I said, surprised to see him out of the office. I hadn’t seen much of him in the past two weeks since I was banned from entering the East Wing. He had stopped in once or twice, but I’d always been too busy to chat.
“This seat taken?” he asked, gesturing to the empty stool.
“Not at all!” Becca said, smiling brightly. She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and leaned forward, flashing Todd her best megawatt smile.
I looked to Olivia for approval, and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly and smiled agreeably at me.
Todd introduced himself to my friends, and then slid onto the stool. He motioned for the waiter, and then leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. Grabbing a handful of chips, he turned to me.
“All the interns have been going out a few times a week,” he said, biting down on a chip covered in cheese. “You should join us sometime.”
I shot him a look. “Sure, I’ll just swing by on one of my three bathroom breaks.”
“Oh, so Julia’s been ignoring you, too?” Becca said, leaning forward and showing her ample cleavage.
“Aw, I’m just kidding her,” Todd said. “I know that her attorney buries her under work.” He brushed the back of his hand gently down my arm, sending a shiver through me. I moved away, catching myself before I smiled at him. Flirting is fine, but I’m not about to take it further...even though you are so damn hot!
Becca shot me an inquisitive glance and I sent back a “he’s all yours” look. The waiter swung by with a platter of dirty glasses and plates, and Todd put in a drink order.
“So,” I said casually, “what’s it like working for De Luca?”
Todd snorted and nodded enthusiastically. “It is awesome. The guy is an absolute animal! You should see him in the courtroom. He rips these guys to shreds!”
“The courtroom?” I interrupted him. “You’ve been to court?” This is bullshit! Todd gets plush hours and courtroom experience?
“Yeah! He took me with him last Monday. It was awesome!”
Five minutes with Todd and I was already a little sick of the word awesome. Maybe I was just bitchy about my current situation. Either way, I tried to appear cool and offhand. “What was going on there Wednesday?”
“Wednesday?” Todd’s face scrunched up, as if he was concentrating hard. Seriously! I wanted to scream at him. Smith & Wollensky, lobster, music, two days ago, and you can’t remember?!
“Oh!” He slapped his head. “The Hatfield deal! You know the Hatfield family—the media tycoon? Mr. Hatfield finally settled so De Luca threw a mini celebration for the missus.”
“That was a mini celebration?” The words popped out before I could stop them.
Todd looked at me, surprised. “Yeah, well, you know, De Luca throws some big parties. We have a huge client party planned out at his house this weekend.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“Are you going?”
“Of course!” He snorted again. “It’s going to be, like, awesome! I heard he’s hiring strippers!”
WOW. Super Classy. De Luca seemed to live up to the reputation. I took a big sip of margarita and thanked God I hadn’t been assigned to him.
* * *
One giant margarita later, Todd was still hot, but now not quite as annoying. My drunken haze had turned his juvenile antics into sexy cool. I was starting to weaken, letting his hands do some roaming, when Olivia pulled me aside.
“Seriously, Jules, I’m going to do you a big favor and send you home.”
“Whaat...? Why?” My slurred voice sounded drunk, even to me. I waved my hand in front of my face, stopping Olivia from responding. “Never mind, you’re right. I’ll go.” I moved over and hugged Becca, gesturing over the music that I was heading out. She blew me a kiss and waved goodbye.
I hugged Olivia and Todd goodbye. He held the hug a few seconds longer than necessary, then gave me an extra squeeze. Olivia walked me out and offered to call a cab. I waved her away and pulled off my heels, starting the drunken stumble home.
Six
In every successful swinger relationship, there must be a set of rules so that everyone knows their place, and so that no one is offended or taken advantage of. Different couples practice different rules depending on their own preferences.
Seven
Tuesday, 10:00 a.m.
A file folder sat in the center of my desk. I walked into my office and stopped short, staring at it. I instantly knew it didn’t belong. It was red. Files on my desk were usually in the blue or green folders that were used for civil litigation or corporate filings. I picked it up hesitantly and thumbed through it. Immediately, I could tell it was a divorce file—Custody and Division of Assets were prominent tabs. I closed the file and tapped it on my desk, thinking, What to do...
I could call Ancient Dorothy, tell her that a file had been misdelivered, but that was just silly. I was less than twenty feet from the East Wing. I could just walk over there and deliver it to the first secretary I saw. It would take less than a minute, and then the file would be properly handled. It was the obvious and responsible course of action.
Except that Broward doesn’t want you going to the East Wing, my conscience nagged with a know-it-all tone. What am I, five? I countered, getting irritated at my conscience. I’m perfectly capable of returning a file without getting into any trouble.
Decision made, I grabbed the file and strode out of my office, ducking past Sheila and practically jogging past the remaining open doors. I felt as if the red folder was a giant Look at Me! sign advertising my destination. Which, of course, it kind of was. I tucked the folder under my arm and willed myself to be invisible. My concern was unnecessary. No one even looked up, everyone absorbed in the ever-present pile of work. Broward being out of town didn’t mean the presses stopped.
I took a last-minute detour into the restrooms located just to the right of the elevators and appraised myself in the mirror above the sink. The light in the bathroom was muted, but it was bright enough to show me that it was not my best day. Whether intentional or not, my knowledge that Broward would not be in this week had caused me to dress down and not put as much effort into my appearance. I was wearing khakis, a pressed white button-down shirt and one of my new pairs of sensible, low, open-toed heels. My hair was, as always, up in a bun, and I had opted for glasses instead of my normal contacts. Some people think of glasses as sexy. Those people haven’t seen my glasses. Coke bottles would be a more apt description.
I had neglected to put on makeup, which meant I had pale, untouched skin and dark circles under my eyes. I knelt and opened up the sink cabinet and fished around behind a tampon box, reaching into the dark depths and feeling blindly until my hand bumped against what I was looking for: my small cloth makeup bag.
My first day I had packed an emergency makeup kit, one that included mascara, lip gloss and concealer. I had stored it there in case
