KEPT_ A Second Chance Fairy Tale(3)
“I am eligible, but so are you,” I needlessly remind him. “Who are we talking about?”
“Jane Gilroy,” he announces. As he does, I roll my eyes and look to the ceiling.
Jane Gilroy is a challenging woman. It’s not because she’s a woman, either. It’s because she’s been around this business for a long time. She’s a sixty-something, self-serving, self-indulgent go-getter, who has nothing more to do with her time than seek out good investments and use them to her advantage.
“Does she even practice law anymore?” I ask, immediately on the defensive.
I’m not completely against the idea of expanding our practice. I focus on divorce and the custody battles that most often come with it. Corbin handles the majority of our civil litigation cases. The rest of the staff specialize in other areas, including the small amount of the criminally accused we represent.
Jane would be a good addition, considering she’s been around a long time and has expertise in many areas, frequently dabbling in all of them.
Pleading with his hands in front of him, he states his case. “Hear me out. She has wealthy clients and a fuck of a lot of connections. She also has more money than sense.”
“Always about the money, isn’t it?” I mock.
“She has friends in high places, too,” he continues. “On paper, she’s the ideal candidate for new partner.”
“On paper, but business isn’t only on paper. It’s also about cultivating relationships.”
“Says the man who spends hours and hours behind the desk avoiding people so he doesn’t have to talk to them.”
“Says the man who’s supposedly the face of Mercer Law,” I counter. “I’m a silent partner, Corbin. You’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t.”
“You talk to her. Vet her out and see what she thinks. If she’s interested, I’ll meet with her.”
“I’d meet with her myself,” he aimlessly offers, “but Jane hates me.”
“And why is that?”
“Who knows?” he snaps with aggravated innocence. “But we need this. We need movement. Staying stagnant in this economy will drown us. You know it.”
Conceding his point, I finally give in. “I’ll consider it.”
Looking around my desk, Corbin questions, “You’re stayin’ late tonight?”
“I was, but I forgot I have somewhere to be.”
“Ashlie,” he assumes, stating her name in the same tone Lillie had. “Where are you taking the little ice princess tonight?”
Ashlie Paige serves a specific purpose, one of which Lillie and Corbin don’t approve. Our relationship is a matter of convenience, nothing more. On the occasion I need a formal date for a dinner or charity event, or even just quiet company, she makes time for me. However, we have a strict no-strings agreement between us. She doesn’t ask for more, and I sure as fuck don’t encourage it.
“I’m taking her to a late dinner when she gets off work. Would you like to join us?” I offer, knowing he’ll refuse.
“No, thanks, man. Got plans.”
“What are those?”
“Not going to dinner with you and Ashlie Paige is plan enough. I don’t know what you see in her.”
Corbin knows why I choose to spend time with Ashlie, but he also knows I refuse to discuss it.
After my son died, I promised myself I’d never love anyone with that kind of intensity again. I’d never give another person the power to break me to the point that I don’t recognize myself anymore. I learned that losing someone you love has the power to paralyze you in such a way that you’d rather not breathe. The pain you feel isn’t on the surface. It’s deep and unforgiving. It carries the ability to torment you with its inescapable memories and unrelenting regret.
With Corbin still studying me, I explain, “I haven’t found anyone worth my effort, and Ashlie doesn’t ask for anything more than I’m willing to give her.”
Shaking his head in disagreement, he cautions, “You’re going to grow old alone, my friend. When that happens, I’ll make it a point to still be around to say I told you so.”
“I’ll never be alone if I have you,” I joke.
He scoffs. “What’s that tell you?”
“More than I care to admit.” I change the subject as I shut down my laptop and start to gather my things. “You’re here late this evening.”
“I’m headed to Tryst. I’ve gotta take a look at some video footage,” he replies. “A woman from some bachelorette party last night called sayin’ her purse was stolen. Tyler panicked, thinkin’ he needs a lawyer.” He finishes with a laugh.
Tyler is Corbin’s little brother, and also the owner of a club downtown which generally hosts occupants ranging from ages twenty-one to mid-thirties. Corbin and I have a financially vested interest in Tryst, making this a personal and business problem for us both.
“Did the woman make a statement to the police?”
He nods. “She did. Now I get to sort through all the footage and see if the problem started in Ty’s backyard or not.”
“You check out the new bartender?” I smirk. “Maybe she took it.”
I’ll admit, I rarely make jokes, and he takes immediate offense to this one. “Shelby’s my kid brother’s girlfriend, asshole. She didn’t take anything.”
“Right,” I answer, running my hands through my hair. “Want some help?”
“That’d be good. We can grab a drink after, if you want.”
“If there’s time.”
Tapping my desk with the palm of his hand, he turns to leave. “Oh, by the way, we’re still on for Sunday afternoon, right?”
“Sunday?”
“Sunday, Mike,” he stresses. “I had Warden Lillie add it to your calendar over a week ago. We’re supposed to play racquetball with the guys from Dean, Marcus, and Associates. We win, we get to use their season tickets to see the Yankees. Two games, our pick.”
Corbin and I are both Chicago Cubs fans. Me, because I grew up there and have always been an avid follower. Corbin, because he hopped on the bandwagon years ago when they had their shit together.
“And if we lose?”
“We pay their annual membership to Teegan’s Golf Club.”
“You agreed to that?”
“I agreed we wouldn’t lose. So we won’t.”
Clenching my jaw, I finish straightening my desk. “Go find out if your little brother’s woman is a purse snatcher. I’ll close up here and be right behind you.”
Before finally leaving me in peace, Corbin reiterates his point. “Give some thought to Jane. This could be an advantageous opportunity for everyone involved.”
“Stop trying to sell me your idea. I haven’t had time to process it. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Right,” he replies before closing the door behind him.
Lucy
I USED TO BELIEVE IN fairy tales.
At five years old, I spent my afternoons watching the same classic, animated movies again and again. Before falling asleep at night, I prayed to whoever I thought would listen that I’d wake up as Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White. I was convinced, even at my young age, that there would only be one man put on this earth for me to love. And when the time was right, I just knew he’d find me.
And the day I turned eighteen, I thought he had.
“Out with it!” my best friend, Shannan, cries, slamming her shot glass on the table and looking at me with determination. “Something’s going on, and you’re holding out.”
She’s right. I don’t like talking about myself. I hate it almost as much as I hate compliments.
For the last year, Shannan’s and my weekly ritual has been to get dressed up, find one of our favorite crowded pubs, take a seat at the bar, and throw back a shot of tequila for every crappy thing that happened to us during that week. Going out on Friday nights is the one thing I look forward to every week. At the same time, it allows my six-year-old son, Dillon, to stay at home and be babysat by my loving, but very flighty, mother.
“Where should I start?” I ask.
“Work. Let’s cover that first since it’s super boring.”
Shannan sets another shot in front of me, moves her long, dark hair from her shoulders, and smiles as she lifts hers in the air for the first toast.
“Fine,” I reply, doing the same. “They decided to change my hours at the diner, which means I’ll lose daycare for Dillon, since Stella only has energy for him in the mornings.” I down the drink as she does, then suck the lime before continuing. “He just got settled with her watching him. I love my job, but I can’t work the late afternoon or evening shifts.”
“Oh shit, Lucy Loo,” she breathes. “Do you think they’ll really let you go? They love you.”
“Probably,” I confirm. “They’re closing morning hours temporarily until things pick up this winter.”
“Point taken, but easy fix. We’ll find you another one.”
It’s so easy for her.
Shannan Ayers is a single, twenty-three-year-old woman living in her daddy’s guest house. She doesn’t work.
I met her almost two years ago while we were both clubbing downtown with friends. She also happened to be on a blind date, which she decided she didn’t want to be on. Her plan was to dodge his interest by using me as a prop to prove she was a lesbian.