TEN 

ESSIE

The Mendel, Goldstein and Hofstadter law offices take up the whole twelfth floor of the Holbrook Building. None of the admins have their own office. The main space is a large room where our cubicles and desks are set up. Each lawyer’s assistant has the desk closest to her lawyer’s door, while we legal secretaries are grouped toward the middle of the room. I’m the closest to the entrance, which means I also play sometime receptionist, too.

I’m sitting at my desk, going over the dossier I’ve prepped and plan to show Aidan Callahan—when and if he gets back to me. I keep checking my email, but no response yet. To anyone walking by, it would appear that I’m very busy, very engrossed in the papers I have before me. I’m sure it appears this way to Brandon Lukeman, one of our clients who’s just stepped out of the elevator.

He stands there with his hands in his pockets, alternating glances between me and his feet. He clears his throat. I look up.

“Hi, Brandon,” I say. At the acknowledgement, he comes right over to my desk. I close the file folder and slide it into a drawer. “How are you this morning?”

Brandon’s a client hiring one of our a junior associates on a limited assistance basis. He kind of reminds me of Vaughn, both in looks and demeanor. I don’t know if he’s picked up on this or not—maybe I’ve smiled once or twice too often at him—but I think over the past few weeks he’s developed a crush on me.

“Hey, Ess,” he says. “I’ve got a meeting with Alicia. I’m a little early, though.”

“I’ll let her know you’re here. You can have a seat if you want.”

He smiles but doesn’t make any move to go sit down.

“Are you holding up okay?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It’s not easy. I just want to do what’s best for Trish, but Lindsay’s making that really difficult. I don’t want to have to do any of this, but she’s on the war path.”

Trish is his five-year-old daughter. I nod sympathetically. Most of our clients here are corporate, but Alicia Barrett also handles family law. I see my fair share of divorces and child custody cases. No way will I ever get married. No way will I ever have children with someone. There’s just way too much risk, way too much that could go wrong.

Brandon got burned so badly by his ex, it’s a wonder he’s not sworn off women for life. “Hey. I’m really sorry,” I tell him. And I mean it. He’s a good guy.

“Thanks, sweetheart. I really appreciate how nice you’ve been.” His face is starting to get red. “Actually…I know this probably isn’t the time or the place, but…I was wondering if you might like to go out and get coffee some time?” He says this last part in a rush, his eyes glued to his feet.

Before I can answer, Alicia appears in her office doorway, eyes quickly scanning between the two of us. “Hey, Brandon. Ready when you are, okay?” She shoots me a warning glance—keep your hands to yourself, Floyd—and then vanishes back into her office.

Brandon knows him leaning into my cubicle, flirting horrendously has just scored me a black mark with Alicia. He winces, straightening up and pulling his suit jacket down. “Sorry, sweetheart. Like I said. Wrong time, wrong place, I guess.” He doesn’t push for an answer from me. He’s even redder than before, even more embarrassed. Poor guy. I should just put him out of his misery and tell him I don’t think it would be appropriate, given the dynamic between us. That’s exactly what Alicia’s going to tell me when she comes by to ream me out later on, after all. Brandon must be able to sense it coming, though; he backs toward Alicia’s office, holding his hands up.

“Don’t break my heart just yet, Ess. Maybe wait ‘til after I find out how much I’m losing in the divorce first.” He winks, and then he’s gone.

Maybe in another life, buddy. 

I’m about to get my Callahan dossier out again, but instead I decide to check my email. My heart speeds up when I see Aidan’s finally written me back.

I take a deep breath before I open the message. I suddenly find I’m doubting myself. What the hell am I going to do if this works? What the hell am I going to do if it doesn’t? What’s my life going to look like when I don’t have a purpose?

 I sit there and read the message from Aidan several times.

Essie, 

Thank you for your due diligence. I’d be very pleased if you could bring the documents by for me to sign. Three years is a long time to have paperwork incomplete. 

I will be free tomorrow afternoon, should this suit you. 

Regards, 

A. Callahan. 

I’m a little surprised that he agreed to meet so readily. But then again, why wouldn’t he? It’s a totally plausible reason for me to request a meeting. And even if he had his suspicions and wanted to check up on me, all he’d need to do is call Goldstein and he’d tell him yes, I do work here. It’s not too far of a stretch of the imagination that I would have found some erroneous files and needed them checking off. My boss would potentially be irritated that I hadn’t handed them straight over to him, but it wouldn’t raise any red flags.

Still, I don’t tell anyone I’m meeting Callahan. The girls that work at Mendel, Goldstein & Hofstadter would freak out if they knew. Everyone with a heartbeat and a vaguely functional uterus is totally in love with the guy. And I get it—he’s a billionaire, he’s the boss, and he’s gorgeous. Many of the girls gush about how generous he is, how he doesn’t just see through people but acts like he actually gives a shit. None of that matters to me. He could be Mahatma Gandhi and I wouldn’t care. Wouldn’t deviate. Wouldn’t change my mind about him. To me, he’s still the devil incarnate.

I hit reply and write a message back.

Noon is good. I’ll see you then. 

I hit send then sit there for a few minutes, thinking. It’s happening. The ball is rolling. This is for you, Vaughn, I think.

******

I leave at lunchtime and go meet Julia at a little café near the yoga studio she teaches at. I think Julia and I are friends because we’re opposites in every way imaginable. She’s tall and blonde. She’s about the kindest person you could ever meet, and she believes in the ultimate power of forgiveness. Somehow, our relationship works, though. It has for the past four years.

Julia’s already inside with a mug of herbal tea. She’s wearing her yoga pants and a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt—the poster child of good health and well-being. Next to her, I have no doubt that I look pinched and uptight.

“What’s going on with you?” she says after I sit down with my cup of coffee. “You look very excited about something.”

I take a sip of my coffee, which I drink black. I don’t particularly like the taste of it, but it keeps me on edge. I need that. “Nope. No excitement here. I’m exhausted,” I lie.

“You really should work less. Come to one of my classes this weekend. The gentle stretching class, even. You’d be amazed how much better you’ll feel.” She leans forward and scrutinizes my face. “But you’re lying to me. You are excited about something, Ess. You meet someone?” Her eyes light up. She’s been number one cheerleader when it comes to the idea of me in a stable, long-term relationship, and not participating in one night stands or friend-with-benefits situations.

“No. I haven’t met anyone.”

“Well…what then? I have a hunch. Don’t feed me another line, or I’ll mess up your chakras even more.” Thing is, Julia’s hunches are never wrong. We both know it. I don’t want to tell her about Aidan, though. Not yet, anyway. Probably not ever—I know how much she’ll disapprove. She’ll beg me to come to her yoga classes or get a Reiki treatment. Have me signing up for one of those remote weeklong retreats, where you’re meant to concentrate on healing every single hurt you’ve ever had.