I mean, seriously?
I am not proud of what I do next.
It’s not my finest moment as I take the can of soda in my hand, glaring at him as I lift it, and empty its contents over his head, brown, bubbly liquid sugar rolling down his hair and face, dripping onto his look-at-me white shirt.
To his credit, he takes it like a man. Well, he takes it like a man with an audience of phone-wielding fans eager to capture the drama involving TV’s hottest new heartthrob.
He tightens his lips—the lips he kissed Serenity with while I thought he was out ring shopping—and asks, “Can we go somewhere to talk?”
With my heart in my shoes, I fight hard not to allow the tears threatening to spill over, because he doesn’t deserve my tears.
He doesn’t deserve my anything. Not anymore.
Instead, I lift my chin and puff out my chest, desperately trying to reclaim my shattered dignity. “I don’t think that’s necessary. As you said, you’ve moved on from me to Serenity, your Serious Bite costar,” I announce to the gathered crowd, who takes a satisfyingly shocked intake of breath at the declaration.
As I said, I’m not proud.
Anxiety tightens his jaw. “Harper,” he warns.
I’m not listening. “So, you enjoy Serenity and, since I’m not interested in a sister-wife situation, I’m gonna leave now. Goodbye, Dex.”
The crowd separates for me to pass through, like Moses parting the Red Sea, leaving them and their cellphones with a soda-drenched Dex, watching me leave.
Chapter 1
Christopher
~ 2 months later ~
I push through the glass doors and into the lobby, thankful to get out of the bitter New York cold. I nod a greeting at the security guard on my way to the elevators. The doors slide open with a ping when I reach the 24th floor, and I step into the empty, darkened offices of Anderson and Smith’s Manhattan offices.
As usual, I’m the first person to arrive in the Mergers and Acquisitions Department, just the way I like it. I’ve always been a morning person, one of those types who likes to catch the early worm before the birds make their first chirp of the day. So far this morning, I’ve been to the gym and got my eight miles under my belt for the day. Today was upper body weights. I like to alternate, lower body one day, arms the next, and one day dedicated solely to abs. That’s how I keep both my body and my brain sharp, ready for whatever life has to throw at me.
And as an M&A lawyer, it’s usually got a whole lot.
Except today I’m not first, and the company’s cockiest employee sits in his office, leaning back in his chair, his shoe-clad feet resting on the edge of his pretentious solid mahogany desk, his cell phone to his ear as he barks with laughter at something the person on the other end of the line is saying.
Wyatt Jefferson. He glances at me through the glass wall of his office and raises his eyebrows as he lifts his wrist, as if to question my tardiness.
I ignore his unspoken jibe, mainly because it’s misdirected, but also because I can’t stand the guy.
Two solid reasons in my book.
I make my way to my own office, where I hang my suit jacket over the back of my chair and place my laptop in its dock. No sooner have I settled in when Wyatt saunters in—without knocking—a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
So far, so every single day.
“You look rough, Young. Late night?” he asks, his lips curved in a smile.
We both know I look the same as I do every day. Looking good and dressing right is a matter of self-respect for me. As Mom always taught me and my kid sister, Kelly, you can have anything you want in life if you dress for it. Tidy, organized, ready to go. That’s me in a nutshell.
I’m not ashamed. I’m a man striving for bigger things. I’m not settling for second best. I want to make it to the top, and I’m willing to do what it takes to get there.
The option to fail is not on my agenda.
“What can I do for you, Jefferson?” I ask with a resigned sigh, as though he’s a naughty child I’m forced to tolerate.
Which isn’t too far off the mark.
He plucks the stapler from my desk. “Well, you could go get me a coffee, but I imagine you think that’s beneath you, what with you deluding yourself that you’re on the partner track.”
I am on the partner track. Junior partner, to be precise. The next stepping stone on my journey to full partner, right where I belong.
It’s what I’ve been working toward my whole life.
“Go get your own coffee, Jefferson,” I grind out before returning my attention to my screen. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Of course, he ignores me. He wouldn’t be Wyatt Jefferson if he did what I asked.
He places the stapler back on my desk in the wrong spot.
I try not to notice.
“Whatcha working on, Young? Let me guess. Your bid for the Fonica account. You’re gonna try to be all innovative and interesting for Doug, when we know who’s going to get that account.” He watches closely for my reaction.
I don’t give him the pleasure of one. Instead, I offer him an impassive look. “I’m working on a lot of projects right now, as I imagine you are.”
I pick up the stapler and return it to its correct spot.
Wyatt glances from me to it. “Wow. Michelle and Tanya are right.”
By mentioning two of our female colleagues, he’s trying to get my attention. But I don’t bite. I will not give him the satisfaction.
“As I said, I have a lot of work to do.”
“Do you want to know what they said to me, last night when we were having drinks?”
I may as well get this over with. He won’t leave until he’s delivered his message. I know the drill. We’ve been here before. “Tell me.”
“You, Christopher Young, are the most boring man alive.”
Yep, that’s Wyatt Jefferson, always ready with the pleasantries.
Really, he’s a great guy. Insert eye roll here.
I gesture at my screen. “That’s good to know, but I need to get on with this, if you don’t mind.”
Not that I care if he minds. Wyatt Jefferson is one of my least favorite people in the office. Scratch that, in the world. He thinks he can beat me at everything, from which law school he attended—Harvard, of course—to getting the next big account, and everything in between.
More specifically, he thinks he’s going to win the big Fonica account. Rumor has it Fonica, a horticulture company in Illinois, is struggling, ripe for a takeover. Anderson and Smith is looking to add Fonica to our multifaceted, multinational corporation.
It means a two-month stint in Chicago, and an almost guaranteed step up the ladder to junior partner. Doug Attfield, our boss, has all but promised it to me.
Personally, I can’t wait to see the look on Jefferson’s face when I get it.
He raises his hands in the surrender sign. “I’m only being friendly, pal. You’ve heard of that, right? Being friendly? You should try it sometime.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Friendly” is the very last thing he’s being to me right now.
“Maybe one of these days you might come for a drink with us instead of sitting in your little glass box, trying to keep up with me.”