“You do know that Brynn is just an associate, right?” Paul had asked, narrowing his eyes at Clay as if Clay was an idiot.
“Of course I know that,” Clay said. “But what do you mean, ‘just’ an associate? She was bright enough to get hired on here at your esteemed firm, wasn’t she?”
“Well yes,” Paul had said, sitting up a bit straighter.
I didn’t know whether to cheer on Clay or boo him. I was glad he was standing up for me, but suspicious of whatever plan he had in mind and I certainly didn’t like the surprise attack manner in which he was carrying it out.
“And you bill me $350 an hour for the work of Brynn and other associates like her, don’t you?” Clay asked.
“Um. Well, yes,” Paul admitted.
“So you must think her plenty capable. I’d just like to meet one on one with her. I want to pitch my idea to her, see what she thinks and then we can come back here together and tell you all about it,” Clay had said.
Oh, great. It was beginning to sound like today’s “meeting” would last longer than expected. By that point I realized that Clay was the type of person who was always insistent on getting his way, and that I might as well get this over with. Whatever “this” might entail.
“I’d love to have a one on one meeting with you,” I’d told him, and the partners had looked at me with a mixture of relief and fear. “Where exactly were you thinking?”
“Your receptionist told me you’re a big fan of The Argonaut,” Clay had said with a grin.
And that’s how we ended up here, in this same booth that Larson and I had sat in— I swear they always like to seat me in the same place— discussing Clay’s “proposal.”
I can’t believe I’m having to spend the morning with him instead of Larson. What a huge mess today has become. I just hope it’s over quickly and that Larson doesn’t hate me for leaving. But I won’t know what will happen with Larson until I deal with Clay.
Chapter 27 – Brynn
“Okay, shoot,” I tell Clay, eating the cinnamon oatmeal I’d ordered.
I’d decided to switch thing up a bit. It’s breakfast, after all. And a part of me felt guilty for thinking of ordering the same thing I had just eaten when I’d come here with Larson, even though I know logically that makes no sense.
“What is this proposal of yours?”
“I want Makens to open a branch in Albuquerque,” he says, smiling proudly, as if he just suggested an idea worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize. “And I want you to head it up.”
“Me?” I almost choke on a nut in my oatmeal.
What do I know about running a firm? Or even a branch of a firm? Absolutely nothing at all, that’s what.
“I don’t think I’d be exactly the right person…” I say, trying my best to politely turn him down.
“Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up,” is all I can see in my head, written in founding partner Paul Makens’ handwriting on the damn sticky note I’d thrown in the trash but can’t erase from my mind.
“Sure you are,” he says, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “Because I say you are. I want you and only you.”
His hand pat is so eerily reminiscent of what Larson did while we were here that it takes all my energy not to jump out of the booth and run away. But I don’t, because that would officially count as fucking this up. And I know I will lose my job if I do that.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Let’s just say that I am the right person. What exactly do you have in mind for this Albuquerque firm?”
“Oh you know, the usual,” he says, signaling to the waiter that he’d like our check.
This guy wastes no time. I’m sure he’s already envisioning heading back to the office to let them know I’ve agreed.
“Advise me on all my corporate transactions. Be local general counsel for my Albuquerque division. Maybe handle some court matters that come up down there. It gets expensive paying for the Albuquerque lawyers and you guys. I figure I’ll be better off if I can streamline it into all one firm. The New York branch and the New Mexico branch.”
This guy’s such a narcissist he thinks he can re-design the entire structure of the firm just for him. He thinks we’ll open a new branch in an unsustainable market based on the type of law we practice, just for him.
And he’s probably right. Because that’s how much money he brings to the firm each year in revenue. That’s how big of a profit he makes for us.
I open my mouth, but think better of it and close it. I’m about to say, I don’t like litigation. I don’t want to have to argue in court. I also like working in New York City. I don’t want to have to uproot my son.
But I keep quiet. Because I don’t want to admit anything that could be construed as a weakness in my legal skills to one of the firm’s biggest clients. And I don’t want to say anything that dissuades him from his goal.
Let him present the idea to the rest of the firm and see what the partners think, I decide. If they think it’s doable, I can’t be the one to quash the idea.
And besides, working in Albuquerque means I’d get to see Larson all the time.
Stop mixing work decisions with pleasure, I lecture myself. But it’s too late. I’m already envisioning all the things Larson was talking about doing together: Thanksgiving dinner at Riley’s house, the Santa Ride and even Christmas spent under the mistletoe— and under the covers— together.
“I think that all sounds like a great idea,” I tell Clay, as I place my credit card on the table once the waitress brings us our check.
It’s the firm’s custom to pick up the tab when we take clients out to eat. It’s the firm’s credit card, so it doesn’t come out of my pocket.
“I’ll get it,” Clay insists, placing cash on the table that covers the tag and apparently a large tip for the waitress as well. “The man should always pay for a lady’s meal.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at that old- fashioned comment. I do what I have to do, what Paul and Jane and the other partners would want me to do. I smile sweetly and take his arm as we get up.
“I can’t wait to tell everyone else about our new venture,” he says, as we head for the door. “I wonder how they’ll take the news.”
“I’m sure they’ll think it’s… interesting,” I say, and then quickly add, “What an interesting and exciting idea!” because he looks at me as if I’d just offended him a little bit.
“Very well then,” he says, patting my hand again. “I do hope they like the idea or I might just have to find another firm and convince them to hire you as an associate. I’m sure that Makens will go along with my idea, once they realize we’re a package deal.”
My stomach churns at the way he calls us a package deal. But the rest of me is just hoping that this meeting with the firm doesn’t take very long.
If Larson’s not already awake, he will be before I know it, and I don’t want him to think I’ve forgotten about him. I just have to get Clay— and my work obligations— off my back, so that I can once again be on my back for Larson.
Chapter 28 – Larson
“Larson!” Caleb yells as I enter the house.
I’d knocked on the door and luckily they were still there and Esmeralda had let me in.
“Hey buddy,” I say, and he gives me five. “I see you’ve decided to call me by my real name now instead of just referring me to as the Motorcycle Man. I’m glad we’ve grown so close.”
Wish I could say the same about your mom, I think.
“You got any more of those Mickey Mouse pancakes left?” I ask him.
He laughs, thinking I’m joking, but I’m not. I bought a bagel on my way back but I’m still hungry.
“Yes we sure do have some pancakes for you, Mr. Larson,” Esmeralda says, reaching into the refrigerator.
“Oh no, Esmeralda, you don’t have to get them for me,” I tell her. But she’s already doing it.
“You make yourself at home here. Any friend of Miss Brynn’s is a friend of mine,” she
says. “Miss Brynn is a lovely lady who deserves a nice gentleman friend.”
“Gen-tle-man friend,” Caleb says, giggling with his hand in front of his face.
I would have agreed with Esmeralda up until this morning. Now I’m so perplexed I don’t know what to do. My first thought was to head for the airport and get an earlier flight, but I couldn’t stand the fucking thought of leaving without saying goodbye to Caleb.
“When’s your story time, Buddy?” I ask him as Esmeralda puts the microwaved pancakes in front of me.
“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “Larson coming?”
“Yes, I’ll come.”
He claps his hands and his whole face lights up, and I know I made the right decision to come back to the house. If only for little Caleb’s sake.
“It’s very soon,” Esmeralda says. “Thirty minutes.”
I look at my phone. No text from Brynn. I decide to take charge. I don’t want to sound accusatory or clingy, but I also need to know what the fuck’s going on.
Heading to story time with Caleb, I text her. Maybe we can meet you for lunch?
By the time that I’m done with my Mickey Mouse pancakes, there’s still no response text from Brynn.
“You ready for story time, Caleb?” I ask, and he nods eagerly.
“You coming with us?” I ask Esmeralda.
“You can take him,” she says, and hands me a lunch box featuring Lightening McQueen on its front.
She puts a little backpack on Caleb and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“Besitos,” she says, and they kiss each other on each cheek. It’s a more sophisticated goodbye than I’ve ever given anyone in my life, and the kid’s a fucking toddler.
As we walk down the stairs outside the front of their brownstone, I turn towards the subway station but Caleb yanks on my hand.
“Come on,” I tell him. “Gotta ride the train.”
He laughs and points to a black limo that’s pulled over across the street.
“Driver,” he says.
“Really? You have a—”
I stop myself before I curse.
Of course the kid has a fucking driver. His mom makes a shit ton of money by having to work on Sundays and schmooze with assholes. And ditch her weekend out of town date. But at least I have Caleb— and his fancy driver— to keep me company.
Chapter 29 – Larson
“Hey there,” I say to the driver of the limo as he gets out to open the door for Caleb and me.
He just nods at me like he’s trying to be polite but also like he’s not really supposed to talk to me.
As we head downtown, Caleb sings a little song that’s almost as cute as he is.
“I’m a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout…”
He bounces around in the toddler car seat that had already been installed in the limo and that the driver had buckled him into, obviously excited.
“Larson coming storytime!” He announces proudly once he’s done with his song.
“I sure am, Buddy,” I tell him.
I look out at the window at the beautifully colored falling leaves and try to enjoy the moment. Part of me is upset about Brynn but part of me is touched that Caleb is so happy I’m spending the day with him.
Another part of me feels an obvious yearning for what I’m supposed to have but don’t. I thought maybe I had regained some of that with Brynn and Caleb but now I don’t know what to think.
I’m silent— and so is Caleb, except for some quiet humming— until we arrive at the New York Public Library. And then I’m just fucking in awe of the place.
It looks like a fucking train station or house of Parliament or something. It’s so large and ornate, with more books than I would think it possible for all of humanity to read.
“This way,” Caleb says, trotting towards one of the many rooms.
I follow him to a round rug where a lot of children are already gathered. A librarian is asking them what they want to read first.
“Miss Bonnie!” he says, hugging her.
“Why hello there Mr. Caleb,” she says, returning the hug and then looking up at me. “Who did you bring with you today?”
“Larson,” Caleb says proudly. “Gen-tle-man friend.”
“Is that so?” Miss Bonnie says, trying hard not to laugh.
It’s definitely fucking funny— Caleb is always a hoot. But I’m trying hard not to die of embarrassment. What is this lady going to think of the fact that Caleb’s fancy lawyer mom is dating a scruffy, tattooed guy who walks around in a motorcycle jacket?
“I assume he means Mommy’s gentleman friend,” Miss Bonnie says. “Nice to meet you, Larson.”
She shakes my hand warmly and her eyes are twinkling. I realize then that she was truly only laughing at Caleb’s child-like innocence. She isn’t judging me.
I feel relief, but then I realize that perhaps she’s never even met Brynn.
As if answering my question, Miss Bonnie asks Caleb, “Where’s Esmeralda today?”
I can’t help but feel a wave of disbelief. If I still had a fucking kid, I’d be at story time every week with him— or any other time he might want to go anywhere.
I understand that Brynn has to work and I know from what she’s told me how hard it is for her to be away from Caleb for a job she doesn’t even like. So I’m not judging her but I just fucking feel bad for her. For both of them. There has got to be a better way.
“Esie stay home,” Caleb answers. “Larson come story time.”
“Well, tell Esmeralda I said hello,” Miss Bonnie says. “And Larson, you are certainly welcome any time. Go ahead and take a seat.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that this is probably the only time I’ll be here— that it looks like things between Caleb’s mommy and her gentleman friend aren’t working out quite as well as said gentleman friend had hoped.
I sit on a folding chair next to a bunch of grandmas, nannies, mommies and a few dads. Everyone nods at me politely but some of them look at me funny, since I’m obviously a bit out of place.
Caleb joins the other kids in the circle. Miss Bonnie reads them Peter Rabbit. Then she leads them in some kind of hopping game I’ve never seen and Caleb keeps looking back at me as he jumps around. I give him a thumbs up and he smiles.
“Next, it’s time for a craft,” Miss Bonnie says. “The grown ups you came with can help you make them.”
She passes out a sock to each child that they’re supposed to decorate to look like a rabbit and put on their hand to look like a puppet.
“I’m not very good at crafts,” I tell Caleb, as I try my best to stick a cotton ball approximately where the rabbit’s tail should be.
“That’s okay!” Caleb says, as he bends some pipe cleaner to make the sock bunny’s ears.
After a while, we have ourselves a decent looking rabbit.
“Hop hop!” Caleb says, making his arm— and the rabbit— jump up and down.
Miss Bonnie reads more books— mostly rabbit-themed— and then a snack: carrots, of course, as well as crackers and a tiny egg-shaped chocolate for each kid. They also sing Little Bunny Foo Foo, pretending to scoop up field mice and bop them on the head.
All the kids including Caleb love it and I have to fucking admire the organization that goes into this story time for toddlers. It’s almost as impressive as the library itself.
“Okay, it’s almost time to end for today,” says Miss Bonnie, and all the kids groan. “Time to sing one more song.”
Bunnies love to hop, llamas love to chew…
Caleb joins in and looks at me as if he expects me to, but I’ve never heard of this song. I just smile and nod at him in encouragement. He does motions along with the other kids to the song.
Birdies love to tweet and I love you.
At this part, he motions towards his chest, then crosses his heart and then points at me. I almost want to fucking cry.
“Awww, thanks kid,” I tell hi
m.
But the song’s not over yet. Miss Bonnie must have made it today’s mission to tug on my heart strings just a little more.
Horses love to gallop, owls love to hoooooo,
Doggies like to bark and I love you!
If that isn’t the cutest song, sung by the cutest living kid, then I don’t know what is.
“Have a good day, kids!” Miss Bonnie says, by way of dismissing them.
Caleb gets a running start and then jumps into my lap. He hugs me, and I hug him back, really tight.
“Thank you for coming story time!” he says.
“Thank you for inviting me, Little Man.”
We walk down to Bryant Park and sit down in the grass. It’s not as cold as it was yesterday, which is good because we can sit outside for a little while.
Caleb’s not too hungry since he just ate a snack but he eats half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some goldfish crackers. He thinks it’s hilarious to make the goldfish swim up to his mouth, just so he can bite their heads off. What a funny little guy. There’s also a ham and cheese sandwich in the lunch box.
“I guess this is for me,” I tell Caleb with a shrug, remembering how Brynn had told me that Esmeralda made her lunches.
“Esie made!” he says. “Yum yum yum.”
However much money that woman makes, she most definitely deserves a raise.
I eat my sandwich— I’m always hungry— and Caleb and I wash it all down with a juice box (his) and a bottle of water (mine).
“You ready to head back home, buddy?” I ask him.
He nods.
As he takes my hand and we trudge back to the limo, I wonder if he’s wishing his mom could be with us. But he hasn’t mentioned anything, and I figure he’s probably used to not having her around.
All signs are pointing in the direction of me getting used to that too, if I want whatever we have to go anywhere further. And I’m thinking that that doesn’t sound like much of a relationship. So I guess this isn’t going to work out after all.
More Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Page 31