by M. Never
“No, I just think Mr. Turner is fond of you. You’re not a dumb blonde.”
“Neither are you,” she argues.
“I haven’t been here as long, and he trusts you.”
Lara sighs. “It has been an age, and I’m only twenty-seven.” She curls her pretty pink lips.
I met Lara six months ago when I was hired at Turner Simon and Hooch. It’s one of the premier law firms in New York City. High-class, high-end, high-profile all the way. Intimidating? Hell yeah. Awesome? Also, hell yeah. The perks and bonuses are amazing, and I’m only a secretary. Partners and junior partners? Sky’s the limit. If there’s an event, sport, or concert, the lawyers here have every privilege. Boxing match in Las Vegas? Take the private jet. Offshore fishing expedition? Use the private yacht. Annual Christmas party? We’ll see you at a penthouse three floors higher than the top of the Rock. The shit is bananas, and the best job I have ever had. Which is why I choose to lay low, and that’s more than I can say for my counterpart. She loves to walk on the wild side. In this instance, the wild side I’m referring to would be Luke Dunham — a tall, dark, and handsome up-and-coming junior partner currently making a name for himself. All eyes are on him and a few other all-stars in the firm. They started hooking up right around the time I got the job. Lara was friendly enough, and we hit it off right away. A few weeks later, I came to find out she was having an affair with Luke. Warning bells went off since I was lectured long and hard by my personnel rep on the repercussions of fraternizing in the workplace. The firm has a zero-tolerance policy. Both employees are automatically terminated if discovered. They aren’t overly strict about many things, but they’re sticklers about this.
“You’re right. You are only twenty-seven. You have a long career ahead of you.”
“Are you hinting I should be more careful?” She sways back and forth in her chair.
I shrug as I pull a piece of peach licorice from the package. “I’m not hinting anything. You’re interpreting.” I nibble innocently on the sweet tip.
“I hate when you pull that psychoanalytical shit on me, Ever.”
“I’m not pulling anything.” I stifle a laugh. I’m full of shit, and we both know it. “Licorice?” I offer.
“Ugh, no.” Lara rolls her eyes and organizes the stack of papers in front of her. “I don’t know how you eat those crappy things.”
“They’re delish.”
“They’re gonna rot your teeth.”
“I go to the dentist.” I chew.
“Nice to know you leave the house for more than just work,” she digs.
I stick my tongue out at her. “Just because I’m not having an affair with a junior partner doesn’t mean I don’t have a life.”
“Do you have a life?” Lara counters.
I grimace. Why does she have to hassle me?
“Well?” she pushes. I want to kick her.
“No,” I gripe. But that’s my choice.
I retreat into myself, going back to concentrating heavily on my computer screen. For a half second, while Lara and I were joking, I felt normal. Felt light, but it always creeps back — the past, my hindrances, my impairments. Loneliness is like a crutch. A handicap I’m cursed to live with.
“It doesn’t have to be that way, Ever. You don’t have to have an illicit affair to have a life. You just need to leave your apartment.” Her tone is soft. Consoling almost.
“I leave my apartment, Lara.” I agitatedly grab for another piece of licorice.
“For more than work.” Her chair squeaks as she turns her body in my direction. She’s wearing a light-pink pantsuit that compliments her complexion perfectly. Lara is classically beautiful, with long, blonde hair, big, blue eyes, and sharp facial features. It’s like working alongside career woman Barbie sometimes. I, on the other hand, have mossy-green eyes, freckles splattered across my nose, and auburn hair I dye dark brown. We’re starkly different in looks but have the exact same taste in almost everything else. It’s part of the reason we get along so well. Most of the time.
“Are you going to the company party tonight?” She’s trying to make a point by asking that loaded question.
“No.” I don’t look at her.
“Why not?”
“Because.” It’s the lamest excuse on the planet, and she knows it.
“Because,” she spits. “Because, because, because. Can you at least come up with something better than that?”
“Nope.” I’m belligerent.
Lara sighs loudly, purposely voicing her annoyance. I don’t know what she wants from me. I’m fucking damaged, plain and simple. A defective product of my destructive past.
“You’re going,” she informs me.
“Says who?” I swing my face in her direction.
“Says me. I say. You are going. I’m not going to let you waste away in your apartment tonight, having a one-sided conversation with your cat.”
“I love Denali,” I moan.
“I’m sure you do, but you also need human interaction. You need to indulge in gourmet food, sip expensive champagne, and appreciate a spectacular view of Manhattan,” Lara speaks enthusiastically. She is clearly looking forward to tonight.
“I have nothing to wear.” I toss out another lame-ass excuse.
“Bullshit,” she snorts. “I know what’s in your closet. I know how much money you spend on clothes that never see the light of day. It’s like a damn vintage museum in your closet.”
Fuck, this bitch knows me too damn well. I do have a weakness for name brands.
“Lara—”
“Don’t, Everly.” She holds up her hand, silencing me. “I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re going, end of story. I will rip you out of your apartment if I have to.”
“That sounds unpleasant.”
“It will be, if it comes to that.” For Christ’s sake. I inwardly bristle. “I refuse to let you become a reclusive old cat lady.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because I’m your friend. And friends meddle.” She smiles obnoxiously.
“You are definitely meddling,” I strongly agree, reaching for another piece of licorice. I chomp irritably, hating the fact that I’m being bullied — even if Lara does have good intentions.
“Fuck.” She nearly jumps out of her chair. “Four-thirty already.”
“Um, yeah. We usually work till five.” I regard her like she’s nuts.
“I know, but I’m leaving early today. I have a hair and makeup appointment. I want to look amazing tonight.” Lara races around gathering her purse and cell phone while she shuts down her computer. “I want Luke salivating every time he looks at me.”
“That’s just mean.”
“I know.” She pauses and smirks deviously.
“Playing with fire,” I remind her.
“If all goes well, I won’t need to worry about losing my job ’cause I’ll be able to quit.”
“What, why?” I snatch her arm.
“’Cause Luke has been dropping hints. We’re getting really serious, Ever. He might just be the one.”
“Seriously?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I feel a little hurt.
“Well, we can’t exactly have girl talk in the middle of the office about my forbidden relationship. And I have to literally drag you out for drinks after work.”
Fair enough. But still, I want to know. I want Lara to be able to confide in me. I want a friend. I don’t know what epiphany suddenly strikes me, but I make a rash decision. “Okay,” I give in. “I’ll go to the party tonight.”
Lara laughs, cackles almost. “Oh, honey, I know. You never had a choice. I already RSVP’d for you. I wasn’t kidding when I said I would rip you out of your apartment. Now, make sure you dress up all pretty, and I’ll see you tonight. ’Kay?” She bounces in her spiked heels.
“’Kay,” I rumble.
“You spend way too much time with your cat, you’re starting to sound like him.” Lara starts for the elevator be
fore stopping dead in her tracks. “Can you do one thing for me?” She picks up a thick blue folder next to her computer. “Can you drop this in Alec’s office before you go? I highlighted everything he asked me to. Took me almost all day.”
“Alec?” I curl my lip. “Alec Stewart?”
“Nope,” she chirps. “Alec Prescott.”
I groan. Anyone but him. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am.” Her voice elevates. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you drinks all night.” She hightails it out of the office.
“It’s open bar!” I yell.
But it’s too late, she’s gone.
Fucker.
I put off going to Alec’s office as long as I can. I really can’t stand the man. He’s frigid as fuck and condescending as hell. I try to avoid the pompous asshole as much as possible. Cold and calculating is probably what makes him so good at his job, but it does nothing for his social standing.
Sometimes, I wonder if he possesses any humanity at all.
I walk down the carpeted hallways, clutching the blue folder to my chest. I’m going to make this quick. A drive by drop off with minimal interaction.
The door to his office is shut and all the blinds are pulled closed — a subliminal fuck off.
I inhale a deep breath and knock on the door. Here we go.
“Come in.” His low timber vibrates through the wood. I enter, still holding my breath, and walk swiftly to his desk. He doesn’t even look up as I stand there. It’s like I’m invisible, a tribulation, nothing of importance at all.
A silent moment passes. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Neither does he, because Alec finally looks up, his icy blue eyes cutting right through me. I push my reading glasses up my nose and fidget a bit. I wish he wasn’t so fucking attractive. He’s got all the damn goods. Smart, handsome, rich, too bad he loses major points for being a grade-A asshole.
“Is that for me?” His question is short, curt.
“Um, yes.” I hand him the folder. “Lara asked me to drop it off.”
“And where is she?” He flips open the folder and inspects the contents. He’s so critical for a second that I fear for Lara’s job.
“She left early. She needed a little extra time to get ready for the party tonight,” I divulge, questioning if it was smart to share.
Alec grunts. I’m not sure why. Maybe because he thinks she’s slacking. Half the office left early, so I don’t see the big deal. We’re basically the only two left. What does that say about us?
No lives?
Workaholics?
Antisocial?
All of the above?
Probably.
Definitely for me.
Alec just shakes his head as he looks over Lara’s highlights.
That is my cue to go.
I turn on my heel to leave. My blood has turned into an icy stream from just being in his presence.
“Aren’t you going to the party?” Alec asks, detached. I glance over my shoulder.
“Yes,” I squeak, then clear my throat.
“Then why are you still here?”
“Why are you?” I don’t know what compels me to fire back. Maybe it’s because I hate the way he talks to me. The way he talks to everyone. I’m rebelling, stupidly.
Alec pauses, lifting his bold, blue eyes slowly as I turn to face him.
My pulse pounds in my ears as he looks me over. He is so fucking intimidating, but I’m not going to cower. Not on the outside anyway.
“I brought my change of clothes to the office. Allows me to work longer,” he shares evenly. He’s so eerily calm and collected I want to check to see if he even has a pulse.
“I guess most people aren’t as smart or as dedicated as you.”
“They’re definitely not.” I may be imagining it, but I think he’s smirking. The lift of his lips is so faint I have to stare to make sure the curve is actually there. “Don’t you need some extra time to get ready?” Alec inquires.
“No. I can change quickly. It doesn’t take much for me to get ready.”
“Clearly.” He deliberately cocks an eyebrow at me. I glance down at myself. I’m dressed in neat work attire. A pair of slim black pants, black high heels, and a white, striped, button-up shirt. It’s freakin’ Calvin Klein. Why is he judging?
“Is there anything else?” I bite.
“Nope.” He looks back down at his paperwork, all but dismissing me.
Prick.
I march out of his office, closing the door a little harder than I mean to. But what the fuck, who cares? Not me.
I shutdown my computer, grab my purse, and get the hell out of the office.
I have a party to get ready for.
2
Everly
In my bedroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. All I keep hearing is Alec’s condescending reply.
Clearly.
Clearly.
Clearly.
I flick the end of one of my braids and fluff my dark bangs. I don’t have a stitch of makeup on, and my glasses are sitting on the brim of my freckled nose. My outfit is nice, but there isn’t much more to me. I see what he sees.
Nothing special.
My heart is heavy, but my determination is burning bright. I want more, I just have to be brave enough to reach for it. The last few years have been challenging. I dug myself out of a dark place, and I am just now starting to see the light.
“You can do this,” I give myself a pep talk. “You can be more. You deserve more.” Those words burn my tongue. They’re hinged by heartache. A heartache I’ve been carrying around for eight, long years.
I shake off the sorrow. Tonight is about fun. And what’s more fun than playing dressing up? For me, not much.
I wash quickly, then pick out my dress. My closet is packed with designer clothes, most with the tags still on them. I love to shop but am limited on places to go. That doesn’t stop me from blowing half of my paycheck on brand names. I know exactly what I want to wear. The red, sexy cocktail dress is shoulder-baring with a slit up the side. It leans much more to the side of sophisticated than skank. I can’t show up to an elite office party looking like a prostitute. The clincher for me was the tied, off-the-shoulder sleeves. They’re so feminine and chic, the bows dangling on my arms add the perfect, classy embellishment.
Paired with a nude, strappy heel, the outfit is perfect for the night.
I spend a little extra time on my makeup. Just because I don’t wear it often doesn’t mean I don’t have any. I smoke my eyes out with black shadow and swipe my lashes with several coats of black mascara. Finally, I loosen my hair from the two braids, and it falls in loose, tousled waves around my shoulders.
I barely recognize myself by the time I’m all said and done.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror now is a polar opposite to the one from earlier today. To the one every day.
I grab my purse and order up an Uber on my way down to the lobby. My apartment complex isn’t anything extravagant, but it has a doorman, and it’s safe. Living in the city is expensive as hell, so scoring something halfway affordable in a decent neighborhood is like winning the lottery.
The white Accord picks me up on the sidewalk and whisks me away to Uptown. The firm's party is in their company suite sixty floors above the ground. The view of Manhattan is absolutely spectacular and so is the space itself. All floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge balcony, and an ultra-clean, neoclassical design. White marble, Roman columns, and extravagant décor. I’ve only been here once before, for a Valentine’s Day function the firm held when I first started. I learned quickly these events are legendary.
I steel my nerves as the elevator doors open to a bustling room filled with high-profile clientele and all my peers.
As soon as I step into the room I’m offered champagne by a waiter wearing a tuxedo and white gloves balancing a silver tray full of bubbling flutes.
I accept graciously. I’m going to need all the alcohol I can
get my hands on tonight.
The whole atmosphere is beyond upscale. It’s distinguished and impressive, and sometimes I can’t believe I’m actually part of this world — considering my shady upbringing. But that’s all in the past. The only place I’m looking now is the future. At least, I’m trying to.
I peruse through the room admiring the beautiful detail of the molding on the walls as I look for Lara. I know she’s here somewhere.
“Miss Paige?” Caught admiring the huge chandelier above my head, I hear my name. I look down to find Mr. Turner regarding me warmly. He’s an older man with wild grey hair, smile lines, and crow's feet. He’s supposedly a pit pull in the courtroom, but I’ve only ever known him to be a big puppy dog.
“Mr. Turner.” I smile.
“I’m so glad you came.” He returns my expression tenfold.
“I hate to miss a party.” Lie.
“Well, I’m so glad we have a chance to chat. I wanted to ask if you’ve seen the applications for the paralegal opportunity.”
“Umm, the ones about applying for school?” I wrack my brain. I know something came through my email.
“Yes, that exact one. Every so often the firm offers a higher learning opportunity to its employees. I thought you might be an excellent candidate. You’re very smart, always well organized, and I believe you would represent the firm well.” He beams, and I’m floored.
“Really?” I’ve never considered being anything more than just a secretary, but a compliment — and recommendation — from one of the founding partners has me reeling.
“Really.” He emphasizes with a nod. Mr. Turner is so mild-mannered it’s hard to picture him as cut-throat as his reputation proceeds.
“I’ll consider it.”
“Fine, fine.” He nods some more, continuing to smile. “Just remember, opportunity presents itself, but it doesn’t last forever.” He clicks his champagne glass with mine.
“I will definitely keep that in mind,” I promise.
“Good. You look lovely, by the way. Enjoy yourself, Miss Paige.” He winks good-naturedly before rejoining his party.
Now, why can’t Alec act more like Mr. Turner? Cordial in a social setting and an attack dog in the courtroom. I’m sure it would do wonders for his personal life.