by Katie McCoy
“For the record, I totally approve.” Chase stood and clapped me on the shoulder. “She’s got some fire to her. I like fire.”
“So you go after her,” I snapped, not meaning it at all.
Chase laughed. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t have a suicide wish.” He grinned at me. “Besides, you know our rules. We don’t go after each other’s girls.”
Thank God for the bro code.
“She’s not my girl,” I insisted.
“Not yet,” Chase teased and left the room.
I thought for a moment about following him and arguing my case—that Alex and I didn’t know each other, that I didn’t have time for romance, of any kind, and that getting involved with someone who lived in the same building where our bar was could not have been a more terrible idea—but instead, I just retreated to my office to deal with the paperwork that Sawyer had left me. Alex was a distraction that I needed to be distracted from, not the other way around.
I managed to lose myself in work for a good hour. It was exactly the kind of reminder I needed about what was important right now. This bar had been a dream for so long and now it was a reality. Well, almost a reality.
As I was going over Liam’s projections for the first month, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I checked the incoming number.
It was my parents. I stared at the screen for a moment and then sent the call straight to voicemail. That was another distraction I didn’t have time for. Especially now.
My phone buzzed again, indicating that they had left a voicemail. I ignored it. At least, I tried to. When I found that I was reading over the same five lines without retaining any of it, I decided I needed a break.
I left my phone in the office—that little red light indicating that I had a message seemed to taunt me—and went searching for Chase and some of his amazing drinks. Instead, I found a familiar dark blonde figure seated at the bar, surrounded by a pile of paperwork not unlike the pile I had left behind in my office.
“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” I asked Alex as I slid onto the stool next to her.
She glanced up at me, and even though she frowned, I was pleased to see that there was a slight flush in her cheeks.
“If the noise bothers you in your apartment, I imagine its ten times worse here,” I observed.
I had gotten used to the chaos that was construction. Even though we were almost ready to open, there were still a million tiny things that the contractors needed to do before the doors could be opened. So there were still hammers going, still power saws going. It was a noisy mess, but it was our noisy mess.
“I’ve decided that it’s easier to ignore the noise when you’re right in the middle of it,” Alex told me.
I then noticed that she had a pint in front of her.
“I’m guessing the beer helps too,” I observed.
“You’d be right about that.” She raised her glass. “Your not-employee gave it to me. Said he made it.”
“He did.” I was pleased that she didn’t seemed to know Chase’s name yet.
“Well, make sure to give him my compliments.” She took a long drink.
As she did, I noticed that although she was undeniably gorgeous, it was pretty clear that she was exhausted as well—there were circles under her eyes and a deep crease between her brows.
That guilty feeling from yesterday returned.
“Is that all you’re having for dinner?” I asked.
She lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure I’ve got some ramen somewhere in my kitchen.”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not,” I told her, ducking under the bar.
Without waiting for her to respond, I headed into the kitchen—the one part of the place that was actually finished. I rummaged through the cabinets. Though all the gear was in place, we hadn’t really stocked it yet. But, I had the right ingredients for a grilled cheese sandwich—mainly because I spent most of my own dinners here and grilled cheese was about the extent of my culinary abilities.
I whipped up two of my signature sandwiches, plated them, and poured myself a pint of beer. When I returned to the bar, I found Alex focused once again on her work. I couldn’t help peering over her shoulder, trying to figure out more about her. She intrigued me. Probably because she had told me so little about herself.
“So.” I slid a plate over to her. “You’re a lawyer.”
I knew enough about law and lawyers to recognize the kind of work she was doing. Also, the long hours, working on the weekend, and the suit she had been wearing the first night I saw her all pointed in the same direction.
She lifted her head. “Did you guess that?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “Or did you cheat?”
“I totally cheated,” I confirmed before taking a bite of my sandwich and gesturing for her to do the same. “Though I would have figured it out eventually.”
“Sure you would have,” Alex responded, pushing aside her paperwork to take the grilled cheese.
Even though I wasn’t a culinary genius, I still watched as she took a bite. It was the rare person that didn’t appreciate the beauty of melted cheese and crispy buttery bread.
Alex’s eyes fluttered closed as she chewed, her face relaxing for a moment as she savored the food. It was electric, watching her take pleasure in something.
Fuck. She was hot.
She ate with vigor, barely stopping to take a sip of beer in between bites. When she was finished, there was a little bit of cheese stuck on her bottom lip. I wanted nothing more than to kiss it off of her, but instead, I held out a napkin and gestured towards her mouth.
She wiped it off, looking a little sheepish.
“Guess I was hungry,” she said, looking down at her empty plate.
I had only gotten in a few bites of half of my own sandwich, so I immediately slid the other half towards her.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she argued, but I could see that she was starving.
“I’m not really hungry,” I lied. I was hungry, but it wasn’t for grilled cheese.
She eagerly took the other half of the sandwich, taking a little more time with this one.
“This is really good,” she told me. “Are you the chef here?”
I laughed. “You’ve just witnessed the extent of my culinary skills,” I said.
“Well, I thoroughly approve.” Alex took another bite. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I couldn’t stop looking at her.
She had been gorgeous that first night we met—her hair tied up in some fancy bun, her suit fitting perfectly to her slender curves—but I found that I preferred this Alex. The one with her hair down, a cozy sweater, and a pair of snug jeans that fit her curves just right.
“So if you’re not the chef, what do you do here?” Alex wanted to know, finishing up her grilled cheese and taking a long drink of Chase’s IPA.
“I’m the manager,” I told her. “My nights probably look a lot like yours.” I gestured towards the stacks of work around her. “Lots of paperwork.”
“I bet your paperwork is far more interesting than mine,” Alex said wryly.
“Depends,” I teased. “Just how interesting do you consider time cards and beer orders?”
“Extremely interesting,” Alex teased, a smile curving her lush lips.
And what a smile it was. It was hard to look at it and not want to coax a full-blown grin out of her. But, as friendly as she was being, I was also getting a very clear “keep away” vibe.
I understood. We were strangers, and she was clearly someone who had a very demanding job—one that she was obviously dedicated to. No doubt the noise coming from our bar for the past few days had contributed to her exhaustion, and though I would have liked nothing more than to pull her into my arms and kiss her, it looked like she needed a good night’s rest far more than she needed a good night’s kiss.
“I should go,” she said, confirming my suspicions.
I nodded, standing when she did.
“Y
ou’re always welcome to come work here,” I told her.
She glanced around. “I’m pretty sure you guys are a little out of my price range.”
I made a mental note of that—I was interested in the kind of first impressions we were giving out. We wanted to be upscale, but not exclusive. Maybe we needed to make the place look a little more approachable.
“First beer is always on me,” I told her, the offer out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
Alex looked surprised. “Thank you,” she said.
“And thanks again,” she said. “For the grilled cheese.”
“Anytime,” I told her.
I watched her leave, unable to pull my eyes away from the way her jeans perfectly cupped her amazing heart-shaped ass. It was only after she was gone that I realized exactly how noisy the bar still was. I looked at my watch. It was after ten. Usually, the contractors would work until at least midnight—we paid them well for it—but tonight I was less worried about the bar’s timeline and more concerned about a certain blonde’s ability to sleep.
“OK guys, finish up!” I found myself calling. “We’re taking an early night tonight.”
When the bar was quiet and empty, I poured myself another pint and thought of Alex, only a few floors away—so close and so tempting. It took everything I had not to head upstairs and try to finish the kiss we had started a few days ago. Instead, I sat at the bar and finished my drink.
5
Alex
For whatever reason, I woke up the next morning craving a grilled cheese sandwich. Or maybe I was just craving the person who had made me a grilled cheese sandwich. Emerson had surprised me last night—in more ways than one. Not only for making me dinner, but for not trying to make a move when I was exhausted, crampy, and focused on work. Most of the guys I knew—including the few I had dated—never seemed to pick up on cues like that, subtle or unsubtle. But Emerson seemed to get it.
Unless he just wasn’t interested.
Even though I had told myself over and over again that I didn’t have time to date, that I didn’t have time for someone like Emerson, the idea that he didn’t make a move because he wasn’t interested bummed me out. Which was ridiculous. If anything, I should be grateful that I didn’t have to deal with unwanted advances.
Except, I kind of wanted him to advance on me.
Or maybe I didn’t know what I wanted.
Instead of focusing on that, I turned my attention to the one thing I knew I wanted. A permanent position at Patricks, Richmond & Garrison, the most prestigious law firm in Chicago.
With coffee in hand, I headed towards my first meeting of the day. I’d only be taking notes, but it was important to get facetime with the other associates and partners whenever I could.
I took a seat next to Lucinda and Bryce—my competition for the associate position. The three of us had just sat for the bar a month ago and were waiting for our results. I had studied my ass off and felt good about it, but nothing was certain until the results were posted. Failing that meant automatic disqualification for the associate position.
“You look tired,” Lucinda told me as I pulled out my notebook.
She said it with a smile—she did everything with a smile—but I knew enough about Lucinda to watch my back. She might look like a sweetheart, with her big blue eyes and perfectly coiffed brown bob, but she was just as ambitious as the rest of us. If given the chance, she’d stab me in the back in a second.
The other potential associate, Bryce, wouldn’t. Nope, since he was a guy, he would happily stab me in the front—and get away with it.
Both of them came from prestigious law families—getting in the door because of family connections or beloved professors from the most expensive law schools in the country. I didn’t have the kind of pedigree that they did, I just had my work ethic and refusal to quit.
But I’d bet on those any day.
“I feel great,” I told Lucinda, smiling just as broadly as she did.
Bryce didn’t say anything, just continued to sit there looking mildly constipated as always. It was a look that most employees of Patricks, Richmond & Garrison wore. Our jobs were hard and the firm was a little on the stuffy side, but it was where I needed to be to launch my career in the law. A few years in a prestigious firm like this, and I would have my pick of other options—or maybe go right to the top here. Partner.
“Here they come,” Lucinda muttered as the clients entered.
I had read up on this case over the weekend. The firm was representing the wife of a successful tech company CEO. They were embroiled in a messy divorce in which the wife, Laney, was asking for half of their assets—including the company—while the husband, Trevor, was arguing that he was the one responsible for his company’s success, therefore his soon-to-be ex shouldn’t get a dime.
Looking up from my notebook, I observed the wife as she took a seat on one end of the table. Laney was in her mid-forties, looking polished and professional. But I was also close enough to see that her mascara was smudged and her eyes were red. Clearly, she had been crying.
Even though I knew getting emotionally invested in our cases was always a bad idea, I couldn’t help feeling bad for this woman. She looked devastated, and slightly shell-shocked.
“He left her for his secretary,” Lucinda whispered in my ear.
She always knew all the gossip around clients, but we all went silent as the partners began to speak.
“Our client is asking for a fair share of the assets,” Arthur—the Patricks in Patricks, Richmond & Garrison—started. “A fifty-fifty split after twenty years of marriage is not only reasonable but expected.”
The opposing lawyers shook their heads, almost in unison.
“Illinois isn’t a community property state,” one of them smirked. “Our client built his company from the ground up. By himself. Your client’s contributions were to spend our client’s money. If anything, she should be repaying him.”
A small gasp escaped Laney’s lips. She looked down at the table at her soon-to-be ex-husband, who was wearing a smug smile. I wanted to slap it off his face.
“I supported you,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I sacrificed my own dreams to make yours a reality.”
All he did was shrug. Now, I wanted to punch him.
The lawyers duked it out for hours. By the end of it, we were no closer to a solution. Our client stood firm on the fifty-fifty split, while the husband’s team kept presenting “evidence” that not only did our client deserve nothing, but they were willing to sue her for repayment.
Laney was white-faced when we broke, and she immediately fled the room.
“She’s got some nerve,” Bryce said as we all filed out.
I gave him a look.
“What? This dude built a multi-million-dollar company. Why should he have to give away his hard-earned money to a woman who he’s not even sleeping with?”
I was shocked into silence. I turned towards Lucinda, expecting that she would at least offer some support to our client, but she seemed as unsympathetic as Bryce did.
“This is why everyone should sign a pre-nup,” she said with a flip of her hair. “It’s her own fault if she didn’t.”
I walked away from them without responding. I knew that part of our jobs as lawyers was to be sensible—to not let emotion get in the way of decisions—but sometimes I felt people like Bryce and Lucinda took that emotionless thing way too far. These were people’s lives we were dealing with.
Heading into the bathroom, I heard the sound of sniffles.
Laney was standing at the sink, crying. She jumped when I entered, dabbing at her eyes and trying to hide her face.
“Here.” I reached into my purse and pulled out some eye drops. “Must be all the pollen in the air,” I said kindly.
She managed a watery smile.
“Something like that,” she said, taking the eye drops. “Twenty years,” she whispered, staring into the mirror. “Twenty years of marriage and he th
inks I’m worthless.”
I caught her gaze in the reflection. “Then he obviously doesn’t know you at all.”
She smiled—a real smile.
“We know what you’re worth,” I told her. “And we’re going to get every penny.”
Just then, Lucinda walked in. She didn’t say anything, just headed straight for a stall, not even bothering to acknowledge the client.
“Take as much time as you need,” I told Laney.
“Thank you,” she said, fixing her hair and makeup.
When she was done, she handed me the eye drops.
“I think my allergies have cleared up,” she said, standing a little bit taller.
“I think so too.” I smiled.
She left, and I washed my hands and checked my own makeup. Lucinda came out of the stall and began reapplying lipstick.
“You’re not her therapist,” she told me. “That’s not your job.”
“I was just being nice,” I responded, annoyed.
“You can’t bill hours for being nice,” she countered. “And nice certainly won’t get you the associate position. That’s going to go to someone who understands what this job is really about. Winning.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I said nothing. Finally Lucinda got the hint and left. I knew that she was right—that I needed to keep my eye on the prize. But I was also pretty confident that people didn’t want to work with lawyers who were assholes. At least not to them.
I returned to my desk to type up the notes from the meeting. I felt bad for our client, but I also knew that there was no way in hell we were going to let her ex-husband get away with leaving her with nothing. She was going to get her fifty percent.
With the notes typed up, I headed to Arthur’s office to drop them off. He waved me in when he saw me at his secretary’s desk, gesturing for me to take a seat.
“You’ve been doing good work here,” he told me.
He wasn’t much for small talk—a trait I appreciated.
“Thank you,” I said.
Arthur was in his seventies—a real law icon—and it was an honor to work with him. He’d cut his teeth on civil rights suits, a trail-blazing African-American lawyer, before turning to the more lucrative side of the business. He looked every inch the part, too, with his black hair turning grey and his classic pinstriped suits. He looked like the kind of grandfather that would give you money for your birthday instead of candy. The kind of grandfather that would also tell you exactly how to invest it. He was a well of knowledge, and I tried to soak up everything I could when I was around him.