“Must have been a bloody big disagreement,” William put in.
“Yes,” Michelle said, shrugging. “All I know is that he didn’t respond to the letter I sent about my parent’s accident, and I didn’t see him at the funeral.”
“I see.” William’s statement was full of understanding. Just listening to Michelle talk, he felt nearly overwhelmed with sadness. He’d had a similar burden in having to direct his own father’s funeral. The urge to help Michelle pulled on him stronger the more she spoke.
“You know...” the young woman said, quietly. “Even though he wasn’t around too much, I don’t think I have forgiven him completely for disappearing. If he’s still alive, I mean. How can you be so angry as to ignore your own brother’s funeral?”
“A grudge is an ugly thing, Michelle,” William remarked. “It can’t really be explained unless you know firsthand what happened. Your Uncle must have had his reasons.”
“True,” Michelle said, frowning. “It still hurts that my remaining family member is nowhere to be found.” William nodded.
“I agree with you there,” he said.
Looking up at William, Michelle grinned.
“Well, since I can’t hire Sam Spade to check you out, maybe you could tell me a little more about yourself.”
“Ask away, sweetheart,” William said, flashing her a grin.
“Alright... what made you reside stateside?”
“I interned at Brownstone & Peters’ London office after University. A position opened up here in an area I seem to have a knack for: corporate contracts, take-over bids, that kind of thing.”
“Ah,” Michelle said, smiling. “Modern-day legal piracy.” William gave her a side-long look and grinned.
“You’re not far off,” he told her. “I’ve been closeted away there for six years now; sometimes they let me out for meetings and things but mostly its just piles and piles of paperwork to look through.” Wanting to show an interest in his work, Michelle searched for something intelligent to say.
“So, you look for loopholes?” she suggested. “Trying to find anything that will get a better deal for your clients, right?” William seemed unenthusiastic about this entire subject, but he brightened visibly at Michelle’s comment.
“That’s right,” he said, smiling looking down at her. “Anything that improves the client’s chance is appreciated, but also I hash out the fine points, so to speak: which staff goes where, who gets the Axe, who stays at what salary and all the mundane, impossibly tedious details needed for today’s corporate take-over.” William closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead.
“You need a break, don’t you?” Michelle said, softly. William flashed a ‘Don’t Worry I’m Fine’ smile at her.
At the mention of vacation the notion of taking a long drive to Vermont together floated up in William’s mind; though the biting air made a picnic impossible, he suddenly wanted to know if Michelle would even consider going. Despite their rather recent acquaintance but seemed to be a strangely strong bond growing rapidly between them, more so than a mere physical attraction. He enjoyed every moment of their time together.
In William's mind, the hope of her becoming part of his life begged to be thoroughly investigated. Looking over at Michelle again, he decided to take the plunge.
“I do hope you’ll consider Mother’s offer, Michelle,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. “I could use a break and I wouldn’t mind at all if you came along with me to Vermont.”
“Wouldn’t mind?” Michelle thought, disappointed. So, he wouldn’t mind taking her... but did he want her to go?
“Of course, if you’d rather not, there’s no pressure,” William continued.
Something in his voice made Michelle pause her inward musing; a slow realization blossomed as analyzed his words and tone.
“He’s worried I’ll say no…” she thought; her eyes winded a little at the idea. For all William’s well-dressed, confidant demeanor Michelle saw that--like herself--he could fall victim uncertainty, even nervousness. The knowledge comforted her, somehow. Seeing a more human attribute in the man she walked with enabled trust gain a stronger foothold within her. Turning her head, Michelle looked up at William; his eyes regarded her expression intently. The marked uncertainly in his gaze surprised Michelle. Taking a deep breath, she mustered all her bravery.
“Would you like me to go with you?” she asked. “I mean, you… personally.”
For a few seconds it seemed to Michelle that her heart failed within her; she knew William wasn’t trying to be cruel with his pause but the moments appeared to stretch out longer with each passing second. Finally, he smiled; it was the quick, warm smile Michelle already admired.
“Is that why you hesitate?” he queried, his eyes twinkling. “You don’t think I wanted to take you with me?” He sounded merrily incredulous, as if he’d gained some imperative piece of information and was puzzled by it.
“Well, no one wants an obligatory guest...” Michelle began. At this, William laughed out loud; he ran a hand through his hair.
“Michelle Gregory,” he said, sounding vastly amused, “There is no one on this planet I would rather drive to Vermont with… or anywhere else, for that matter. Will you accompany me and--dare I say--put up with my questions?”
Michelle broke out in a smile; a look of relief crossed her face.
“I’d love to,” she said. “And for the record I like your questions.”
“Do you?” William asked, with a grin.
“You have such a pleasant voice,” Michelle explained, shyly. “I think you could get away with asking just about anything.” Biting her lip, she suddenly wished she hadn’t said the last bit.
“Really?” William said, lifting an eyebrow at her. “I’ll have to bear that in mind.” At this, the young woman retreated into the recesses of her umbrella.
Walking forward, Michelle wondered at the wisdom of agreeing to spend hours alone with William in his car, driving to another state. Certainly they were going to visit his kind mother and would be staying at her home, in separate rooms... but, still. Glancing sideways at her companion, she saw his confidence had fully returned; a content smile dressed his face as they strolled forward. They ambled in the rain for a few minutes in happy silence.
“Here we are,” William said, at last. Looking up, Michelle saw the edifice of an old fashioned, medium high-rise office building, clad in the familiar gray concrete and large, tinted windows. William led them under an awning, out of the way of the foot-traffic. “My offices are on the 23rd floor.”
“It’s impressive,” Michelle said, smiling up at him. They were standing only a foot apart, but it seemed like a comfortable amount of space. William grimaced.
“Sure, it is,” he said. His choice of words made Michelle wrinkle her nose.
“Oh, please don’t say it like that.” she said. Puzzled, William looked down at her.
“Say what... like what?” he asked, looking confused. Michelle laughed, softly.
“Sure. You can’t say it like an Englishman… it’s an American word.” William gave her a wry grin.
“Perhaps I should have said ‘surely’,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Uh... no,” Michelle said, clearing her throat. “You can say it, but you have to say it like a used car salesman. Like this, sheewrrr.” As the young woman intoned the word, William immediately imagined a man selling cars in some dusty lot. He laughed.
“Point made,” he said, licking his bottom lip quickly. “I would like to have your room number, if you don’t mind so I can call you about a date.”
Michelle smiled; her eyes were bright with mirth.
“A date? We’ve just had one.”
William leaned down, stopping just inches from her ear.
“We’ll have more, believe me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath warmed Michelle’s ear momentarily. She willed herself not to blush; she failed. William noted her rosy face wit
h satisfaction and drew away, a little. “A date for our trip, Michelle,” he explained, looking down at her eyes.
“Oh,” Michelle said, feeling stupid. “Right. Um... Room 203.” She was having trouble making complete sentences and mentally kicked herself. “It’s only hot air, for crying out loud!” she silently remanded herself.
Michelle let go of William’s arm and took a step back. “Won’t you be late for work?” she asked, slipping her hands into her coat pockets. Grinning knowingly at her, William took off one of his gloves; he reached up and tucked a stray piece of Michelle’s hair behind her ear. His fingers were very warm.
“Want me to call you a cab, Michelle?” he asked, stepping close to her again.
“Uh... no thank you,” his companion stammered. “I am a fairly accomplished walker. I feel like getting some… uh, exercise.”
Allowing himself a last look into her eyes, William nudged her arm softly with his elbow.
“Off with you, then,” he said, affectionately. “Or, I’ll not be getting any work done. You are far too... distracting.” He wanted to say desirable... exquisite; even those adjectives still didn’t cover it but she definitely distracted him. Not that he minded.
“Thank you for lunch, William,” Michelle said, nudging him back lightly.
“Anytime, Michelle,” he answered. “I will see you later.”
“Bye.”
Michelle forced herself to turn around and walk away; even her feet seemed to be saying: ‘Stay! Stay with the gorgeous man with blue eyes!’ Shivering with a whole host of foreign emotions, Michelle slowly made her way down the packed sidewalk in a sort of blissful trance. William wanted her to go with him to Vermont! He was flirting with her. Not too much, but definitely flirting. Warmed by these thoughts, Michelle walked on, enjoying the moment tremendously.
William watched her go; her face seemed alight with some purely innocent joy.
“If you only knew what I was thinking half the time, you’d run,” he thought, wryly. Would she? He wondered about her. Michelle flirted like a timid, little sparrow and seemed painfully naive to some of his suggestive remarks. Then again, he had been making her blush almost constantly. He silently admitted he liked doing that, most of all. Passing through the building’s revolving door, William walked to the familiar corporate elevators. Alone in the lift, he meditated on his date with Michelle; she was not far from his mind at any time of the day or night lately.
As he stood in the elevator, William wondered of Michelle’s serene exterior harbored an entire, inward bottle of passion hidden away for later use; he longed to find out. Even being near her sometimes made it necessary to clench his jaw and think of something unpleasant to avoid certain discomforts... especially when she smiled.
“Dammed unprofessional,” William muttered; he missed Michelle already. “Room 203,” he said. Just knowing her room number brought him comfort.
The doors of the elevator swept open, revealing the receptionist’s desk. The middle-aged woman behind it was a rather irritable sort, with stiff, bleached hair and a matching personality.
“Mr. Peters and Mr. Johnson want all the department heads in the main conference room,” she snapped. From her sour attitude, William guessed the woman had missed lunch. Nodding, he changed direction towards the executive hall.
“Ah... William,” Mr. Johnson called out to him as he entered the large room. “Take a seat.” William did and fixed his employer with an unemotional stare.
Though large, the main conference room was little more than a box with a table in it. Besides the whimsical, antique windows, whoever decorated this place had no imagination whatsoever. The short, portly man before him sat at the head of a long, polished table that had been painted black; it always made William wince when he saw it. What a waste of perfectly good wood to simply paint over it.
“Peters will be a minute.” Mr. Johnson was speaking again; he drummed his fleshy fingers on the table in a bored fashion. “I hear you’ve been finishing up the Morton-Viece thing.”
“I have, sir,” William responded. Mr. Johnson attempted a smile; the result was a lopsided sneer. William wished the man could see himself; he looked like a clown that had suffered a stroke.
“Great, great... I hadn’t heard about it for awhile until today; some junior associate said you were handling it,” the man droned on. “So, been on vacation lately?” William resisted rolling his eyes. He detested small talk, especially before meetings, but this obvious, vague drivel was intolerable. Honestly, how did the man become a lawyer? William kept his thoughts to himself as the man rambled on about going fishing in Virginia. It occurred to William that he didn’t really know what Mr. Johnson did at the firm.
“Sir?” William interrupted. “I will be taking next weekend off; I’ll bear fishing in mind. I do have a few hundred pages of the Morton-Viece merger to go through today.”
Mr. Johnson nodded.
“Oh... yeah. How’s it going?” he inquired said.
“Well, right now... it’s not,” William responded, managing to keep his face straight. “I am sitting here.”
“Oh, right... uh... great,” Mr. Johnson said, with little effort. “Here’s Peters.”
William turned to see the senior partner walk through the door, followed by several of the junior partners. Despite his poor choice in part choice in business partners, William had some respect for Mr. Peters. The man was a brilliant litigator who’d used his turn-the-screws-on-witnesses approach towards merger deals, ending up with a few devoted clients and an international company. The man’s original partner, the respected A. M. Brownstone had died some years ago; heart attacks were common among lawyers. It was rumored Peters took on Johnson as a silent partner merely for some additional capital.
“Alright, sit,” Peters boomed out, his forehead lined in a permanent scowl. “As you know the rumors are true about the upcoming Warthall-Poller venture; they want us to negotiate the same deal as Morton-Viece but they want 2/3 of the staff gone. Montgomery...”
“Sir,” William looked his boss square in the eye, over the long expanse of the table.
“Hammer out the final details on Morton-Viece and courier it over before end of business today. Copies on my desk by four,” the man barked.
“Yes, sir,” William said, his face blank. Mr. Peters was not angry; he snapped at everyone, even on good days. The firm’s senior partner doled out a few more jobs and was about to adjourn the meeting when the newest junior partner spoke up. William couldn’t remember his name.
“What about the rumors of Felix Maclane...” the young man said, nervously; he hushed up as he encountered Mr. Peters’ expression. The boss gave the man such an icy glare that William wondered if his boss was going to leap over the table and throttle the inquirer.
“That son-of-a-bitch won’t trouble us,” Peters said, stiffly. “Sometimes rumors are just rumors. Brownstone built this company; I’ve worked here since I was twenty. It’s mine now and no one’s taking it from me.”
William sat forward, interested; he looked over at Johnson. The man shuffled papers aimlessly, looking at the table. Mr. Peters promptly ended the meeting and the partners scattered.
Catching up with the man who’d spoken up in the meeting, William introduced himself.
“Caleb Grenell,” the man said, shaking William’s hand.
“What was all that business about Felix Maclane?” William asked as they passed a water cooler. “Is he a new client?” The junior partner’s eyes bulged a little.
“You don’t know?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “Felix-Maclane Inc. is a legal firm, like this one, only bigger, with more offices and more clients...”
“I get the idea,” William interrupted. “I’ve been buried in my office the last six years with my nose in one contract after another. Sometimes I miss the news.”
“I guess...” Grenell said, getting a cup of water. “They’ve made a name for themselves lately by taking over legal firms and firing nearly everyon
e. Three already, just this year; they hostilely takeover corporate takeover specialists.”
“Sounds like poetic justice,” William mused aloud, looking at the nearby window. “Peters seemed unnerved at the mere mention of them.”
“He should be,” Grenell said, with conviction. William looked back at him, interested. Grenell continued; “My brother works for our accounting firm and he says our revenue has dropped dramatically since Brownstone kicked the bucket. If Felix-Maclane takes over, they’ll downsize to bare-bones… we’ll all need new jobs.” Grenell nodded at William and hurried off down the hall. William walked to his own office, deep in thought.
Reaching his corridor, he glanced at Mabel, his middle-aged secretary; she nodded at him over her typing.
“Two courier deliveries for you, Mr. Montgomery,” she quipped, inclining her head slightly towards the IN box.
“Thank you Mabel,” William said, picking them up; he scrutinized the labels and grimaced. More changes to the merger contract. “I’ll need the courier service in the lobby by three o’clock; the final contract will be ready to send over by then, if I can just get it done. See that I’m not disturbed.”
“Yes sir,” Mabel answered automatically, still typing. Pushing open his office door, William closed it swiftly behind him. Walking over to the windows, he opened the blinds and watched the rain drizzle down for a moment; he puts his hands in his pockets.
A bit of sharply-folded paper poked his finger; he drew out the little origami bird Michelle had made. It looked a little crinkled but still graceful. Smiling, William turned it over; just thinking about Michelle brightened his mood. Walking to his desk, William moved a stack of papers and placed the bird down right where he could see it. Filling his coffee cup, he sat down resolutely to work, pausing now and then to look at the little bird and smile.
Draw Me A Picture Page 9