by Vivian Ward
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 younge
r, 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.”
His tongue makes a loud pop from the roof of his mouth as his jaw drops open.
“Oh, Logan, don’t tell me that she’s not coming.”
He leans back in his leather chair, looking down his nose at me.
“I’d hate to take that invitation off the table because you’re not bringing her.”
What? Did he just say that if Piper doesn’t come that I can’t either?
“I—I’m sorry, sir. What did—,” he interrupts me.
“I said that I’d hate to withdraw your invitation if that pretty little thing doesn’t come with you on the 25th, Kraft.”
I’m no longer sweating bullets. I can’t breathe. It feels like someone sucked all of the air out of my lungs.
I can’t ask her to come. She has her party that day.
“I didn’t realize that her not coming would be an issue, sir.”
“No, it’s no issue at all. If she can’t make it, I’m sure I can find someone else to make partner. No problem.”
Shit, he’s not playing around. He’d really take my offer off the table.
“You’re right, it won’t be a problem,” I say to him, grinning. “I’m sure Piper will be able to make it.”
I leave off the part about her killing me first.
“Good,” he reaches across the desk and pats my arm.
A knock on the door interrupts us as his legal secretary Kelly announces his appointment has arrived.
“We’ll catch up at the party,” he says, rising from his chair.
“Yes, that sounds great,” I lie.
Chapter 5
Logan
Racing home from work, I stop to pick up the dinner that I ordered to-go from Olive Garden, one of Piper’s favorite restaurants.
Her car pulls into the driveway just moments after I’m inside the house leaving me no time to get everything ready to eat.
“Hey, babe,” she smiles at me as she walks into the kitchen. “Dinner smells great! What are we having?”
“I picked up some Italian food on my way home. I even got you extra breadsticks,” I kiss her cheek. “Hungry?”
“Aww, Logan, that’s sweet, but you shouldn’t have. I can’t eat them.”
The world must be coming to an end because she loves her breadsticks.
“What? Why can’t you eat them?”
“Well, I can’t eat most of what you have, but you get an A for effort.”
“Are you going to clue me in on why you’re not eating your favorite dinner in the whole world? Did you eat late at the office?”
She laughs and tucks a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.
“No, but I have to watch my weight. I’ve been sort of dieting the last few weeks. It’s too close to the wedding to make any alterations on my gown if I get too fat for my dress.”
She’s either delusional, or she’s starved herself into madness because I’m looking at her perfect body and there’s not a thing wrong with her.
“Pfft, dieting,” I mock her. “Piper, do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are? You’re perfect.”
I pick up one of the breadsticks.
“Here,” I put it in front of her face. “Eat.”
She crinkles her nose and smiles, shaking her head no.
“Can’t,” she says.
“Can. Eat,” I push the breadstick closer to her mouth.
“Can’t.”
“Piper, eat.”
“Can’t,” she backs away until her ass bumps into the counter.
“Can,” I say.
“No carbs,” she contests.
She’s weak. I see it in her eyes and can tell that she wants to eat it. I know that her mouth is watering from the light garlic scent.
“No carbs, no sex,” I counter.
I’m not really sure how withholding sex from her would work to my benefit, but I don’t want her denying herself her favorite foods over a wedding gown.
“You wouldn’t,” she smiles, eying me.
“I would,” I nod. “Now eat. One little breadstick isn’t going to make you fat.”
After taking a bite of breadstick, she wraps her arms around her stomach.
“Mmm,” she says, savoring the warm, doughy goodness in her mouth. “The best carbs EVER!”
We both laugh at how silly she is before we sit down to eat our meal together.
“So how was your day?” she asks.
For the first time since I’ve gotten my invite to Ford’s party, I hate hearing that question. Even though the guys have been giving me shit, I haven’t minded her asking how my day was. It’s something we do every night when we sit down together.
“About that,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I need to talk to you.”
Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives me a pouty face.
“Why? Is something wrong? Don’t tell me any bad news,” she pleads.
“It’s about Ford.”
“I had a gut feeling you were going to say that. What happened?”
“You know that the guys have been jealous, so they’ve been taking digs at me,” she nods.
“Uh-huh,” she says, pushing the last bit of breadstick into her mouth.
“Today they were doing it again, and I said something I shouldn’t have and Ford heard me.”
Her eyes grow into round dollar pieces.
“No, no,” I assure her. “It’s nothing like that. I didn’t get into any trouble.”
“Oh,” she says, covering her heart with her hand. “You had me worried. I thought you were going to say that you got fired or something.”
“No, not quite but I may as well have been.”
“Do you need something to drink? I think I need something to drink,” she says, getting up to get in the fridge.
“Yeah, pour me a glass too, please,” I say to her. “So anyway, he asks me to go to his office.”
“It’s never good when your boss asks you to come to the office,” she says, filling the second glass. “Here, this one is yours.”
Taking a drink, I wish it were something stronger. She’s going to kill me when I ask her what I’m about to say, which is why I picked up her favorite dinner. The more I butter her up, the softer the blow might be when she punches me in the gut.
“We get in his office, and we talk about the guys, and luckily he’s not worried in the slightest about me putting them in their place. I think he liked it, actually.”
“Then what’s the problem?” she asks.
“We started talking about the party, and he mentioned you being there, but I told him that you wouldn’t be able to attend.”
I stop because I don’t want to tell her the rest, so I pretend to greedily drink my wine, gulping it down until there’s nothing left.
“And?” she asks.
“Ah,” I wipe my mouth, finishing off the last drop. “He said he’d take my invitation off the table if you didn’t come.”
Her eyebrows contort as she tries to comprehend what I just said, and then her jaw drops.
“Wait,” she braces herself against the counter. “He told you that you couldn’t come if you didn’t bring me?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“But why? Why would he care whether or not I was there with you? I don’t understand.”
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair and hold onto the back of my neck, shrugging.
“I don’t know, babe. I’m just te
lling you what he said.”
“Maybe he was just joking. He was kidding, right? Or you’re joking?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I were making this up, but that’s what he said.”
She lets it sink in for a minute and takes a healthy drink from her glass.
“Logan, what are we going to do? I can’t cancel my bridal shower, and I don’t want it to cost you partnership at the firm,” her voice trails off.
“I don’t know,” I say, refilling my glass. “Could you maybe push it forward or back a day? Just have it on Sunday instead of Saturday?”
The fire that ignites behind her eyes tells me that I’m in a lot of trouble. I can practically see the flames of hell threatening to lick my skin if I make any other suggestions, so I slowly back away, hoping if I play dead she won’t kill me.
“You. Did. Not. Even.”
She walks closer toward me, and I can see how mad she is. Big mistake on my part.
“What? No,” I say, laughing, putting my hands in front of me as a peace offering. “I would never.”
I love my Piper to death, but when it comes to the wedding, it’s something that is not to be fucked with. She is in total control, and nothing happens without her approval.
“Good,” she purrs.
A moment later she slumps down in the chair realizing what’s at stake.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “All of this wedding stuff is making me crazy. You know that usually, I’d bend over backward to make things happen for you, but that’s supposed to be my day.”
I can tell she feels bad about it and I hate that. I don’t want her to feel guilty.
“The thing is, I’ve talked to Meagan and Deb about it. I was hoping one of them would make me feel better about not going with you, but they couldn’t. I feel awful.”
“I know, Pipes,” I kiss her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. The thing is, it’s been something that’s been bothering me anyway. I want to be there to show my support for you. I want to be there for you,” she caresses my hair.
“You do?”
I’m not entirely surprised because that’s how she is, how we are, but to hear her say that she wants to be there makes me feel so much better. It’s nice to know that she’s not just blowing me off or hasn’t given it a second thought. I’d really like for her to be right next to me, but I realize that would be selfish and I’d never ask her to do something like that.