by Vivian Ward
“Okay, here’s the problem,” I begin. “You know my bridal shower on the 25th?”
She nods her head, intently listening as she tosses a handful of trail mix in her mouth.
“Well, Logan’s managing partner, Mr. Ford, is throwing a party that day and he invited Logan. The problem is that this is the—,” she cuts me off.
Holding up her hand she stops me dead in my tracks.
“Wait a minute,” she says, her mouth wide open. “Are you trying to get out of this bridal shower? Do you have any idea how much work and money I’ve put into this thing? Well, ‘we,'” she uses air quotes. “Me and all the girls pitched in on a beautiful reception hall, and I’ve already ordered and paid for most of the food. You’re not cancelling on me, missy,” she shakes her head.
See? This is exactly what I was afraid of. She didn’t even let me finish saying what I was saying before she jumped all over my ass.
“No, no, no,” I reassure her. “Meagan, I’m not trying to cancel it,” I throw in a fake laugh. “Just listen, okay?”
She rolls her eyes, “Go on.”
“This party that he got invited to is like THE party that they invite you to when they’re considering making you a partner of the firm! This is HUGE for him, and I’d like to be by his side to show my support, but I’ve already told him that I can’t because of my bridal shower that day.”
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me.
“Really, I mean it,” I nod, offering her more assurance. “He knows that I can’t go, but I’m so bummed out about it. You know? We’re getting married, and I want to be there for him, and I can’t be, and it kind of sucks.”
She nods, taking a drink of her water.
“Wait, isn’t he already a partner of the law firm? Isn’t that why he works there?” she asks.
“No, he’s only a senior associate. Nobody makes partner until they’re in good with the firm and have been approved by the hiring manager and other partners. It’s sort of like a ‘good old boys club,' and this is his invite to it all.”
“Oh, I see,” she says. “That sucks, but we’ve got our own thing to do. Besides, isn’t your old friend Debbie flying in?”
Ugh. She hates being called that name, and I don’t blame her.
“It’s Deb, and yes, she is flying in. She’ll cringe if she hears you say Debbie so don’t call her that. Just keep it short, Deb.”
“Whatever. I wouldn’t sweat it. Logan’s an attorney, he faces judges for a living and works with criminals. He’ll do fine on his own. I’m sure of it.”
“I sure hope so.”
Talking to Meagan didn’t help my situation any, but I do feel a little better talking about it and getting it off of my chest. I hate that things are always so complicated.
Things couldn’t get any worse, could they?
The rest of the day goes by in a blur as I handle phone calls, do another meeting and answer emails. I love working in marketing, but sometimes it spreads me a little thin, especially with days like today where I’m wrapped in a blanket of guilt.
How can I say that I’m supportive of my soon-to-be husband if I ditch him for selfish reasons?
Not that I'm selfish in a bad way. It’s not like I just have a nail appointment with one of my girls that I like to hang with or like I’m blowing him off for a luncheon. I know that my bridal shower is a big deal and you only get one.
Or at least I only plan on ever having one.
I’m only getting married once. If we ever get divorced for some reason, I seriously doubt that I could marry anyone else.
That man owns my heart—and my ass. I may not have lost my virginity to him, but he’s the only one who ‘counts.' As far as the rest of the guys I dated before him, they cease to exist.
On my way home from work, I turn on my Bluetooth and call Deb during my drive. If there’s one person who can make me feel better, it’s definitely her.
“Hello, our lovely bride!” she answers the phone.
“Hello, my beautiful maid of honor,” I giggle.
See, it’s working already.
“How come you’re calling from your car? I thought you hated talking and driving?” she asks.
“I do, but I was kind of hoping that you could tell me that I’m not being selfish,” I put on my turn signal as I attempt to switch lanes.
“Uh-oh. Is that charming man of yours already turning into a turd? If so, we can flush him before it’s too late.”
Okay, that did it.
It takes me a full minute to stop laughing and wipe the tears from my eyes.
“Flush him, huh?” I chuckle.
“Yep. We’ll flush him like the turd he is. What’s going on, babe?”
“Oh,” I take a deep breath as I recompose myself. “It’s my bridal shower that’s coming up.”
“Uh-huh,” she agrees.
“Logan was invited to like THE biggest party by his managing partner at the firm because they’re considering making him a partner.”
“That’s great news, honey! So what’s the problem? How are you being selfish?”
“This party is the same day as my bridal shower, and he wanted me to be there. You know, for moral support?”
“Ohhh,” she says.
She’s quick with her math and has already put two and two together.
“And you can’t go because of your bridal shower. That does suck. What are you going to do? You’re not going to cancel it are you?”
“No, I can’t cancel it,” I say with disbelief even though the thought has occupied my mind for a teeny second. “I just need you to clone me so I can attend both events.”
She laughs into the phone. I don’t know why but I find her laugh so soothing.
“You know my name is Deb, and not Genie, right?”
“I know,” I sulk. “I feel so guilty for having my bridal shower the same day of the party, but this is something that’s been planned for months.”
“Right,” she agrees. “And you need to remember that. It’s not your fault that you are marrying an amazing, charming man. You can’t help he does an excellent job and that they want to make him a partner.”
“I know,” I murmur again.
“So don’t feel guilty!”
She says it as if that’s that. I can practically see her shrugging on the other end of the phone, curling up her lip like it’s no big deal, washing her hands of the matter.
“Listen, babe. You do your thing; he does his. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. That’s your day. Don’t let his job take that away from you.”
“You don’t think I’m being selfish?”
“Honey, nooo! You’re not being selfish. Being selfish is wishing that you were the center of attention or only worrying about things that will directly benefit you. You’re not doing either of those things. Enjoy your day. You’re doing the right thing, plus I’d kick your ass if you cancelled since my flight is pretty much set in stone.”
“I know,” I say.
I remember how much trouble she went through getting everything taken care of so that she could be part of my wedding.
“You’re right. I’ll tell myself to stop feeling guilty, and I’ll embrace it.”
“There you go!” she cheers me on. “But listen, babe. I’ve got to get going. Little Joey jumped out of the bathtub and he’s streaking through the house, and there’s a trail of water on the floor behind him.”
“He can climb out of the tub now? Geez, where does the time go?” I laugh. “Okay, grab the munchkin, thanks for making me feel better.”
“Yep! Talk to you later, bye!”
As I’m trying to end the call on my Bluetooth headset, I hear her screaming in the background.
“Joey Epstein! Get over here right now, mister! You’re gonna fall and bust your bubble!”
Laughing at her crazy house, I end the call just as I’m pulling into the driveway.
Even though she assured me that I’m not being selfish, I still
feel bad, but I know I shouldn’t. Logan will get over it; it’s just one little party. If he makes partner, we’ll have lots of annual parties to go to together. Right?
Chapter 4
Logan
The guys haven’t stopped giving me shit in the office since Kelly, Mr.Ford’s assistant, delivered the invitation to me. At first, I thought it was funny, and I knew that they were jealous but now it’s getting old. I just want them to drop it.
It’s starting to take a toll on me and affect the work that we do together, and now they’ve gotten a few of the paralegals in on it. What was healthy bullshit a few days ago is now beginning to grow annoying.
“So, Golden Boy,” Lester says to me. “Are you getting nervous as it gets closer to the time to rub elbows with everyone at the party?”
“No,” I answer him, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see it. “Why would I get nervous?”
“Well, because you’re going to have to impress all of the partners of the firm, and you’re going to be a small fish in an ocean of sharks,” he says to me.
I might appear calm and cool on the outside, but the truth is that I am a bit nervous about going to the party, especially since I know that Piper won’t be able to come with me. I won’t have anyone to talk to or lean on.
I’ll probably be the only one there without a beautiful girl on his arm, too. All of the partners are married, except Kennedy and Ford, but Ford chooses to be single because he doesn’t like commitment.
Kennedy’s wife died of a massive heart attack last year. I remember that when he returned to work, his face was so stone-like, so cold, so sad, and very empty.
There are pictures of his wife and kids plastered all around his office, and she’d often come to the firm to see him. Sometimes she’d bring him lunch, sometimes they’d go out to lunch, but everyone knew who she was. She was such a sweet woman.
Ever since he became a widower, he’s so quiet. His face was once full of life, but now it’s full of dread.
I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost Piper and we’ve only had five wonderful years together. I’m not sure how my life existed before I met her.
“I don’t mind,” I say to him. “I like being a small fish in a big ocean; it means there is plenty of room for growth.”
I can tell by the annoyed look on his face that I’ve done it. I’ve finally pissed him off. They might want to give me a bunch of shit for everything and bug the hell out of me, but I refuse to let them get the best of me. I like putting my own spin on things to show them that their ill attempts to hold me down aren’t working.
“Whatever, Golden Boy. Mark my words,” he leans across my keyboard. “You’re going to have to do a lot more ‘elbow rubbing’ than you could ever imagine at that party.”
I’m not sure what he means by that but there’s something dirty and perverted in his tone, and I don’t like it.
“Fuck off, Lester.”
I almost want to call him the molester part but decide it’s best not to say that part. Leave it to him—the freak of the office—to turn this party into something it’s not.
“Kraft,” I hear Ford say my name.
Oh shit! Did he hear me telling Lester to fuck off?
I’m not sure how long he’s been standing there, but I’ve got a feeling that it might be longer than I realize. Swallowing the knot that’s beginning to form in my throat, I try to clear my voice as I put on my best fake smile.
“Yes, Mr. Ford,” I promptly answer him.
“Come to my office. I’d like to have a word with you, please.”
Shit.
I glance at Lester and Pardo who are sitting in their chairs with award-winning smiles plastered across their faces. You’d swear they just won the fucking jackpot—and they might have if Ford heard me telling Lester to fuck off. It could cost me my invitation to the party.
I’d die if either one of them got it instead of me.
No, I take that back. They’d die if they got me disinvited because of their snide remarks and my reaction to their constant stream of bullshit because I’d strangle them myself.
“Certainly, Mr. Ford,” I say.
Following him to his office, I hear the Lester and Pardo cracking jokes behind me.
They think they’re so damn funny and witty. I believe that they're trying to set me up to make me look bad in front of Ford. Sabotaging me might be their only opportunity to make partner right now.
But which one?
If they were looking for more than one partner, I’d imagine one of them would’ve gotten an invite along with me. Unless he can’t stand them as much as I can’t.
As the managing partner, he holds all of the power. It wouldn’t matter if all of the rest of the firm’s partners were in agreement that I’d be a good fit. If he said no, that would end everything.
I hesitate for a moment before entering his office. The golden nameplate displayed on his door sits at perfect eye level, reminding me this man holds the key to my future.
“Shut the door,” he orders as he plops down into his ruby leather chair.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in his office, and even though I’ve been semi-invited to the firm’s inner circle, I still don’t feel completely comfortable in his office.
The blood-red carpet is so dark that it almost looks black and accentuates the large, rectangular mahogany desk that he sits behind. It looks stunning like it was made specially for his office.
For all I know, it might have been. I could see him having custom-made furniture. Everything about the color scheme and layout of his office demands power and control.
Framed pictures surround his office of him with prominent figures from the St. Louis area including the mayor, the owner of the Blues hockey team, the dean of St. Louis University School of Law and a few local celebrities.
Closing the door behind me, the sound of the click seems amplified now that we’re alone.
“Sit down,” he holds his hand out to the chair opposite of his.
“What do I owe this pleasure for, Mr. Ford?” I ask, removing an imaginary piece of lint from my suit jacket.
“I think you know,” he says. “Let’s talk about Lester and Pardo.”
Damn. I knew he heard that. Why is it that I always do or say things at the most inopportune time?
“What would you like to discuss?”
He might keep his office at a cool 70 degrees, but I feel like I’m sweating bullets. Sitting across from him, I see he also has a picture of him and the supervisor from the SLU Law Litigation Clinic. Next to it, there’s another picture of him and one of the professors from Washington University School of Law.
I’m quickly becoming convinced there isn’t a person in power that this man doesn’t know.
“Why not cut the chase?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair. “I’ve heard a few things about all the shit they’re giving you about your invitation.”
“Oh, that?” I wave my hand in front of me. “That’s no big deal. You know how it goes.”
“Yes, I do,” he frowns. “But, I like the way you tell it like it is.”
Shocked, my pupils dilate as my neck cranes forward. I’ve always seen him in such a professional light that I didn’t think he’d like hearing me say what I said.
I let a slight chuckle escape my throat.
“One can only be so nice for so long,” I shrug.
“I suppose,” he says. “I haven’t had to opportunity to speak to you since my legal secretary Kelly delivered your invitation. I take it that you are coming, correct?”
“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mr. Ford,” I nod. “Thank you so much. I appreciate the invitation.”
Pleased with my response, he smiles and loosens up a bit.
“Yes, well, think nothing of it. I’ve seen you bust your balls around here for long enough that I believe you've got what it takes.”
“I do, Mr. Ford.”
“Your friend Mitch speaks very highly
of you,” he grins, pretending to play with his tie. “He says that you and your fiancée are a great couple.”
“That sounds like something Mitch would say. My fiancée Piper gets along really well with his wife, Diane.”
“Diane,” he says, letting the name roll off of his tongue, emphasizing on the D. “Do you know what I call her?”
I shake my head because I have no clue. At the company Christmas parties, I tend to spend my time hanging out with Piper or talking to a few of the other partners.
I’ve never been to one of their private parties before. The women only know each other so well because Mitch often invites us over for cocktails and to play pool or soak in their hot tub.
“No, sir. I’ve only ever heard her called Diane.”
A playful grin tugs at the corner of his lip as he appears to think about her.
“I call her Dolly,” he looks as though he’s falling into a daze. “Her face reminds me of a baby doll.”
Mitch has never talked about this, but I can’t imagine him being okay with it.
“She has the biggest, roundest baby blues,” he continues. “And her blonde curly hair hugs her face.” He pauses for a moment. “She’s cute as a button.”
After that last sentence, he seemingly snaps out of the daze where he’s been picturing her and looks me directly in the eye.
“I can’t wait to see Piper,” he says. “She’s even more beautiful than Dolly. She’s got to be at least 15 years younger, right?”
It’s no secret that Mr. Ford is a ladies man, but I can’t believe he’s asking me about their age difference.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I believe so? Probably? I’m not sure how old Diane is,” I shrug.
He nods and wiggles his nose.
“Yeah, I’m telling you old boy. She’s about 15 years younger,” he winks. “I bet that pretty little fiancée of yours has already run out to buy a dress for the party, huh?”
“Actually, sir, she hasn’t. Unfortunately, she won’t be accompanying me to the party that evening.”