino already. Not good.

  "So, tell me about each intern, what college they went to, law school currently attending and their GPA, law review status, any family connections, their work ethic, and what they bring to the table that no one else does. Go."

  I went.

  The first summer at M&S, I'd nearly passed out in terror when Otto had confronted me with the same question, and I'd been totally unprepared. Now, I mailed out a questionnaire to the interns a month before they started, and I had the results memorized by the time they walked in the door.

  I was no fool. I wanted to avoid bleeding ulcers for as long as possible.

  By early afternoon, I was completely drained. I got back to my desk after the intern lunch and collapsed in my chair with a groan. I was beat, but there was good news abounding. I was still employed, Otto hadn't fired me, and none of the interns had offended him. Lunch was a success. I rocked at my job.

  My phone rang, and I answered it without screening. "Shannon McCormick. Can I help you?"

  "Shannon. It's Mom." Her voice was cool and reserved, as always, and my short-lived euphoria faded instantly.

  How long would it take for her to make me feel like all I was worthy of was climbing into the nearest Dumpster and making friends with the rats? I set the timer on my phone and hit start. "Hi, Mom. How are you?"

  "Fine." She paused for a moment. "Have you seen Max lately?"

  Ah, that was my mom. Subtle and gentle. I pressed my lips together. "We haven't gotten back together. We're not going to."

  She let out an exasperated groan. "This is ridiculous, Shannon. You aren't going to do better than him."

  No way was I going to tell her I had that same paranoid thought every ten seconds. "He doesn't pass the truck test."

  "The what?"

  "Never mind." She would never understand I needed to be with someone who I would step in front of a truck to save, at least theoretically. Then I had a sudden, horrific thought. "You aren't inviting him to the party this weekend, are you?" My sister's engagement party was already going to be stressful enough without adding Max to the chaos. I'd disinvited him as my guest when we'd broken up, and I'd told my parents that to warn them. A sudden sinking feeling crept into my belly at my mom's long hesitation. "Mom?"

  "He's a family friend," she announced. "Of course he's coming."

  "Mom! Can't you have any respect for my feelings? I don't want him there." Why couldn't my family accept that he wasn't my soulmate? Or rather, why couldn't my family accept that I wanted a guy for more than his money and power? I'm pretty sure they didn't care at all whether he was my soulmate or not. He was good arm candy for the family, so I should keep him, end of story.

  "I'm very disappointed in how you're handling this situation with Max," she said.

  "Yes, you've made that clear. Is there anything else you want?" I had to get her off the phone before she ruined me for the day.

  She sighed with thinly veiled motherly disappointment that made my stomach clench. "What are you wearing to the party?"

  "A dress." I folded my arms across my chest and tried not to notice that my blouse was wrinkled and had a small stain in the corner from lunch. My mom couldn't see me, but I still felt her judgmental gaze on me. I was twenty-four. What was wrong with me? Why did I let her bother me?

  "Did you buy a new dress, I hope?" she pressed.

  "Yes." My sister was getting married to a doctor, and all of the crème de la crème of society would be at the engagement party. I was sure my mom's mission was to ensure I didn't embarrass the family by being myself.

  "Whose is it?" she asked.

  "Mine."

  "Shannon. You know what I mean. Who is the designer?"

  For those of us on a budget, buying clothes with designer tags wasn't an option. "I don't know. But it looks good on me. I like it."

  Disapproving silence.

  I checked my watch. It had taken her less than thirty seconds to make me feel sufficiently bad about myself. She was quite the talent, wasn't she? Or maybe I was the talented one for having no resistance to her. God, I was tired of it, but I couldn't help it.

  I wanted her to be impressed by me. I just did. I wanted her to have faith that I knew how to make good choices. I wanted her to look over at me and see a woman with talent, not an incompetent loser that couldn't even be trusted to dress appropriately for her sister's engagement party.

  "Why don't you head over to Stacey's Boutique and pick something out? I'll have her put it on my tab. You do realize how important this event is, don't you?"

  I ground my teeth. "Mom, I'm twenty-four, and I work in a law firm. I know how to dress." And there was no way I was taking money from her. That would give her power over my life. "Give me a little credit."

  Her voice was tight. "Fine."

  "Fine."

  "Don't disappoint me," she warned.

  Yeah, we both knew there was no chance of following that ed
ict. My mere existence was a disappointment to her.

  "Sit down, Shannon. Eat." My friend and date for Wednesday evening's firm event, Dave Siegal, grabbed my hand as I ran by him to check on the entrées. This was the first evening event of the summer program, and things were dangerously close to unraveling.

  "I can't. What if the food is late? The show starts at eight. We have to be there by quarter of, which means we have to leave here by seven thirty, which means the entrée has to be on the tables by six fifty-five, and it's already six forty-seven and I haven't seen any sign of the entrées yet." I glanced around the dining room of La Boutique, the five-star restaurant I'd booked for tonight's dinner. I'd taken over the whole dining room, which was a huge accomplishment. La Boutique never closed for private parties. Ever. Except tonight.

  My coup was quickly losing its sparkle as the clock ticked, though. Everyone was finished with their salads, yet the staff hadn't started clearing them. It was bad enough to have to manage dinner for all the attorneys and their interns, but this "spouse" night really killed me. Way too many people.

  On the plus side, it meant I got to bring my own date, which meant I had one person in my corner. Max always used to come, and people loved him. Tonight was Dave, but he was charming everyone, so it was okay.

  Figuring out the seating for the theatre had been a nightmare. Nightmare! The seats were spread all over the theatre, and I'd spent all day with Hildy trying to figure out who should sit where. Or rather, I'd spent a half hour with Hildy, and the rest of it crying alone in my office because I didn't want to put anyone together who hated each other, or who'd slept with the other's spouse, or stolen a client or anything like that.

  Isabel knew all the interpersonal dynamics, but she'd been fully occupied with Blaine's deal. Oh sure, to him maybe a six-billion-dollar deal was more important than a social director's issues. I, however, felt that making sure I didn't wind up with a political crisis that made the firm explode, lose all its best clients and partners, and go bankrupt was pretty important, too.

  Too late now. I'd made my assignments. No going back.

  "Shannon! Sit!" Dave pulled me down beside him. "You've been in the kitchen six times in the last twenty minutes. The staff knows what time we have to leave. If you bug them one more time, they're going to spit in everyone's food and poison us."

  I stared at Dave. "Have I been rude?" Dear God, don't tell me I'd been rude. I dealt with enough rude people all day—had it finally rubbed off on me? Was I treating people like I was the one with the graduate degree and so much money that I used it to line my cat's litter box?

  Dave laughed and rubbed my shoulder. "Shannon. You're fine. You just need to relax and enjoy."

  "Hah!" I grabbed my water and chugged it down. Probably a bad move, because I'd have to pee right when I was trying to get everyone organized. It was much better to be dehydrated than bolting for the bathroom.

  "Shannon!" Dave put his hand across mine. "Eat your salad. Smile at your colleagues. Isn't part of your job entertaining the interns, too?"

  "Yes, it is." Dave was right. See, this is why I'd brought him. He and Emma, along with my other friend Phoebe, were my three best friends. I'd gone to high school with Dave and we'd always kept in touch. He'd married his college girlfriend, but I'd never been all that close to her. Probably because she was threatened by my relationship with Dave and had banned him from ever seeing me again.

  But, since she was out of town and I needed a "spouse" for tonight's affair, why not borrow her husband? Seemed logical to both Dave and me. It was a good thing his wife traveled quite a bit, or we'd never get to see each other.

  I turned to the intern on my right, a tiny little thing name Missy Stephens. She was under five feet, weighed about ten pounds, and was so timid I don't think she'd ever looked anyone in the eye.

  Anyone except me, that was. I could either take that as a statement that as support staff, I was not worthy of being intimidating. Or I could take it as a compliment that my social skills were so outstanding that I was able to make even the most insecure intern feel confident. Dave would tell me to choose the latter, and since he was my illicit date for tonight, it's his advice I would take.

  "Having fun, Missy?" I said cheerfully.

  She shrugged and said nothing.

  "So, what kind of assignments have you gotten so far?"

  She flicked me a wan smile and mumbled something about research.

  Okay, so the fact she would make eye contact with me apparently didn't mean I could also get her to talk. I wondered how she'd managed to survive the interview and get the job offer. Maybe she'd had a twin sister do the interview or something.

  "Shannon!" Jessamee leaned from around Missy's other side, and the two interns on her right were also staring at me. "Your husband is totally hot. We had no idea."

  I glanced at Dave, who was chatting up one of the partners. I guess he was cute. I'd never thought of him that way. He was just Dave. "He's not my husband."

  Jessamee looked thrilled by the news. "He's got a wedding ring on. Are you having an affair with him?"

  For a split second, I was too shocked by the question to answer. Did I really look like the type to steal a husband? And if I did, would I bring him to a firm outing and flaunt it?

  She waited expectantly, and I realized she was actually serious.

  Dear God, what kind of world did Jessamee live in? "Um, no." I managed a demure smile, but my head was pounding. My head was hurting way too much for week one of the summer program.

  "Oh." Jessamee and her little friends had the gall to look disappointed. "So, who is?"

  "What?"

  "Well, who's dating who? Who's married to who? Who's having an affair with who? You must know all the scoop."

  Suddenly, all the interns at my end of the table were staring at me, with eager anticipation on their faces. I cleared my throat. "Shouldn't you guys be focused on work?"

  They all looked blank. Work? What was work? They were here for the summer to play and be wined and dined.

  "It's after five. Not time for work," Jessamee said. There was an underlying threat to her voice, reminding me that I was supposed to pamper her.

  You know, I really wanted to stay positive. I really wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that she had some awful trauma in her life that was tearing her up, and that the poor thing felt terrible about how she was treating me. But she reminded me too much of my parents, the way they looked down on me, and it made me mad.

  I was tired of it. I really was. I—

  I took a deep breath. No, I was going to be positive. Her comment was good news, because it meant the illusions were already working. Lawyers didn't work after five o'clock, right? Of course, right. The interns were slowly getting sucked into the myth. I felt sort of uncomfortable creating a fantasy world with the goal of luring talented young attorneys into it, then bashing them over the head with reality after they were roped in by big salaries and the pressure of their reputations.

  That was my job. I had to create the illusion and lure them in. That's why I made the big bucks. Oh, did I say "big bucks?" I meant, measly little salary that barely covered bread and water for my meals. The interns were smart, though. They went to the best law schools and got the best grades. If they couldn't see the truth about working there, then they didn't want to. It wasn't my fault.

  "So, tell us the gossip," Jessamee pressed.

  I rattled off a couple attorneys who were married, or commonly known to be dating, but kept the sordid rumors to myself. Not that I didn't suck up that kind of stuff as much as the next person, but I wasn't about to repeat it to interns who might go around identifying their source to the wrong person.

  My stories seemed to satisfy them for the moment, but unfortunately it allowed them to turn the conversation back to me. "So, if this is spouse night, why are you here with someone else's husband?" Jessamee asked. "You're not married?"

  "Nope." I could hear my mom's voice, tsk-tskin
g me for being single at age twenty-four. Didn't I want to take Max back? Such a lovely young man with a promising career.

  "Boyfriend?"

  I gritted my teeth. "Nope."

  "Girlfriend?"

  I sighed. "No. There's nothing wrong with simply being single, you know."

  Jessamee giggled. "Of course not. But it's a little weird to be single and bringing someone else's husband to spouse events. It's not like you're going to be meeting many available men when the guy you're with has a ring on his finger."

  I smiled. "I found you an office in corporate, Jessamee. Right next to the managing partner. Can't get more connected than that." Shame on me for that evil feeling of victory for that statement.

  Jessamee nearly puffed out with delight. "Excellent. Thanks, Shannon." How smug did she look? Like she'd bested me or something. She promptly turned away to start a conversation with an attorney who was sitting several seats down. I heard her announce that she was going to be moving to the office next to Otto. The attorney she was telling shot me a curious look, and I knew he was wondering why on earth I would subject an intern to Otto.

  So I decided to check on the dinner.

  Chapter Five

  By some miracle of the Preserve Shannon's Job Fund, we made it to the theatre fifteen minutes before the show started. Exactly as I had planned. Was I good or what? "I was never worried," I said to Dave as we played sheep dog to the stragglers of the bunch.

  He laughed. "I could tell." Then his smile faded. "I heard those interns grilling you about me. You doing okay?"

  "No problem." I patted his arm. "I'm really fine with being single." In fact, it was a relief to be single. Sort of. "And you? How's married life?"

  Dave's wife was always a dicey topic between us. Probably because she was saving up the money to put a hit out on me. Good thing I had an unlisted address.

  "She's good. We've decided to start trying to have a kid."

  Whoa. "Seriously?" Stab me in my gut, why don't you? Not that I wanted kids, but Dave? My partner in crime since ninth grade? A dad? No way would we be able to keep up our clandestine non-sex-totally-platonic-affair. "Got a day care planned?"