Terms of Agreement

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Charlotte

T oo warm. It was too warm. I groaned, shifting my head out of the beam of sunlight only for my neck to scream in protest. Bringing a hand up, I rubbed small circles into my neck in an attempt to ease the pain and tried to reposition myself, only to become aware of the distinct lack of comfort—the lack of pillows.

Eyes snapping open, I took in my surroundings, eyes falling on the empty wineglass and virtually untouched wedge of brie. This was not my bedroom.

The last thing I could remember was reading that Cameron had finally confessed his true feelings for Daphne. A moment that, I’m not ashamed to admit, had elicited a shrill squeal of joy as I hugged the paperback to my chest.

‘Crap,’ I croaked, grabbing for my phone that had fallen into the armchair’s deep seams. My eyes widened, zeroing in on the time on the phone’s display. ‘Oh crap! Oh Crap! Ooooh CRAP!’ I’d overslept. I never overslept. In my thirty-one years of existence, the only time I’d ever overslept had been in the years before I’d grasped the concept of time and a schedule.

Heart racing, my mind whirred with the possible implications of this blunder on the day’s to-do list. I launched myself out of the armchair, ignoring the shooting pain that radiated from my lower back.

Bolting across the hallway and into the bedroom, I ran at my closet, yanking one of my work dresses from its hanger and shoving my head through the neck as I scurried to the bathroom. Ordinarily, I preferred to shower before going into the office, particularly on those days where I’d be meeting with clients, but there wasn’t time.

I winced at my reflection. My hair looked as if Oscar had spent the entire night needling it into the perfect nest, and the dark circles under my eyes seemed to have taken on an even deeper shade of purple. I poked at the skin under my eyes, muttering to myself until, with a frustrated whimper, I flicked off the brighter of the bathroom’s lights, giving myself a small reprieve from the overhead’s brutal honesty.

Hurrying through my skincare routine, I reduced the normal ritual to a two-step race. A quick glance at my wristwatch informed me that to floss would be to grant myself, and my gums, a luxury that I simply could not afford. With a last glance at the bluish purple that no amounts of concealer could hide and even the bathroom’s softer light couldn’t forgive, I let out a dejected moan and marched out of the bathroom.

Grabbing my briefcase from where it had fallen to the floor the night before, I scrambled into my work pumps, suddenly thankful that past-Charlotte hadn’t got around to tidying everything away and into its proper, less accessible, place. I gave the apartment a final once over, checking the pockets of my briefcase to ensure that I had everything that I might need. My gaze halted on the coffee machine. My silver travel cup was set to one side of the sleek machine, all lined up and begging to be filled.

With a pitiful sigh, I backed out of the apartment, shutting the front door behind me—no time for coffee.

***

The morning passed in a blur. I’d spent the forty-two-minute commute reorganising my to-do list like a depressing sort of Rubik’s cube until at last all of the sides lined up. I’d all but sprinted to the office, slowing to a brisk walk only when the obsidian-coloured building was within sight.

‘Don’t let anyone see that you’re flustered,’ I’d whispered to myself, trying to steady my breathing. ‘If you’re late, it’s because you planned to be.’ I checked my wristwatch: 09:53. Not awful. I could still make my 10:20 call as planned.

Arriving on the fourth floor, I made my way over to where the corporate team sat, an area less than affectionately called ‘the pit,’ scanning the floor for any empty desks. I typically favoured the desks that fell on the periphery of the team’s allocated block; my favourite spot was a desk right at the end of the floor, nearest to the windows. Those desks were all occupied now, their occupants basking in the soft glow of sunlight that struggled to fight through the bleak grey of the skies outside.

I hadn’t expected any of those seats to be vacant, had assured myself that they couldn’t be, but the rubber band that had settled firmly across my chest when I’d first passed through the buildings revolving doors now tightened uncomfortably as I made my way towards one of the few empty desks in the middle of the floor.

Dropping my bag into an empty seat, I spun on my heel and wove my way back through the desks, fishing my key card from my wallet as I walked. I ignored the looks I felt on my back and pushed through a door and into the ladies’ bathroom. Slipping into an unoccupied stall, I rested my back against the door and let out a shaky breath, my palms fisted at my sides.

‘It’s okay. It’s okay,’ I whispered, bringing up a hand to rub small circles against my chest in an attempt to loosen the band that had become painfully tight. ‘You’re fine,’ I continued, looking up to the ceiling and blinking back the moisture in my eyes. ‘You’re fine. You didn’t miss anything.’ Not entirely true, I’d missed the monthly team call, but I’d hoped that my absence would have been unnoticed in a team of over seventy.

‘You didn’t miss anything important ,’ I amended, staring fixedly at the grey plasterboard overhead. ‘You reorganised the day. Everything still fits.’ I pushed my palm more firmly into my breastbone and against that elastic band within. ‘You’ll get it all done.’ Releasing a shaky breath, I closed my eyes, my head nodding in gentle agreement as I focused on my breathing. In for three, hold for five, out for seven.

I was back at my desk in time to join the client call, which went as well as it could have. The rest of the morning had raced by and consisted largely of my dashing from one meeting to another, and it was only when I heard a soft rapping on the partitioning of the cubicle that I’d looked up from my monitor.

‘Jessica, time already?’

‘Sorry,’ the fresh-faced trainee nodded, abashed. ‘We can reschedule if you’re too busy?’

I leaned back into the stiff office chair, smiling at the hint of hope hidden beneath Jessica’s words. ‘No,’ I shook my head, dragging the cursor over the unfinished disclosure letter and to the ‘save’ icon. ‘This is important.’

Locking my computer, I stood and plastered on what I hoped would read as a convincing smile. I gestured for her to lead the way to the firm’s canteen and the abominable coffee that awaited us.

These coffees were something I’d done ever since I’d first qualified and even now I made a point of having them with the rotating list of trainees. It was an easy way to make introductions and answer any potential questions the trainees could have. Everyone considered this form of unofficial mentorship a sound investment into the firm’s future footmen, so it was highly encouraged amongst the junior to mid-level lawyers. Karl’s stone-faced look of disapproval floated near the edges of my thoughts, and I let out a small, frustrated sigh. Maybe not everyone.

‘So,’ I said, taking a seat across from the fresh-faced trainee, ‘how are you enjoying your training contract? You mentioned that this was your third seat? How are you finding it?’

Jessica, it turned out, was from Leeds and had fallen into law with heroic ambitions that were thoroughly quashed by the realities of a capitalistic society. She was quick to smile and her blunt bobbed bounced as she laughed disparagingly the naiveté of her youth.

‘It feels a bit like starting the first day of school every time we move teams,’ Jessica confessed over her tea.

‘That’s true,’ I said, pausing to take a sip of my too-warm and too-blonde coffee. ‘I know how tough that can be; switching teams every few months. Like, work aside, every team operates differently and has different expectations of their trainees. You feel like you’ve just figured it out and settled into some sort of rhythm, only to be moved to your next seat and start all over again.’

‘Exactly!’

Later, in the elevator on our way back up to our floor, I encouraged Jessica to reach out if she ever had questions or needed any help understanding any of the work that was sure to be asked of her.

‘Seriously,’ I pressed, walking her back to her desk, ‘just drop me a message or put another coffee in my diary. I’m always around.’ Turning away, I felt my smile dim. Dim but not fall, as I made my way back towards my desk, pulling up my phone’s calendar as I walked.

The coffee had been my last meeting scheduled for the day, which meant that I was now finally free to get down to doing the work I’d been discussing all morning.

I sat down at my desk and pulled the unfinished disclosure letter back up and got to work, praying that no one would look for me until tomorrow.

***

I’d managed to work steadily for the next several hours; responding to emails, drafting NDAs, fielding any incoming client questions, managing the data room, nothing new or challenging. All time consuming.

At six o’clock, my attention was brought away from the screen by a group of junior lawyers saying their goodbyes and making their way towards the elevator and, if I were to hazard a guess, The White Horse —two streets over. I rubbed my eyes tiredly, careful to avoid smudging what remained of my makeup, and took in my surroundings.

The pit had emptied while I’d been busy, leaving only a scattered handful of people across the floor. I scanned the small cluster of partners and associates who’d clustered together among the graveyard of desks. I could tell from the way they were standing, grouped around one of the senior associate’s desks, engaging in casual conversation while casting furtive glances at his monitor, that they were probably waiting for sign off from the client.

Waiting around on deal day was one of my least favourite things, being forced to wait in a suspended state of animation, the deal moving neither forwards nor backwards until a single email came through. Fully grown adults arrested in time, only to be freed by the ‘ping’ of an email that would arrive—or not arrive—in due course.

Rather them than me. I turned back to my screen and the list of tasks still outstanding. I could power through… but a ripple of uneasiness swirled beneath my skin at the thought of asking Ms Au to check in on Oscar two nights in a row.

With a resigned sigh, I moved the tasks in my calendar to the next day, deciding that I would come in early rather than stay late. A small, sharp nod confirmed my decision. I powered off my laptop, my mouth kicking up into a wry smile as I glanced toward the windows. At least if I came in early tomorrow, I’d get my seat back.

A quick peek at the clock told me it was probably too late to stop for groceries on the way home, which meant I’d need to order in if I planned to eat—I wasn’t about to chance the contents of my refrigerator again.

***

As the elevator doors closed, a hand shot forward to halt them. My gaze hardened and my stomach clenched in discomfort at the sight of that outstretched hand, it’s too short fingernails and gold signet ring enough to indicate what the next few minutes of my life would look like.

Benjamin Burrows was five-nine, with tawny blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and a perfect smile. He could have modelled for stock photos, the kind they put on brochures and textbooks. He had the quickest and loudest laugh in any room, and he sauntered through life with an unearned confidence that was particular to white men—handsome white men. He was the type of man who excelled on paper, but in reality, he was the type of man who walked into a room and left no oxygen for the room’s remaining inhabitants.

We were both alumni of the London School of Economics, we’d even been in the same graduating class, but I hadn’t had the misfortune of his acquaintance during my university years. Thank heaven for small mercies.

I’d actually managed to put off meeting the lecherous man until we were both well into our training contracts at Jones slick and dry.

‘Why not?’ Ben asked, disappointment colouring his features. ‘Got a hot date with the boyfriend?’ I forced a polite smile, grateful that the stop at the sixth floor had filled up the compartment and allowed the new bodies to force a distance between Ben and me.

By the time the elevator had reached the ground floor, I’d surreptitiously manoeuvred my way to the front of the compartment and was one of the first ones out of the doors, through the atrium, and into the anonymity of the darkening city.

London had taken its time letting go of the summer; the heat of August overstaying its welcome and beating relentlessly down on private gardens and public parks. September was less ambitious, allowing the city to slip into the seam between seasons, steeping the days in a warm and misplaced summer sun, but conceding more and more of the daylight hours to the night.

As I walked towards the station, I tightened the belt of my coat in a feeble attempt to stave off the autumn chill. I loved the autumn… and the spring. Loved that they offered the world a new beginning, a fresh start. The air was never cleaner or crisper than it was in those in-between seasons.

Cutting through the park, I took note of the trees that lined the footpath; the sycamores that had been so vibrantly green mere months before were now dressed in shades of orange and brown. The wilted leaves clinging to their branches, delaying the fall as best they could. All it would take was a single windy day and all of the trees in the park would be buffeted bare, scrubbed clean and ready to begin anew.

‘Crunchy leaf season,’ I whispered with eager anticipation.

I spent the duration of my trip home dreaming up a list of all the things that I wanted to do this autumn.

I could finish knitting that scarf for Nan… I smiled at the idea of presenting the finished project to her. How well the cobalt blue would suit her pale skin. How she would proudly show it off amongst her friends, crooning over the lumpy knit as if it were Hermes and not homemade. I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head at the thought.

Dashing through the lobby, I slipped between the closing doors of the elevator, chest heaving with moderate exertion as I skidded to a stop.

‘Made it!’

‘You did,’ came a soft voice to my left.

I started, hand over heart, and turned to face the elevator’s other occupant.