Chapter 12
“Incoming,” one of the other paralegals whispered as she passed my desk, pulling me from my files.
I sat up straight, enjoying the sudden crack of my spine and the burn of my back stretching out. I had no idea how long I had been in that same position, totally immersed in my work, but I had to remember to move more.
This week had actually been pretty great so far. After initially fighting it the first two mornings, I finally gave in when Harrison sent the car to pick me up or drop me off.
It was hard to refuse when the driver said it was because Harrison felt that the time I would have spent on the subway would be better served at my desk working on the case instead of being leered at. Since Harrison was not in the back of the car, I decided not to fight it and just enjoy the rides out of the cold.
We had managed to keep a professional distance. Focusing on the work and keeping our interactions courteous and cordial. Extremely courteous and cordial. To the point where I occasionally looked down to see if there were frosty puffs of air coming from either of our mouths as we spoke.
It was fine.
This was what I wanted, after all.
A formal, professional, highly appropriate relationship with my boss.
Yup. Everything was fine.
The fact that I got a flutter in my stomach whenever I caught him staring at me with those intense sapphire eyes or felt a spark of electricity up my spine whenever we were careless enough to allow our hands to brush as we transferred a file or notepad were easily ignored. Sort of. Not really. But it didn’t mean that I wasn’t fine.
Especially if I ignored the plainclothes police officer who routinely lurked on my apartment floor or the cops positioned outside my building night and day, and if I didn’t dwell on how incredibly thoughtful and insanely protective it was of him to arrange for that.
If I wasn’t vigilant about reminding myself that he was my boss, I’d almost fall into the trap of thinking it was a very boyfriend-y thing to do.
Fortunately, I was vigilant.
Very vigilant.
Because I was fine, in my nice new position at my very professional job with my very professional and powerful new boss.
Yup. Just fine.
That was, until I met his mother… and his fiancée.
My coffee order had just been delivered, and there was a fresh stack of files waiting for me with a handwritten note from Harrison telling me what he needed done and not to disturb him unless I had a question that needed an immediate answer to complete my tasks.
It had been a perfect morning. It was quiet. I had been productive and had only had a handful of wildly inappropriate thoughts about my boss that I had to push away.
Sadly, I had a feeling my day was about to take a nosedive.
Two women, both stark bottle blondes dressed in head-to-toe white Chanel and sky-high Louboutins, walked toward my desk. The older woman had a face that was flawless and looked like it had been frozen by Botox, the look made more intense by her strikingly chic platinum bob. The more demure, almost matronly cut of her dress and the confidence with which she wore it were really the only things that gave away her age.
The other woman was younger, maybe in her mid- to late-twenties, so a few years older than me. Her platinum blonde hair hung in soft waves halfway down her back. Her dress was younger in style, with more movement. Her bubblegum-pink lipstick also gave away her youth. She looked like a perfectly polished Barbie.
“Who is that?” I asked one of the paralegal interns walking past my desk. She was a college student who had said she was prelaw and taking night classes, but I was fairly certain she majored in gossip.
“The older one, with the severe bob, is Mrs. Mary Quinn Astrid—Mr. Astrid’s mother. The only thing I know about her is Cynthia hates her. I have no idea why. Cynthia has always been tight-lipped about her boss. But I know he doesn’t like it when she just shows up. Cynthia never lets her in and usually has to add a few shots of Baileys to her coffee when she finally gets her to leave.”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “The other woman, I have no idea, but if she is with Mary Quinn Astrid, then it can’t be good. Oh shit, here they come. Good luck.” The intern gave me a sympathetic smile as she scurried away.
“Excuse me.” The older woman snapped her spindly French-manicured fingers in my face when I tried to get back to work.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Where is my son’s secretary, what’s her name?”
Since there wasn’t a doubt in my mind this woman knew Mr. Astrid’s long-time secretary, I determined that all the gossip and my first impressions were definitely accurate.
“Cynthia is on vacation,” I said. “I’m Eddie Carmichael, Mr. Astrid’s paralegal. Can I help you?”
“You are Eddie?” The younger woman looked at me. “Shouldn’t you be a man?”
“No?” I had no idea how to answer that.
“I thought his new assistant was a man. Why would you go by a man’s name?”
“My name is Edwina. I go by Eddie or Ms. Carmichael,” I clarified, but I wasn’t sure what they wanted me to do. A part of me wouldn’t have been surprised if she demanded I get a sex change operation at lunch.
“Any relation to the Newport Carmichaels?” the human doll asked.
“No, not that I am aware of. How can I help you?” I repeated.
“Then who are you? How did you get this job working for Harrison?” Mary Quinn Astrid demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her golden-lined French manicure on her upper arm.
“Because Mr. Astrid demands the best, and he saw my work and believed that was me. So now I work for him. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Why was I explaining myself to these women?
“Yes, inform my son that we are here, then get each of us a coffee, skim milk, and two stevia.” The older woman snapped her fingers again.
I wanted to tell her exactly where she could shove her coffee, but considering everything, I thought it was best not to insult my boss’s mother.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Astrid asked not to be disturbed.”
“Excuse me?” the younger blonde said while literally looking down her perfectly proportioned, probably the product of plastic surgery, nose at me. “She did not ask if Mr. Astrid asked to be disturbed. She told you to get off your lazy ass and do your job.”
I wanted to tell her that she was not my boss, and I was not his secretary. But I had a feeling her entitlement wouldn’t allow her to hear anything she didn’t want to hear, and it would just be easier to let him know.
With a fake smile plastered on my face, I got up, walked to his door, and knocked.
“Enter.” He sounded annoyed.
I could relate. I straightened my spine and walked into his office. “I thought that note was clear, Eddie.”
“It was, sir. You asked that I not disturb you unless there was something impeding my work,” I said, closing the door behind me.
He looked up, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “What do you need, Eddie?”
Shaking off my reaction to him saying the word need as he gazed at me with those intense, sapphire blue eyes that screamed bend over and take it like a good girl, I concentrated on keeping my voice calm and controlled.
We had gotten through the entire morning like two strangers. There had been nothing but curt nods in greeting and the barest of communication regarding the work that needed to be done that day.
Everything between us was formal, professional and… cold.
He was simply justifying my supposition that he hadn’t truly been serious about wanting a girl like me. And while I justified his approach by affirming that to cross the line any further with him would be a disastrous career move, it still stung a bit to know that I was right.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “There are two women at my desk asking for you. They are rather insistent, making it impossible for me to work. I believe one of them is your mother.” I kept my tone as even and pleasant as possible. Just because the office gossip said they had issues didn’t mean I was going to get in the middle of anything.
“Tell them I will be out in a few moments. I have a call to make, and then I will handle them myself,” he said, rolling his eyes. He muttered something under his breath about changing his office location, but I didn’t stick around to listen. This was a classic definition of not my circus, not my monkeys.
“Yes, sir,” I replied and left his office, going back to my desk where the two women were standing, tapping their overpriced thousand-dollar designer shoes.
“He has a call to make and will be right with you.” I took my seat and went back to the files, trying to ignore the smell of Dior perfume and snobbery.
“Why aren’t you getting the drinks we asked for,” his mother said.
“Because I am a paralegal, not a secretary.” I was very careful to be as polite as possible.
“What is the difference?” Designer Barbie asked, popping her hip to the side and staring daggers down at me, her lips pressed together in a thin line. I wondered for a moment whether, if she kept her lips like that long enough, would her thick lip gloss help them stick like that?
“Mr. Astrid’s secretary is in charge of his meetings and organizing his day, making sure he has whatever he needs, from coffee to files. I am here to assist with his caseload, which means I work with him on the cases he is building, doing the research needed, providing and filing legal documents, and things of that nature. If you don’t mind, he will be out shortly, and I do have a lot of work to do.”
“I still don’t see the difference. People like you should be grateful to work for my son. You should be tripping over your ugly little shoes to get us coffee or whatever else we need.” Mrs. Astrid’s face twisted into an ugly scowl.
Nothing good was going to come from responding, so I didn’t.
“I’m sure Harrison will be out soon,” the Barbie said, turning away from me and facing Mrs. Astrid.
“Do you think the Plaza is the right place for the reception? Or is it a little too done?”
“It is the only acceptable place for the reception,” Mrs. Astrid responded. “I just hope my son understands the caliber of guests that we are expecting and doesn’t invite just anyone.”
I didn’t have to look up to know she was staring at me. The weight of her gaze and her judgment made my skin crawl.
“Well, when I am his wife, I will make sure he has better people working for him.”
Designer Barbie’s words made me freeze. I didn’t look up, not wanting to see the expression on her face. I didn’t know which would be worse, a smug smile that said she was having me fired, or a look of rage and indignation that said she knew what had happened between Mr. Astrid and me.
This woman was his fiancée.
I had kissed another man’s fiancée, and that made me worse than her.
I clenched my teeth and took long, slow breaths through my nose, trying to slow my heart rate.
It didn’t matter.
He was never mine.
This would just make it easier to be completely professional.
I repeated that over and over in my head until those manicured nails were in my face again, snapping at me like a dog.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, looking up at Mrs. Astrid, who was glowering down at me.
“I asked when my son would be out.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know. He has been made aware of your arrival.”
The future Mrs. Astrid put her hands on the top of my cubicle and gave me a cruel smirk. “You are useless and terrible at your job. I suggest you pack your things because I am going to make sure Harrison fires you.”
Mr. Astrid’s mother laughed, a high-pitched, shrill sound that hurt my ears.
I stared up at this girl and wondered what had happened to her to make her so needlessly cruel. Or maybe she was just born like that. It didn’t matter, not really.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” Mr. Astrid strode out of his office.
“We are here so that you can take us to lunch,” she said, the cruel laughter and smile gone the second she heard her son.
“I don’t have time today. I have work to do.”
“I’m sure your secretary can cover for you,” his fiancée said. “I promise it will be a short lunch. We just have some things to discuss. You have to eat, don’t you?” Her smile was wide and bright, and if I hadn’t heard the way she’d just talked to me, I would have thought she was the sweetest woman on the planet.
“We have come all the way down here,” his mother said.
“Had you called...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I couldn’t help but notice how his entire body was rigid.
I must have spent too long noticing Mr. Astrid’s body language because his fiancée gave me a chilly look, then stepped in between us and took his arm.
I took the hint and redirected my attention back to my work.
“I did call,” Mrs. Astrid said. “Your new secretary didn’t answer. She must need some time to get the hang of being on your desk.”
“Right.” Mr. Astrid’s voice seemed overly formal when dealing with his mother, but it wasn’t any of my business.
I was staring at the pages of the file I was currently working on, pretending I was reading the words, but I couldn’t help listening to the conversation that was rudely happening practically on top of my desk.
They talked for another moment, then Mr. Astrid told them he would meet them at the car, and they headed down. I didn’t look up until the air cleared of heavy-handed perfumes.
Mr. Astrid was standing by Cynthia’s desk, leaning down, one hand flat on the desktop while the other was hitting buttons on her desk phone.
“I am heading out to lunch. I will be gone for an hour, maybe two. Are you available to work late again tonight?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
“Good. Take this.” He handed me a black credit card. “This is the office card. I want you to order yourself lunch and take a break while you can. The next few days are going to be brutal.”
“Okay…” I took the card, not liking the idea of a handout. Dinner while we were working late together was one thing, but using his black Amex when it wasn’t a working lunch felt like charity.
No, worse. It felt like he was buying my silence for what happened in the bathroom.
I watched him walk away, and felt sick.
I was disappointed he was taken, insulted he’d tried to buy my silence so cheaply, and mad at myself for being so affected by the actions of a man so far out of my league that it was practically a different sport.
If I told Sabrina about this, which I never would, she would tell me the best way to get over a crush was to find a new one, but not before abusing the card by ordering a lunch of rich people’s food.
Despite what he’d said, publicly funded law offices didn’t have black Amex cards. I looked at it. This was his.
I considered buying lunch for the whole office but didn’t think I could get away with it. It would have been fun, though.
I tucked the black card into the top drawer of the small filing cabinet under my desk. Then, I put the rest of the files in the larger bottom drawer, locking it.
There was no way I was using that card, but I could, at the very least, find someone else to occupy my thoughts and some of my free time.
I downloaded Tinder and headed to lunch. There were always a few food trucks parked outside the offices around this time, and a few greasy tacos sounded like the perfect lunch to have while swiping right.