Making It Work

by Cari Z

  “It’s unprofessional, and overreaching, and he’s a brilliant corporate lawyer while I am a glorified secretary, and just no.”

  “Fine,” Lorna said, pursing her lips as she sat back and looked at her computer. “You don’t want to think about it, that’s fine. But don’t go and denigrate our jobs just because you have self-esteem issues, Eric. The work we do is what lets our ‘brilliant’ lawyers get their jobs done, and it’s important.”

  How had I turned the morning into such a clusterfuck in so little time? “You’re right,” I said apologetically. Lorna didn’t say anything. “Really, you’re right, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Shouldn’t you be working?”

  Oh ouch, now it was going to be the cold shoulder until I made amends. I knew Beau used to send her flowers when he screwed up, but I didn’t want to copy him. I made my own mistakes; I’d find my own way to make amends.

  First things first, though. I needed to make this reservation. A big part of me wanted to knock on Beau’s door and confirm that he really meant four— maybe it was all a mistake, a typo that could be laughed off. If it wasn’t, though, I’d probably regret asking, and I’d already committed enough faux pas that morning. I called up Canlis, made the reservation with the very friendly hostess, then got to work. I spent a few hours conferring with Research on some of the information Beau was going to need for upcoming cases, spot-checked a few briefs before forwarding them to him, and answered calls from way too many people who wanted a piece of Beau’s time.

  Beau was the only senior partner at the firm who wasn’t part of the Bowman clan, and that made him desirable to a lot of prospective clients. Bowman & Sons was a successful, very profitable firm, but the family motto seemed to be, “Don’t fuck with me, because I will end you.” All five of them, from Bowman senior to his youngest daughter, Jennifer, were long on aggression and short on charm. They got results, but they often left hard feelings behind. Beau was the exact opposite, but managed to do just as well for himself. Thus, the inundation of requests for his time. I’d had clients try to bribe me to get a meeting with him with everything from boat rides to Super Bowl tickets, which was just disgusting.

  Especially since the Broncos lost. I still owed Beau fifty bucks for that, damn it. You’d think the man would have some loyalty and stick with the Panthers but no; he was a Seahawks fan all the way.

  At half an hour before noon, I stepped out into the main hall and dialed up Mark. “I need your help,” I told him.

  “Did you annoy Lorna?”

  “Yes,” I sighed. “Are you guys coming for lunch?”

  “Yeah. Carrie’s been asking for her mother all morning, naturally, and poor Grandma’s at her wit’s end.”

  “Can you bring a cupcake from Cupcake Royale with you?” I’d have ordered one myself, but it was on the way from Mark and Lorna’s house, and I didn’t want to go out any longer than I had to with her upset at me.

  “What do I get out of this?”

  “A happy wife,” I said sincerely. “And a happy wife means a happy life, or so I’ve heard. And I’ll make it up to you with a bottle of your favorite scotch at the next company party.”

  “Done. No, sweetie, it isn’t Mommy, it’s Uncle Eric,” Mark said, and I heard Carrie’s baby-high squeal of delight. It made me smile, despite my crappy morning. “We’ll be there soon.”

  “I’m aquiver with anticipation,” I said sincerely.

  “Dude, you should be.” Mark hung up, and I went back to my desk to sweat out the minutes until lunch.

  Mark and Co. were about five minutes late, but Lorna’s annoyance evaporated when she saw Carrie running down the hall, pretty in a pink dress, patent leather shoes and a purple cowboy hat. Never let it be said the DeLaureo girls didn’t know how to accessorize. “There she is!” Lorna cooed, and caught her daughter as she hurled herself at her mother’s legs. “How’s my sweetheart today?”

  “Energetic,” Lorna’s mother said wryly as she sat down in her daughter’s chair with a sigh. Mark carried up the rear, and plopped a red velvet cream cheese cupcake down on Lorna’s desk with a little flourish.

  “Aww, honey, you didn’t have to get me that.”

  “It’s from Eric,” he said, and I loved him so much in that moment.

  Lorna turned to look at me. I smiled hopefully. “Oh, stop it,” she sighed. “You’re forgiven. Just don’t be an idiot again.”

  “I wish I could promise that, but I’m pretty sure I’d be lying,” I said.

  The moment was broken by Carrie, who looked at me and shrieked, “Red!” She held her arms out toward me, and I took her with a grin.

  I had been Red since Carrie could speak, back when Eric was still a little too hard. It was an obvious nickname; my hair was the kind of bright red you usually only got out of a bottle. I was pale and freckled, broad-shouldered and lanky, and in another life, I’d probably been an Irish step dancer, because I had fast feet and a good sense of rhythm that didn’t come from either of my parents.

  Carrie bounced her shiny shoes off my hip and said a string of words that made no sense, but I nodded anyway. “You don’t say.”

  “Yes!”

  “Oh, you do! Well, that’s different then.”

  “No!”

  “No, it’s not?”

  “Are you arguing with a two-year-old?”

  I spun around and looked at Beau, standing in his open doorway with a little smile on his face. The PA in me took note of the faint silver stubble along his jaw, the fact that he was wearing his reading glasses despite hating the things, the lack of tie— all signs of fatigue. The admirer in me insisted that the stubble was sexy, the glasses were cute and losing the tie was a great first step. I reined in my unprofessional side and said, “I’m trying to agree with her, actually. She’s just being difficult.”

  “Canny,” Lorna corrected, peeling the paper away from her cupcake. “Carrie is canny. She might make a great lawyer someday.”

  “Oh yeah?” Carrie reached toward Beau, and he took her easily, making my heart flutter a little bit. Don’t get me wrong, babies weren’t really a thing with me; I didn’t have any little nieces or nephews of my own, and the only child I spent any time with at all was Carrie. But there was something about seeing how the tension in Beau’s broad shoulders eased as he looked at the beaming little girl that made me stupidly mushy.

  “What do you think, sweetheart?” Beau asked. “Do you want to be a lawyer someday?”

  Carrie considered for a moment, and then nodded decisively. “Yes! ’Cuz Mommy.”

  “Because then you’d get to spend all day with your mommy?”

  “Yes.”

  Beau chuckled. “Looks like you win, Lorna.”

  “Of course I win,” his former PA said tartly, coming over and taking Carrie back before she secured her grip around Beau’s glasses. “I’m Mommy. And right now, Mommy wants a real lunch, not just sugar, good as it is.” Mark was finishing off the rest of the cupcake, clearly more than happy to make sugar a big part of his lunch. “We’ve got reservations at Seastar, but you two are welcome to join us.”

  “Work,” Beau said, taking his glasses off and rubbing to soothe the indents on the bridge of his nose. “But feel free to go, Eric.”

  I suppressed a frown and said instead, “I’ve got plenty to do here. I’ll order something in for us.”

  “Fine. Mark, Gwendolyn—” Of course he remembered Lorna’s mother’s name. “Have a good day. I’ll see you both Saturday.”

  “Bee!” Carrie declared, and Beau smiled for her.

  “You too, sweetheart,” he told her. Lorna grabbed her jacket and purse, and the little family left, and Beau headed back into his office. I stopped him before he could close the door, though.

  “Quick question,” I said before I could lose my nerve. “On your schedule, I saw that you need a reservation for four on Friday. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” Uh-oh, single-syllable answers, that wasn’t a good sign.
Nevertheless, I forged ahead. Might as well go for broke while I had the chance.

  “Whose name should I put down for the reservation?” I smiled a little. “Are you seeing someone special?” It would be more than a little depressing if he was, but I still kind of hoped for it. Beau deserved to be with someone who could see how fantastic he was.

  “Leave it generic.”

  “But—”

  “Eric.” Beau stared straight at me from where he stood beside his desk, and I froze like a deer in the headlights. “Just do it, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” I shut the door behind me and exhaled slowly. Yikes. That was the voice of someone on his last nerve, someone doing his damndest to keep from yelling. Being Beau, of course it meant tacking a “please” onto the end of it, but that did nothing to soften the authority of his voice. I usually loved it when he got all authoritative, but today there was no humor to soften the blow, no pat on the back or clap on the shoulder. It was just Beau, impatient and tired, and me, too slow at doing my job. I was supposed to lessen his stress, not add to it. Chastened, I sat back down at my desk and got back to work.

  The reservations were easy, Beau was a regular patron of Canlis and it was one of the few restaurants in Seattle that his mother approved of, apparently. I worked steadily through his schedule for the next two weeks, noting his court appearances, the files that would have to be pulled for briefs, the prep time for meetings with opposing counsel… nothing else personal. Not a hint.

  “Eric?”

  “Huh?” I hadn’t even heard Beau come out of his office; I’d been too absorbed in my computer.

  “Where’s lunch?”

  “What?”

  “It’s been forty-five minutes. Lunch?”

  Shit, fuck, goddamn son of a bitch motherfucker. “I’m so sorry,” I said slowly, knowing my face was almost as red as my hair. I couldn’t lie to save my life, my tendency to flush at the first hint of discomfort gave me away every time. “I completely forgot to order it. I just got caught up with work. I’ll do it now.” I reached for the file folder of delivery menus, silently cursing myself.

  “Don’t bother.”

  “No, you need to eat,” I said resolutely, looking at the menus. “Is Italian okay?”

  “Eric.” All of a sudden, Beau’s hand was on my shoulder, the touch light enough that I wanted to push back into it, just to get more of the shivery sensation Beau’s hands always gave me. “It’s fine. Let’s go out, I need a break from the office anyway.”

  “You want… me to go with you?” I clarified.

  “I don’t want to go out to eat on my own.”

  “Just checking,” I said with a sigh of relief. “Thanks. Just let me shut this off…”

  “I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes,” he said, heading back into his office. I watched him go, feeling a little whiplashed by his mercurial mood today, but not about to object to being taken out to lunch by Beau.

  I beat him down to the lobby and waited on a bench near the front desk. The receptionist was named Amanda, and she had been one of the hopefuls a couple of years ago that Beau had given the boot. Needless to say, we weren’t friends.

  “Running some errands for your boss?” she asked me once she finished a call.

  “I’m not running anywhere—” I spread my arms out and gestured to myself. “—Obviously. I’m sitting. I like this bench.”

  “Picking something up, then?”

  “Nope.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Waiting for someone?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because if my secretary was wasting time sitting around in the lobby without a good reason, I’d definitely want to know about it,” Amanda mused. “Maybe I should let Mr. Montgomery know.”

  “Maybe you should,” I agreed. “Oh look, here he comes!” I waved as Beau got off the elevator. He’d put his jacket and tie back on, but left the jacket unbuttoned. The silver-gray suit was a shade or two darker than his hair, and looked amazing on him. Undone by bits and pieces, Beau still looked good, but when he put everything together, he was just edible.

  I smiled at Beau, and then turned back to Amanda. “Now’s your chance.”

  “Chance for what?” Beau asked.

  “Nothing, Mr. Montgomery,” she said so cheerfully that I almost couldn’t hear the sound of her molars grinding together.

  He looked at her for a long moment, then turned away. “Ready for lunch?”

  “I’m starving,” I assured him. We left the Bowman & Sons building and walked down to the closest seafood café. The lunch rush was over, so we got a table pretty fast, and our food a few minutes later. Beau got the chowder, of course; I don’t think he ever ordered anything different when we came here. I got a catfish po’ boy and we each had coffee, because this was Seattle and because, honestly, you could never have too much.

  I decided to open the gates, so to speak. “I’m sorry for prying earlier. That was rude.”

  “You were fine,” Beau said immediately. “You just caught me in a bad mood. I’d hoped this particular dinner tradition was over since my parents didn’t bother last year, but then my mother called me last night, convinced that she was dying and made her request.”

  I almost dropped the spoon I was using to stir in the cream. “Your mother is dying?” I choked. I knew Beau didn’t care much for his parents, but despite that, they were still his… his parents! I’d be a complete and utter wreck if my mother were dying.

  “No,” Beau said dryly. “Although I’m sure that’s the reaction she was hoping for. No, my mother is perfectly fine according to my sister, but she likes to use her supposed ill health as a means to make me do what she wants. In this case, to show her I won’t die a bachelor and deny her grandchildren for the rest of her miserable life.”

  “Uh.” Wow, awkward. “She knows you’re gay, though.”

  “Yes. She’s set on the idea of a surrogate. ‘Ah know some looovely young ladies who would be so honored to bear mah grandchild,’” he said, drawing out the high voice and a rolling southern accent. “Never let it be said that my mother can’t get her hands on what she wants.”

  I was caught between wanting to laugh at his impression and being straight-up horrified. “I’m sorry, wait… your mother is pimping potential baby mamas to you?” Because that was a level of invasive that was just wrong.

  “She’s determined to settle me down with a pack of infants, but in her world that means I have to be married first. Even if it means being married to a man. So she told me to bring someone to dinner, and give her the hope and strength to carry on with life.”

  Holy shit. “And she does this on a yearly basis?”

  “Usually right after her annual physical,” Beau said, taking a bite of chowder. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it, and I savored right along with him. It was nice to see him really enjoy something, to see the stress from this morning ease off a little. Beau always looked good, but when he was happy, his attractiveness went from “hell yeah” to “transcendental experience.”

  I cleared my throat and reached for my water. “So who are you taking, then? One of your friends?” I grinned suddenly. “Is it Jackson?” Being charming and tricking people seemed like just his kind of thing.

  “Jackson went with me six years ago, and after dinner made me swear never to put a friend through that again.” Beau shrugged. “Now I usually put an ad out on Craigslist. ‘Pretend to know me, put up with my parents, get a free gourmet dinner.’”

  Oh, that was just sad. “Doesn’t your mom see right through that?” I asked a little weakly.

  “Of course she does. That’s half the point.” He took another bite of chowder and I stared at him, dumbfounded, because no. Just no. Apart from the general lack of wisdom displayed by placing that kind of ad on Craigslist, of all places, it couldn’t be helping the state of the war between Beau and his parents. Bringing a stranger to a family dinner was a Maginot Line tactic: bold and satisfying in the moment, but in th
e long run all it was going to get you was outflanked.

  Yeah, I studied history in school. Does being a PA pay my loans off faster than tutoring or being a waiter or anything else you can do with a Bachelor’s in History? Why yes, yes it does. I still loved it, though.

  Back to Beau. “You can do better than that.”

  “Better than what?”

  “Better than suffering through a meal with your parents and a complete stranger!” I exclaimed. “Why should you put up with that just to please your mother? Why shouldn’t you actually take someone who cares about making you happy?”

  Beau smiled, just a little curve of his lips, but it was enough to make me smash my heel against my instep to keep my body from doing something stupid. “Richard went once too. We broke up about a month after that, actually. It’s just easier for me this way, Eric. I don’t mind it. I’m a dutiful son, if nothing else.”

  “You are scarily passive-aggressive with your parents,” I told him before I could hold it in.

  “Yeah, I know. I come by it honestly,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, I worry. I’m your personal assistant, I’m allowed to worry. What if you take a serial killer to have dinner with your parents? What if it’s all ‘I’ll have the liver and fava beans to go, and oh, this chianti is lovely!’ What then?”

  Beau gaped for a long moment before he broke down laughing. He laughed so hard his shoulders shook and he had to put down his spoon. I stared at his bright silver hair and the curve of his ear and the faint lines on his forehead, and felt somewhere between happy and hopeless. Goddamn Beau. Goddamn me for being able to make him laugh like that.

  “Jesus, Eric,” he sighed after he caught his breath. “Only you could make taking a serial killer to dinner seem like a good time.”

  “It’s supposed to be a scary example, not a funny one,” I chided, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll find you a date for Friday night. Someone vetted, not just some random dude from the creepy section of the Internet.”

  “I think you’re missing the part where this isn’t going to be a fun experience,” Beau reminded me. “I don’t want to put another friend through that.”