patted my arm reassuringly. “Now, now, that is no problem! I don’t drink a lot of coffee myself, but I’ll show you how to fix it!” With purpose, she bustled over to the cabinet and pulled out a jug of ground coffee. “Now, the way I fix it is to put three teaspoons of coffee grounds in...and then fill the water canister to eight cups.” Three teaspoons, eight cups. Sounds easy enough.
I followed her instructions and had a pot of watery brown liquid brewing in no time. I didn’t trust myself with a taste test, but poured Broward a cup and stuck one of the prepared containers of sweeteners, creamers and stirrers under my arm. I carefully navigated my way through the halls to the elevator and used my elbow to press the button. The doors opened to Todd Appleton’s perky good looks. His glowing skin and enthusiastic “good morning” spoke of a full night of rest. I stepped into the elevator with him and watched his eyes travel up my legs and stop on my shaky coffee cup and creamer selection. I had already sloshed at least a fourth of the coffee around the rim, and could feel some drops running down my fingers. Great.
“Making coffee for the office?” he teased, his gaze finally reaching my face.
“Very funny,” I responded. “Did you know our duties include coffee prep? Something I have never attempted before,” I added dryly.
“Maybe for you,” he shot back. “De Luca has Le Croissant bring up a full spread every morning, with coffee, fruits and a bunch of pastries. They deliver at 8:00 a.m.” He paused, glancing at his watch. “Hence my early arrival. I want to get some while they’re fresh.”
The elevator pinged and stopped at the fourth floor, doors opening slowly. Todd bounded off, apparently never having been taught by his doting mother that ladies go first. I exited carefully, trying my best to keep every last remaining drop of coffee in the cup, and traversed the three turns and two straightaways until I stopped in front of Broward’s door. I bumped the door gently with my knee, and then pushed it in.
I could feel tendrils of my hair coming out of my French twist, and felt completely out of sorts when I tried to gracefully place—and more like dumped—the cup and ceramic container on Broward’s desk. He was on a call, discussing what sounded like an environmental issue, and held up one finger to indicate that I should stay. I chose one of the two heavy leather chairs facing his desk and sat, waiting for his call to finish.
While he droned on about the impact of what sounded like a nature trail, I discreetly checked out his office. It was decorated in the heavy, ornate, masculine fashion that all our offices seemed to share. He had stacks of files everywhere and file boxes lining any free space on the edges of the walls. Six file cabinets lined one wall, and a six-person conference table took up the right side of the room. It was a large office, more than twice the size of mine, but what I would have expected for a firm partner. The table didn’t look as though it was used for many meetings. Every inch of it was buried in stacks of papers, with hundreds of small and large Post-it notes covering them. My head spun with the enormity of his workload. I had naively assumed that I was making some headway with the measly fourteen hours I had put in the day before. I grew stressed just sitting in his office.
His desk was the cleanest place in the office. He had three legal folders on its surface, one open to the file he was discussing on the phone. He had a large digital clock, no doubt to help him keep track of billable hours. He had two framed photos next to his phone. I couldn’t see them from this angle, but assumed they were of his wife and kids. Those photos were probably the most he ever saw of them. My snooping was cut short by the sound of his phone handset being returned to its rightful place. I looked up and into his blue eyes.
“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee, so I brought it black,” I said, gesturing to the accompaniments in the ceramic holder. I stood up and slid the coffee cup toward him until it was in easy reach.
“Just light cream and Equal,” he said, standing up, grabbing the creamer box and flipping through it.
What defines “light”? And how much Equal? I watched him closely, noting how much he added of each to the cup. He looked at the color of the coffee a moment longer than what I would define as normal, and then, dismissing whatever thought was in his head, brought the cup to his mouth.
Gag would be too strong a word for what happened next. An involuntary wince perhaps? His blink was a bit forced, his mouth curled into an unpleasant grimace and there was a slight shudder that he tried hard to cover. An involuntary giggle popped out of me and I slapped a hand over my mouth. He looked at me in confusion, trying to figure out if I was trying to play a joke on him. His expression looked somewhere between mad and amused.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, fighting the ridiculous hiccuping laugh that was fighting tooth and nail to come out. “I don’t drink coffee. I’ve never made it. I was stumbling through trying to figure it out when someone downstairs was kind enough to show me how....” My voice trailed off as my giggle urge left and I felt despair creeping in. “Is it...horrible?” I whispered.
“A little,” Broward admitted, a wry smile coming to his lips. “But, no worries. I’ll have Sheila walk you through it tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I need a file couriered over from Rothsfield and Merchant. Could you stop by Starbucks on the way back?”
I nodded rapidly, some relief flowing into my body. He didn’t seem mad. Yes, I had looked inept, but it seemed to be okay.
“If you prefer,” I ventured, “I think Mr. De Luca had some breakfast delivered. I could grab some coffee from their conference room?”
His face darkened. Okay...maybe not something he’d prefer. Did I say something wrong?
“No,” he said sharply. “Brad orders that for his secretaries, intern and his clients. We don’t mess with, or borrow, from his staff, and I expect the same from him.” His glowering tone softened slightly at my pale face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Maybe now is when I should go through the office background.” He stood, shut the file on his desk and pressed the call button on his phone.
A delicate, professional voice sounded through the speakerphone. “Yes, Mr. Broward?” It sounded like Sheila, his secretary. Why wasn’t Sheila getting his coffee? That seemed a secretarial duty.
“I will be indisposed for the next...ten minutes. Please hold my calls.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Broward.”
“Can you please shut the door?” Broward asked as he sat down. I quickly walked to the door and shut it softly, then returned to my place in front of his desk. Broward leaned back in his chair and tapped his finger to his chin, mulling something over while looking at me. I fought the urge to fidget.
“Okay, to begin, let’s attack the elephant in the room.” He leaned forward and met my gaze firmly, his almost-stern expression reminding me of when my father used to lecture me on the importance of high school English. What elephant in the room? Is this about the coffee?
“Brad De Luca,” he began. “Brad is, without a doubt, the best divorce attorney in the south. His waiting list is over ten months long, and many unhappy wives prolong a marriage for the sole reason of waiting to have Brad represent them.” His voice was matter-of-fact and slightly wry. “Brad is a shark in the courtroom and has no problem splattering the walls with blood. He also takes very, very good care of his clients.”
His tone and expression led me to believe that “taking care” of his clients might mean a little more than one would think. I nodded to indicate that I got the point.
“You will no doubt notice the daily breakfast platters, be invited on the Bahamas work weekends
