Chapter 5 #3
He sees when my eyes focus on something over his shoulder, and doesn’t pretend not to turn and look, and he sincerely waves at her as she passes. Perfect fucking timing.
Claire smiles at Lucas, not at me. She wouldn’t waste her limited resource of social niceties on me. Why should she? Why should anyone? Our relationship ended six months ago, but not before the entire office decided I massively fumbled the bag.
Lucas heads back to his desk but not before telling me the real reason he popped his head in, that Arthur wants to see me.
Something I feel he should have led with.
He’s waiting in his office when I round the corner.
That isn’t unusual, Arthur is Managing Partner of this law firm, which also makes him my boss.
What is unusual is that he isn’t alone. From twenty feet away I can see her.
I should have known this was where she was heading.
Claire is seated across from him, posture effortless, one leg crossed over the other.
She understands she’s always being observed, keeps herself composed because of it, and has decided that works in her favor.
“Hudson,” Arthur calls, gesturing me in.
I school my expression before pushing open the door as he motions me to the empty chair next to her.
“Good timing,” he says like he wasn’t the one who summoned me.
Having engineered this to look like a coincidence.
“I just got off the phone with Hugh Sterling. This merger, I hear it’s getting messy.
” Don’t I know it. I’ve been pouring myself into the pages of this acquisition masquerading as a merger for weeks, and the family at the helm of the company isn’t making it easier, but this is what they are known for.
Most of my communications run through two of the sons, each with a cushy job of their own.
Like I said, they aren’t making it easier.
“Claire,” I say evenly, with a tone of emotional unavailability she’ll recognize and will later use to validate her decision.
“Hud,” she replies, just as neutral, except she holds on to some of the old familiarity of a nickname.
“We’re having Claire join the team working on this, it’s too critical for us not to throw our best at it.
” I don't bristle. Other men might be offended at the implication that she is the best. But she’s definitely one of them.
It's one of the things I respected about her from the start, and my respect doesn’t expire the way other things do.
She’s a force in any room. But both of our priorities were outside of each other, always.
Which dressed on me, looks emotionally unavailable, and on her, stubborn and unyielding.
Arthur looks between us. “I want to be sure, given your history, there’s no conflict.”
“Not a problem for me,” I say. And it isn’t, especially because I won’t relinquish this over discomfort.
“Great,” Arthur says.
“I told you, Arthur, we are both professionals,” she says.
She takes a sideways glance at me that is beyond subtle, but even I know there’s an ounce of gratitude in it.
Because while I’m not giving up this case, the truth is, I doubt they would ask me to.
There’s more than enough work for her to step in, and it’s good exposure as she fights her way up a much harder ladder than the steps I get to climb.
We spend the next thirty minutes on numbers, voting rights, proxy exposure.
She's sharp, efficient, exactly as I remember. When she reaches across to pull a document toward her, the light catches her left hand and that’s when I see the ring.
It’s emerald cut and substantial, catching the sun and refracting it back against the bare skin of her legs.
It shouldn’t matter, we ended for reasons that made sense.
She wanted depth I couldn’t manufacture.
I wanted compromise she wouldn’t offer. Clean break.
The only sting I feel in response is ego, I’m smart enough to know that, but not brave enough to admit it to anyone but myself.
The only thing we would have been good at: drafting the prenup, because we both know it never would have lasted.
When she leaves, Arthur leans back in his chair and looks at me the way he has looked at me since I was twenty-five years old and convinced I had nothing left to learn.
Here it comes. He’s been my mentor for years, the first partner who took a risk on me.
In ways I would never articulate, he became something close to the image of father I imagine others had.
Steady, demanding, ever present. Which is how I know he’s not my actual father.
He has children of his own, grown children not far from my age, which is maybe why it feels like it.
Like one of those monkey families in the zoo that takes in an abandoned baby and raises them in their image.
Except in this case, the zoo is a top law firm, and at the time, the baby monkey was a twenty-five-year-old man just passing the bar exam.
“You didn’t know,” he says.
I press my lips together and shake my head once. “No.”
Before I muted her on social media, I saw the strategically shot photo with a corner of a man’s hand with a large AP wrapped around his wrist while holding a wine glass.
I knew then she had moved on. I want to say I’m happy for her, but is anyone really ever happy when their ex moves on?
She won, quickly, someone chose her in a way she made clear I would never have.
All I’ve collected in the time since our breakup is an enemy in the form of an old co-op president who seems to be tracking my sexual encounters.
“It won’t impact anything, Arthur. Trust me,” I say, and I know he does. “I’ve worked too hard to let anything or anyone distract me now.” There’s emphasis, making sure he knows there’s nothing to worry about.
“I know that,” he says gruffly, and more parental than boss. With it he lets out a soft huff and his eyes soften slightly.
“I’m glad she’s happy” is all I say. Whether it’s true or not, he doesn’t push the topic anymore. It’s a door slamming three rooms away. I hear it, might wonder momentarily. But it has no real impact on me, except knowing now that the door is closed.