by Mae Wood
The Branco Building sat across the street from the Cotton Exchange, the once exclusive building where the Exchange’s members controlled the mid-South’s cotton market. Branco may not be dominated by cotton anymore, but it wasn’t going to forget its roots.
Marisa took the elevator to the seventeenth floor of the glass and metal edifice. The art collection was astounding. Each time she arrived on the top floor, she was amazed by the hidden jewel of an art museum floating above the Memphis streets. James Brannon’s wife enjoyed and invested in art. Understandably, considering its impressiveness and the untold sums that were used to amass it all, he enjoyed showing his wife’s collection to others. The walls were filled with a rotating display of paintings, mixed media, and bas-relief and metal sculptures.
Jimmy had acquired his parents’ taste in buying art and displaying it. The collection had been lovingly built by one family for nearly seventy years. The art was the only color or texture in the otherwise non-descript office space. Branco was not known for spending money unnecessarily, and while the art was plush, it was an appreciating asset. Office furniture only depreciated, so in true Brannon style, the building’s wooden furniture was of middling quality and non-descript oak.
As Marisa walked toward Jimmy’s office behind the receptionist, she admired some portrait photography in the style of Henri Cartier-Bresson. She hadn’t recalled these photographs before. How much money did those set Jimmy back?, she wondered. Though Marisa liked art, she couldn’t wrap her head around the amounts that people with money spent on it.
When she arrived at Jimmy’s secretary’s desk, she was immediately waved to enter his office. Marisa quickly knocked twice to announce her presence and the opened the door.
“Jimmy,” said Marisa warmly as she extended her hand. Jimmy was at his desk, with the expanse of the Mississippi River on view behind him. They shook and Jimmy nodded to someone who had been out of Marisa’s line of view.
“Let me introduce you to Trip.”
Marisa turned to greet Trip then froze. A tall man stood by a credenza with his hands tucked into his pants pockets. He was backlit by the bright sun streaming through the wall of windows behind him. His golden hair grazed the tops of his ears, his tan cotton poplin suit and white shirt were punctuated by a turquoise linen tie that was ever so slightly askew. He pulled his hands from his pockets and strode towards her.
“Marisa, nice to meet you. I’m Trip.” She reached for his extended hand and still could not find her voice. He was Adonis landed in Memphis. His deep blue eyes met hers and the world grew fuzzy. He cocked his head slightly at the noticeable pause in conversation, but never dropped eye contact. Their hands touched and Marisa thawed.
“I’m Tarisa Manner,” she sputtered and then turned scarlet from head to toe. What a way to make a favorable impression. What kind of professional can’t even say her own name in front of a handsome man? Trip chuckled and let go of her hand slowly with a bemused expression on his face.
“I’m glad you two are finally meeting,” stated Jimmy, his deep baritone bringing Marisa back to Branco’s CEO’s office from the wholly inappropriate places her mind hand wandered. Still, the desire to reach out and straighten his tie remained. In an effort to control her naughty fingers from roaming, Marisa clasped her hands in front of her and turned back to Jimmy.
“Yes, and it seems like we’re going to be busy together.” Again, Marisa felt her cheeks redden. She’d nearly said “get busy together.” Marisa resolved to push the stunning man in the well-fitted suit standing next to her out of her mind entirely. At least for the remainder of this meeting.
“Come, come. Let’s sit and you can get us up to speed,” said Jimmy as he directed Marisa and Trip towards a simple round oak table surrounded by four red leather arm chairs probably old than she was. Though she intellectually understood Branco’s thrift, she found the juxtaposition of high end art with interior design left over from the 1970s odd.
As soon as the three sat, Jimmy opened the discussion. “I’ll admit that I’ve been letting John handle these recent lawsuits. It’s been his job and I was expecting a smooth transition to these matters being handled by Trip. Can you give me a brief overview of where we are and how we got here?”
“Absolutely,” replied Marisa. Now that she was back to focusing on work, her confidence returned. “Over the past half year, Branco has experienced a significant uptick in the number of sexual harassment lawsuits. There have been nine filed in the past year. All from corporate headquarters. In comparison to past, we’d maybe see one sexual harassment lawsuit every five years out of the 600 employees in the corporate headquarters. Even then the allegations were usually pretty benign – Someone was flirting with a co-worker and things turned south. I don’t want to alarm you, but I want to make you aware that we’re in an unusual situation.
“Further, these new claims are all pretty graphic. If the press gets interested, I’d expect to see very unflattering stories about Branco. Until the most recent claim, all of the lawsuits involved co-workers or low and mid-level managers. The suit naming John as a sexual harasser is different because John has,” Marisa paused and corrected herself “had such an important and visible positon.
“I know John was involved in managing all of the employees who still work here who have pending lawsuits. That responsibility will need to be reassigned. Because the John lawsuit has a lot of risk, I’d like to focus my efforts there and bring in other attorneys from my firm to handle the day- to-day on the others. I’ll still oversee everything and be Branco’s point of contact.”
“Okay,” said Trip. “What’s the strategy on John?”
“I’m going to be honest. We’re going to have to do a lot of legwork. We are going to interview people, look at phone records, and try to figure out if any of this is true. We might not like what we learn, but we have to learn what we’re up against. We need to separate John from Susan while we investigate.”
“Sounds fair to me. Are we still on for lunch?” asked Trip, turning a rakish grin on Marisa. Marisa’s head swiveled toward Trip. Was that the only question he had? This could be a very public and expensive lawsuit. Does he not understand how big this is? How is this guy in charge of Branco’s legal affairs?
“As long as you’ve got this under control. . .” cautioned Jimmy. “I want to be updated throughout your investigation. I guess we need to hurry up John’s departure.”
“I agree,” sighed Marisa, turning her attention back to Jimmy. “He was on his way out, so it makes sense to see if we can separate him from Susan and do what we can to accelerate his departure. We do need to remain friendly with him. We don’t want to burn any bridges – especially if we determine these allegations are completely made up.”
“I’ll speak with John about firming up his departure date and reassigning him an assistant, when we get back from lunch,” interjected Trip.
Eager beaver. Looks like someone skipped breakfast this morning, thought Marisa. But he still seemed quite uninvolved and uninterested in this discussion.
“Okay, Dad, Marisa and I are headed to lunch.” Jimmy looked at Trip with a “what am I going to do with you” smile and a slight shake of his head while Marisa’s world slammed to a halt. Dad? Trip is Jimmy’s son?
Chapter Four
“I’ve booked a table at Paulette’s for noon. We should be on our way,” announced Trip as he stood up from the conference table.
“Marisa, I look forward to hearing what you learn. If it’s going to be bad news, then I need to know about it sooner rather than later. I’d like a preliminary report of what you find by Friday after next and interim updates if you find out anything critical before then,” said Jimmy, as he stuck his hand out for a parting shake.
Marisa took it. “Jimmy, it is always good to see you. I’ll be in touch with an update.” She still couldn’t grasp that Branco’s new General Counsel – the person in charge of every single significant legal decision in a company worth several billion dol
lars, that employed over ten thousand people around the globe – was Jimmy’s prodigal son. What was Jimmy thinking? Now Trip’s playboy good looks and casual approach to a problem that could hamstring Branco made perfect sense to Marisa. Jimmy is out of his mind to trust his son with so much responsibility.
“Shall, we?” asked Trip, raising an eyebrow with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Marisa picked up her black Marc Jacobs satchel and placed it over her shoulder. “Yes, let’s go.” She sulked slightly as she pondered what had just happened. She was investigating sexual harassment allegations against John, her beloved mentor. She’d made a fool of herself over a handsome man. And now she was going to lunch with James Walker Brannon III, otherwise known as Trip.
Marisa couldn’t recall meeting Trip before and she couldn’t imagine where their paths would have crossed. She was vaguely aware of his existence in the city from the glossy “who is who” in Memphis magazines and social pages that sprinkled her stylist’s salon. Until she’d returned to Memphis following law school and college, Marisa had lived in Collierville with her family. Collierville was now a suburb of large houses on generous lots, but when she had grown up, it was a farming community where her dad worked at the Co-Op in town and her mom was an insurance agent. The small town of under ten thousand of her childhood was long gone. It had been replaced by an upscale community of boutiques and fine food for its more than forty-thousand inhabitants. So, when she came “home” to Memphis following seven years at the University of Virginia, she settled downtown. She bought a condo near The Peabody, Memphis’s esteemed old hotel, and the trolley line. She could pretend she lived in a hustling, bustling city, but enjoyed being a thirty minute drive from her parents on those rare occasions when she fished her car out of the parking garage.
Now she was off to Paulette’s, one of Memphis’s fanciest restaurants, with a Brannon. Is this really happening?, she thought, as she trotted down the hall, following Trip and having a hard time removing her eyes from his fitted suit and elegant build.
Trip and Marisa drove in companionable silence in Trip’s silver Mercedes convertible to the restaurant. She wasn’t sure what to make of his new role at Branco or the fact that what she had envisioned to be a barbeque lunch with Jimmy was now lunch at the top French restaurant in the city with his handsome son. She’d learned her lesson when she fumbled during her introduction to Trip. She’d rather be quiet than tongue tied.
“We’re here,” said Trip breaking the silence. A valet in a red polo shirt opened her door, and another assumed control of the silver car from Trip. She exited carefully, not wanting to split her fitted pencil skirt or trip in her towering heels.
They were seated quickly at a reserved table for two. So, Trip had intended this lunch not involve Jimmy, thought Marisa. If Trip weren’t for all intents and purposes her boss, the person who decided whether to keep sending Branco’s lawsuits to her firm for handling, the person whose opinion could effectively end half of her business, she’d think she were on a date.
The last time Marisa had been to Paulette’s was a date nearly a year before. It hadn’t changed at all. In fact, it hadn’t changed since she’d been there for dinner before her senior prom. Paulette’s in her mind was strictly for special occasions and it seemed odd to her to be here during the day on what was not a date, but was beginning to feel like one. She couldn’t deny her physical attraction to Trip.
She studied the menu closely, trying to keep conversation with Trip to the minimally required amount of words. “What looks good to you?,” said Marisa absently, trying to choose between the chicken crepes and the Scottish salmon.
Trip set down his menu, looked straight into Marisa’s eyes and stated, “You.”
Marisa felt the floor fall out from underneath her. Did he really just say that I looked good? He’s just picking on me for bungling up my name from earlier, she justified to herself. “I’m going with the crab cakes,” spat out Marisa abruptly. She prayed he’d stop teasing her. Trip didn’t drop his blue eyes from her. In fact, he only lowered them toward the top of her rose silk blouse that was sagging slightly, revealing the skin at the beginning of her curves. She immediately straightened her spine, attempting to hide the skin from him, which resulted in thrusting her breast toward him. Gracious! I can’t win for losing here.
Trip smiled and humored her by agreeing to the conversation topic she’d suggested. “I’m going to have the salmon.”
The rest of lunch was delicious and blessedly uneventful. They chatted about their schooling, new restaurants in the city, and recent vacations. Marisa shared about her last vacation to the Gulf Coast with some law school girl friends. Trip was polite and listened intently, asking what she’d eaten at Louisiana Lagniappe and whether any dolphins were playing under the Destin Bridge. Marisa asked about his last vacation and felt out of her league when he described trekking in Patagonia. Marisa had been to Europe once in college for two weeks, backpacking with friends. She knew Patagonia was in South America, but wasn’t positive what country. She wasn’t sure what to say and fell back on the standby of nodding and smiling. Thankfully, if Trip noticed that she was only vaguely paying attention to his descriptions of glaciers and spending most of her mental energy thinking about his strong hands and what he could do with them, he didn’t let on.
The conversation never strayed from the appropriate and as Trip handed his credit card to the waitress, Marisa found herself slightly disappointed. How often do you have a gorgeous man from the glossy society magazines flirt with you? It had been three months since she’d had a date and nearly two years since she finally admitted to herself that her long term boyfriend had no desire to be a permanent fixture in her life. This isn’t a date. This isn’t a date, recited Marisa in her head. They walked out of the restaurant and found the silver Mercedes idling at the curb with two valets standing by open doors. Marisa suddenly wished she was on a date. Not with Trip, who was effectively her boss, but with a guy like Trip. Or Trip himself, if only she was not who she was.
“Thanks for lunch, Trip. Paulette’s is always a good choice,” said Marisa as they pulled up in front of her office building. “But I wish you’d let me treat. You are a client after all.”
Marisa swung her long legs with her painfully beautiful shoes out the open car door, when Trip said, “I hope not to be just a client, Marisa.” He turned his eyes to the road and didn’t say more. Marisa closed the car door behind her and Trip drove off.
Chapter Five
Marisa stepped into her firm’s plush cream, black, and tan reception area and didn’t hold back. “Jane! Jane!,” she yelled, a scowl masking her pretty face.
Jane came dashing around a corner. “Are you okay?”
“No, I am not okay,” stated Marisa simply as she stomped down the hall. She reached the door to her office, ripped her shoes off her feet and hurled them at a stack of boxes. Yes, she was having a fit and she knew it. She needed to calm down. By merely having her feet out of those damn shoes, she felt her blood pressure fall, but she still was fired up.
Marisa pivoted toward Jane and in an eerily even voice said, “Tell me what you found out about Branco’s new General Counsel.”
Jane gulped and then spoke calmly. “Well, I looked and I couldn’t find anything about a Trip at Branco. The only internet hits I would get would be about Mr. Brannon’s son at some swanky charity event or gossip about who this guy was dating. I couldn’t find any lawyer at Branco that was named Trip.”
Marisa pursed her lips. “Well, that is precisely who the new General Counsel is. Jimmy’s son. I had no idea and I looked like an idiot.”
“I’m sorry,” sputtered Jane before moving into defensive mode. “I’m not psychic. All you told me was that some guy named Trip was the new General Counsel at Branco. I Googled and I got nada. No lawyer at Branco named Trip. The only thing I turned up was a hunk with too much money. He spends his time sailing down on the Gulf and going to charity parties, best I could tell. No menti
on of him being a lawyer.”
Marisa suddenly felt sheepish for her outburst. Jane didn’t cause her embarrassment. “You’re right. I’m just really embarrassed. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” admitted Marisa. “I didn’t know and I wouldn’t have made the connection either. Send me what you found already. Also, please do some more digging on James Brannon III, aka, Trip and pull that together for me.”
Marisa sank into her leather desk chair. That “hunk” certainly lived up to Jane’s description. Now that she knew who Trip was, there wasn’t really any reason to dig into whatever Jane could turn up on the internet. But, she was curious about him. It could wait though. First she had to check her phone, the blinking red light indicating her new voicemail.
After a few uninteresting messages, John’s voice boomed on the line. “Darling, give me a call. We’re overdue for a tête-à-tête. Let me know what works for you and I’ll make myself available.” Marisa rolled her eyes at what she was sure John intended as a double entendre. She was going to have to break him of that habit if they had a hope of getting rid of this lawsuit. Yes, she thought. Think about this lawsuit not lunch. She needed to handle Branco’s legal problems rather than dream about Trip Brannon handling her. She picked up the phone and scheduled a meeting with John for the next afternoon.
***
Following a post-work run, Marisa found herself at Cal’s. Cal was a gregarious bear of a man who greeted every patron with a warm “Hey, baby!” upon arrival. Tonight was no exception. “Hey, baby! Ghost River Pale Ale?”