Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Mike begins to argue, but Ed cuts him off. “Is that true? I need to have a listen. I don’t need to tell you Michael—that can damn your entire case. I’ll make the determination.”
Mike shrinks back in his chair, wounded, because we all know Tenley is right.
Maddeningly, she’s always right.
A stony silence settles in. I decide to break it.
“What, your caseload too light, Bayliss?” I ask. “You have to go sticking your nose in other people’s business? Listening to their tapes?”
Around the room, a couple of people smile slyly at me, indicating they were thinking the same thing. I kind of feel bad for it, but that’s what she gets for chiming in on other people’s caseloads without being asked.
She shoots me a stiff look, and for a second, I see a bit of red creeping out of her ruffled, high, puritan collar.
“I care about the kid. I don’t want him to suffer from the scars of an absent father because of something his idiot attorney did.” Tenley leans back, arms crossed, ignoring the laser-beam glare Mike’s giving her.
Shots fired…
But that’s fine. The more unlikeable she is to fellow associates, the more I can taste that partnership.
That taste disappears from my tongue the instant I glance at Ed, who’s beaming at her with the kind of the adoration an owner would show their beloved golden retriever.
Shit.
I don’t let it rattle me though. She might be hard-nosed and gritty, a true shark, but she’s damned unlikable. That could cost us clients. She is not an asset to the firm. Not the way I am. Everyone loves me, and I mean everyone. Plus, I know her type. Ambitious to a fault. I’m the same. But I also know that people use their ambition as a mask to hide what’s going on underneath.
Despite it all, I’ve often wondered what I’d find if I peeled back her layers.
The meeting wraps a short while later. I head out and find Kenzie hanging at my office door.
“Hey, Kenz.” I aim to be friendly, but not overly so. The girl’s looking like she wants to make a meal out of me, but I don’t mix business and pleasure. Not in real life. And especially not when a promotion’s on the line.
“Hey, Brooks! Just wanted to see if you’d like me to order you lunch? I have the menu for that place on the corner that has those paninis you like.” She waves it in front of me.
Kenzie is an intern, three weeks now. She’ll be in her last year at U of M this year. Interns do things like make copies and compile briefs. One thing that’s not on their list of duties is ordering associates their lunch.
I guess I’m special.
“You’re the best. I’ll take the bacon club. And one of those strawberry smoothies you got me last time.” I reach into my wallet and hand her two twenties. “Get yourself something, too.”
She giggles and goes on her merry way.
As she leaves, I see Tenley thundering by, shooting me another one of her hellfire looks.
Whatever she’s thinking, she’s got it wrong.
I would never hook up with an intern—though I can’t lie, I’ve been tempted before and the only one seeing the inside of my bedroom on a regular basis these days is my housekeeper—every other Wednesday. Kenzie smiling at me is probably the most action I’ve gotten in months. Even if it sparks my dirty mind, I’d never make a move. I’m always careful not to be too nice, to stick within the boundaries of propriety.
Tenley could learn a thing or two from me.
But will she? Hell no.
She’ll go on sticking her head everywhere it doesn’t belong and I won’t see her for the rest of the day, until I walk past her office at quitting time and find her hunched over her desk surrounded by thick stacks of files.
The rest of the day flies by because there’s too much to do. Just as I expected, I don’t see Tenley until closing time, when the only people left on the floor are the cleaning staff. I wave goodbye to Marty, the janitor, as he comes into my office to empty my trash.
“Take care,” I say, grabbing my jacket off the hook behind my door.
“Hey, Brooksy, my man, you see the game last night?”
“Oh, yeah, team’s looking real good. I think the Sox have it in them to go all the way this year,” I say. I’ve never been that into baseball and I didn’t watch the game because I was elbows-deep in a divorce briefing, but I heard enough commentary on the radio on the way into Portland, so I can hold a conversation.
These are exactly the kind of skills that make me an asset around here.
Unlike Tenley Bayliss.
If someone asked her about baseball, she’d probably look at them like they had red horns growing out of their forehead.