6. Michael
Chapter 6
Michael
“ C ongratulations once again for joining the partners of this firm,” I address the eight people seated around the table. “I hope we can work together to make this firm the most recognized in the country.”
“What’s in store for us if we make that happen?” One of them jokes.
Why don’t you do your job first? I think. But outside, I maintain a polite smile.
“Lots of money,” I say.
He cackles and slaps the table. “Alright! Let’s get to work, people!”
There is a scattering of applause from six attorneys, including him. I notice that the only people who do not clap are me and Peter.
“Of course,” I add, “making partner means your billings need to reflect your worth to the firm. So,” I raise a finger, “make sure you are all doing your part.”
As the meeting wraps up, I approach the same lawyer who caused the disruption.
“Chad, right?” I purposely call him the wrong name.
He looks annoyed, but only for a second.
“Brian, sir,” he replies.
“Right,” I nod. “Brian. You work with the litigation department, don’t you?”
He nods.
“That’s good. I hear there’s an influx of cases coming your way. Since you’re a partner now, it’s your responsibility to ensure your department maintains a ninety-five percent success rate. It is not your performance that will be evaluated from now on, but the collective performance of your department.”
I watch his face crumble and I swallow the urge to smirk with pleasure.
I clap my hands and pat him on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”
As the rest file out, I see Peter. “I need you to hang back. We have something to discuss.”
When the conference room is empty, I turn to Peter.
“Congratulations,” I say with a smile.
“Thank you,” he says.
“You don’t look pleased,” I comment. “You were quiet the entire meeting. Something on your mind? Did your meeting with the client not go well?”
“It did,” he says. “Go well, that is. And I am happy that I made partner. My dad is happy as well, so that’s good. I thought I’d listen and take it all in. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
Having known Peter as long as I have, I know he’s hiding something. And I have an inkling as to what that might be. Someone—someone with a temper like lightning, pale pink lips, and a stubborn chin, must have rained on his parade.
What the hell is wrong with Savannah Richmond?
“Your sister—”
I watch the look on his face go from partial interest to piqued interest. It’s a pity that Savannah cannot see how much her brother cares for her.
“Your sister,” I go on. “We’ve met. It was a brief meeting, so I didn’t recall until I met with the attorney she is currently working with, and he mentioned her name. You’ve seen her, though, right?” I ask casually.
“Even if she doesn’t want to be seen with you, I don’t think this building is big enough that won’t run into each other.”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding deflated. “We’ve crossed paths.”
And I bet she did not have a nice word to say.
I exhale.
As much as I want to help, it’s not my place to step in. I don’t know how to handle family drama, being the only child of an attorney who spent more time in the courtroom and office than with his family.
Getting up, I pat Peter on the back.
“I’m expecting a continuous streak of wins from you. I’ll be in my office.”
I head out of the conference room, acknowledging the polite nods on the way. I press the button on the elevator doors and as soon as I step in, I hear, “Wait! Hold the elevator!”
A voice calls out frantically. Instincts kick in, and I put my hand out to keep the doors from closing, as a woman with bouncy blond curls barges into the elevator.
“Thank you,” she mutters breathlessly.
“You’re—"
The words die on my tongue when our eyes meet in the reflective wall of the elevator. I exhale heavily.
“Miss Richmond,” I say testily.
“Sir,” she addresses me with a lot of sarcasm attached to the honorific.
What should I say next? Nothing, I tell myself. It’s best to be silent because I know from experience what happens when Savannah Richmond and I are left alone together.
“I—I apologize for what happened the other day when we met, sir.”
My eyes widen in shock. Did she just?
“I know,” she says, seeing the surprise on my face in the reflection. “I should have apologized sooner, but I was going through a lot. Still,” she clears her throat, “it doesn’t excuse my behavior.”
“I’m hoping you can forgive me.”
My eyes narrow as her apology continues, and my attorney instincts force me to read between the lines.
“You met with your fiancé, didn’t you?”
“Ex. But yes I met with him. How did you know,” she asks.
I shrug. “How do you think? So, let me guess. He begged you to take him back, and you agreed because you didn’t want to give the ring back?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“Because you had a peculiar and somewhat disturbing attachment to it?”
Her jaw tilts to the familiar stubborn angle, and seeing her in the mirror, I almost give in to the smile tugging on my lips.
“I didn’t want to give it up because I deserved it. And he was an asshole. I don’t think that counts as a stubborn attachment, Mr. Stone. And you should know—,” she bites her lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you’re right. The ring was the reason I barged into your office. If I had returned it, that would have never happened.”
Why does hearing her agree with me make me a little disappointed?
“I don’t know,” I rub my chin, “you did say it gave you an insight into the kind of person I am. The hypocritical boss who acts kind and charismatic on the outside but is mean and terrible behind closed doors.”
“My bad,” she says. “I read too much into what I thought was right. But it wasn’t. I apologize again.”
I should let it go now, seeing as we’ve reverted to the employer-employee relationship where I have the respect I deserve, but for some reason, I don’t want that.
“I met with your brother. Stepbrother. I congratulated him on making partner. Did you know,” I see the look of anger that flashes on her face, but it doesn’t deter me, “that he is one of the youngest partners at the firm?”
“But I always knew he would reach this stage earlier than most. When we met in college, he was among the brightest in his class. When he went to law school he was top three in his class,” I continue.
“Why didn’t you,” I turn to her, “go to law school?”
Savannah’s jaw is visibly clenched, and her face is red, telling me she’s livid and close to losing it.
Good. A little payback is what she needs right now. Maybe she will know that I mean business.
“I don’t think we should talk about Peter, sir.”
The doors of the elevator open, and she steps out. Without thinking, I get off, too.
“Why—this isn’t your floor,” she says, turning around.
I shrug. “I can go anywhere I want, Miss Richmond. It’s you, who was on the floor. Do I need to ask what you were doing there?” I scold her.
“Did you come to spy on me again? Were you disappointed when you saw Brenda at her desk?”
My eyebrows dip when she doesn’t answer.
“Miss Richmond?” I press her.
“Sir.”
“Did you try to get into my office?”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Who knows, I’m not sure why you do anything you do. You’ve made accusations, snuck into a private office, and declared that an attorney is unfit for a promotion. Who knows what you will do next,” I tell her.
She shakes her head.
“I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I promise not to come within ten feet of you again. I value my job very much.”
Does she? I ponder as she walks away, finally letting her go. Why has her attitude changed?
It is suspicious, but I’ve gone too far, indulging myself with this charade. Savannah Richmond is an irresistible force of delightful chaos, a captivating whirlwind I seem to keep getting caught up in.
With a chuckle, I turn around and head in the opposite direction. When I get into the elevator, my phone rings.
I sigh when I see it’s my father.
“I’m at work,” I say before he can speak.
“I’m sure you can spare an hour,” he says. “I’m close to your office. Meet me.”
Then he ends the call.
I rub my fingers through my hair in exasperation, wishing I had ignored the call. But I know he would have sent someone instead. It’s better to attend to him than to have him resort to other measures.
If only he would read the room—the man never had the insight to get what I was trying to tell him. He walked into a room expecting everyone there to like him or want to grant him favors.
I mean, it worked while he was still one of the best attorneys in the country, but he’s been out of the game and retired for a long time now that nobody turns when he walks into a room anymore.
So, he’s taken it out on me—demanding my attention when I don’t have the time.
In a way, I relate to Savannah. We could both do without our fathers.
***
“No,” I say the second I approach the table and I see the woman seated next to my father. “I’m not doing this. Sorry,” I say to her, “but whatever he told you, it’s not happening.”
“He—” she starts and ends up flustered.
I give her a polite smile.
“I know. He probably said many nice things about me, and you had the impression that I’m a nice person. I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’m not looking for someone to date either. That is the furthest thing from my mind.”
With a glare at my father and a huff, she gets up and storms off. I take her seat.
“You could have been nice,” he says.
“And feed the seeds of delusion you planted? No,” I shake my head. “I will not do that. Maybe you’ll run out of women at some point, and the ones who already know I’m not interested will begin to avoid you.”
My father frowns.
“Michael, you’re not getting any younger. I told you to pursue your dreams and stay focused, but you’ve already accomplished everything. You’re a partner with one of the top firms in the city, and they rake in a cumulative revenue that amounts to billions annually.”
“At this point, you should be thinking about settling down. Getting a wife. Having kids. So that you can retire early like I did.”
It is on the tip of my tongue to point out that he did, in fact, get married and have a kid while racing to the peak of his career. He threw his responsibilities aside to focus on that career and, when he finally decided to retire, it was then he wanted to build a relationship with his son.
But it is an argument we’ve had one too many times, so I let it go.
“How’s your mom? Do you still talk to her these days?”
As expected. When I'm not interested, he goes to my mother. My mother left him when he announced his retirement and then he went on to marry another woman.
I nod. “Yeah. I do. She’s happily married and on a trip around Europe. You should try that. Get on a yacht, find another country, and settle there.”
He shakes his head.
“I want to be close to my family. I did think about retiring to the Maldives, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to make the trip back and forth once you get married and have kids. I’ll need to see my grandchildren as often as possible.”
“You’re not going to get them from me,” I say.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I meant what I said.”
He sighs. “Aren’t you even a bit lonely? I know you spend most of your time working, but what about when you go home?”
“I date often, so there is a woman in my bed most nights, as if it is any of your business,” I say.
Which is a half-truth. My dating life isn’t lacking, but I don’t bring women to my house because I don’t want to give any of them the illusion of permanence.
“Sometimes I think we did something wrong, your mother and I. We might have divorced three years ago, but we had many good years. Years where we did nothing but love you. I would hope you would want to pass that love to your wife and kids.”
I scoff silently.
Good years? Even when I was younger, I could see the cracks in their relationship. I knew they were holding together pieces of a failing marriage. My father did not know how to be a partner or a parent, so my mom found solace elsewhere.
She told me as often as she could, never to fall in love. It would break me, she would say. Like my father failed her. Hearing it all those years scarred me, and I quickly concluded that love wasn’t for me.
I didn’t even try.
But I’m fine how I am.
“Even if you aren’t going to find a partner, at least go on dates. It wouldn’t hurt to have company.”
“No, thank you,” I say, getting up. “If you need someone to talk to, I suggest you go on a date, Dad. Take your own advice.”
Walking out of the restaurant, I run my fingers through my hair. I hate it. I hate when people get under my skin so much that I lose the mask I’ve spent years building. Crafting. Perfecting.
First, my father and now Savannah Richmond.
It’s fairly easy to forget about my dad and pretend like he doesn’t exist. But Savannah seems to have dug deeper than I like, and a part of me enjoys watching it happen.
I have to find a way to avoid her. To keep her out of my head.