“I can’t. I’m in depositions on Wednesday and Thursday at the Federal Building.”
I take a deep breath. What I’m thinking about is going to put me in jail for wringing her neck if I’m not careful. “Tuesday at Waterfront Café. I’ll reserve the private room so there are no issues with being interrupted.”
She sighs. “I’ll meet you there at twelve thirty.”
“Make it one,” I counter. I’m in charge. Not her.
She smiles. “I’d better hear from Elena that the FBI is gone, or you’ll be dining alone on Tuesday.”
“I’ll see you on Tuesday. Don’t be late.”
She huffs and stomps out the door. I can still smell the cinnamon and citrus left in her wake.
I take a drink of my scotch. Am I really considering asking her to pose as my girlfriend, fiancée, and wife? I never saw the last two as options for me, but it would be easier to have the public buy that we’re childhood sweethearts who’ve reunited than to hook up with some social-climbing fetish woman who will burn me and my political aspirations in the end.
I mean, sure, Marci hates me. But we can overcome that in negotiations, right? This could benefit us both. What could go wrong?
Chapter 3
Marcella
When I wake up Monday morning, I’m still tired. Walker’s so fucking exhausting. He makes everything hard; it wears me out.
After all these years, he still sets my body on fire, though. It’s that look he has—he tilts his head down and looks up through his lashes with those green eyes and a half-smile.
But I can’t let myself go down that rabbit hole. I’ve obsessed over him for too much of my life. I need to find someone good for me, who respects me.
At least the FBI is out of Elena’s life now. She makes me earn every penny.
I settle in at my desk, and the day proceeds to move at warp speed. I’ve put out the Elena fire, so now I need to catch up on all the things I shifted to the back burner. Tomorrow, my firm will announce partner distributions for the last quarter. I had two significant cases close last month, and we collected $2.5 million for my work. My billables have been twice that of the rest of the partners all year, and last quarter they promised to make it up to me when they paid me half of what I was expecting. I’m going to stand my ground this quarter.
After spending most of my day navigating an unlawful FBI wiretap, I’m ready for a break. I peruse the internet and look at dream vacations. Fiji? The Great Barrier Reef in Australia? The Northern Lights in Iceland? The Taj Mahal and tea fields in India? Any of them sound fantastic, but how can I take the time off to enjoy? These trips deserve more than two weeks, and I can barely take one.
My desk phone buzzes. It’s Greg, the managing partner for the firm.
“Hey, Greg, what’s up?”
“Do you have time to come down to my office?” he asks.
I look at the clock. It’s five twenty, and he’ll be out the door before six. It must be nice.
“Sure, let me close a few things on my computer and I’ll be right there.”
As I walk down the hall to Greg’s office, the associates are all working away, but most of the other partners’ offices are dark. These guys live well off of my work.
As the managing partner, Greg has a beautiful corner office far away from the riffraff and the craziness of people coming and going. I sit close to the front desk, so it’s not as palatial, but I’m always running here and there, so it suits me. Plus, I like being close to the associates. If they have questions or need my help, I’m here.
Greg’s on his phone with his back to the door. I knock on his doorframe and wait.
He looks up and waves me in, pointing me to the chair opposite his desk. I suspect he’s having a problem with one of his clients, and I pray it isn’t something I need to beg a request from Walker for. My firm knows I have a contact in the US Attorney’s office, but they think it’s one of the more influential assistant US attorneys. They’d go crazy if they knew I grew up in the same house as Walker Clifton. That’s my secret.
I sit down across the table from Greg. He’s a nice-enough guy. The way he acts tells me he was never the popular guy in school, so he really gets off on the managing-partner role. Basically, he’s the president of our firm. He’s responsible for managing the day-to-day operations of the firm. But there are twelve partners and governing by group consensus can be difficult. Also, he’s managing partner at their discretion, so he tells everyone what they want to hear, which isn’t always the same message. Honestly, he’s a bit of a tool. But he puts up with a lot of crap from some of the other partners, and I’m grateful for all he does to keep me shielded from the internal politics.
He hangs up the phone, clasps his hands in front of him, and smiles. I sit forward, anxious to hash out his client’s legal problem.
“As you know, tomorrow we’re announcing the payout for partners,” he begins.
I’ve had it marked on my calendar for weeks. I always put most of it away. But I try to do something special for my mom. I bought her a car a few years ago, and we had a great vacation to her childhood home, which is between Milan and the Swiss border in Italy. My dad had promised he’d take her, but a robbery gone bad took him from her too young. I want to do something fun and warm to get away this winter.
“Yes, I’m aware of that. It was a good quarter for the firm,” I confirm.
He nods and looks down, picking at his manicured hand, and I realize he’s going to tell me something I don’t want to hear. He’s talking to me at the end of the day rather than risking an explosion tomorrow morning in front of the associates.
“You had an extremely profitable quarter,” he notes.
“I’ve billed twice as much as all partners and senior staff combined.”
“Yeah, I see that.” He sits back in his chair and looks me over carefully. “You are very valuable to this firm. Your quarterly bonus will be just over three hundred thousand.”
I take a deep breath. That’s considerably less than I expected. I watch the firm’s collections closely, and I know which of my clients haven’t paid and when they do on most days. I know what I billed last month, and it was eight times three hundred thousand. Most firms would pay a partner half of what they bill and collect.
“Last quarter you underpaid me, and you promised to make it up to me this quarter.”
He shrugs. “Times have been tight, and sometimes as partners, our job is to support others. When your numbers are down, they’ll be supporting you.”
“It’s not six yet, and they’ve all gone home. I have enough work to be here all night. Why aren’t they here working if things are so difficult?”
“Marci, you know that sometimes getting work means getting out of the office and meeting with people. It doesn’t just walk in the door.”
It does if you build good-enough relationships that clients keep coming back and refer all their friends. Then something occurs to me. “What is Lance King’s quarterly bonus for Q-three?”
Greg’s eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly hides it.
“I’m a partner, and I’ll be able to see it in our financials,” I remind him.