Marital Bitch(27)
“Have you seen my phone?” I practically beg as I toss cushions aside.
“Yeah,” Brad scratches his head, yawns, and casually walks over to the kitchen. I practically leap over the discarded cushions as I race for the kitchen. Brad picks my phone up and tosses it to me. I catch it mid-sprint. The battery is dead. I run to my luggage and pull out my charger, plugging it into the nearest outlet. I wait with bated breath as it slowly comes to life.
“You want coffee?” Brad hollers over the repetitive dinging of my Blackberry’s alerts. I’m too focused to answer him. 28, 29, 30, 31… Thirty-five one text messages, eight voice mail messages, and fourteen e-mail messages; and my palms are sweaty. What have I done? First I check my text messages: one from James telling us to make him an uncle; one from Darla telling us to ignore James, he’s drunk; four from Emily telling me that we need to get together soon; and twenty five from Thomas Nate. I am so screwed.
The first message from Thomas was sent last night just after he left the party. He needed help in court this morning. The next five are also from the previous night from Thomas; various instructions and a few pleas for me to contact him so that he can brief me on the Perkins case. The rest are from this morning. They start out friendly, but the last five are to inform me that once I pull myself from my husband that I need to meet with him in his office as soon as possible.
Tears stream down my face. I can’t even believe that I didn’t set my alarm for this morning. I didn’t even bother to charge my phone. Missing a morning of work without notice is bad enough, but that I can muck through. Missing court is unforgivable short of a life or death situation. Dry humping the husband is not a life or death situation, and for the life of me, I cannot imagine an acceptable scenario to tell Thomas. I’ll just have to go in and accept whatever punishment Thomas deems necessary. I just hope it doesn’t cost me my position at the firm.
I stand up, careful not to yank out my charger and I look to Brad with tear-filled eyes. He’s calm and cool, as always, and it angers me. Nothing shakes this man. This house could probably get foreclosed on and he would still be calm and cool, like there’s nothing to worry about. The coffee maker beeps and he pours himself a cup, drinking it black.
“How can you be so calm?” I yell at him. He barely notices and just shrugs his shoulders. I scream, stomp toward him, and grab the mug from his hands. The steaming hot coffee sloshes out of the mug, scolding my hands; which only makes me even madder. Brad just watches me, still half asleep, an amusing smirk playing on his lips. It’s not really his fault that I’m late, but his aloof attitude has me spitting bullets.
“Oh, calm the fuck down, already, will you?” His eyes narrow and he takes his coffee mug back. Now he looks like he’s getting annoyed. Good. “You can’t blame me this time, pretty girl,” he yawns lazily. I grumble in frustration and spin around, grabbing my purse and my barely charged Blackberry. I don’t have my car here, it’s across town at my condo. On my way to the door I eye Brad’s key rack, and an idea comes to me. I grab his keys and run out the door. He’s calling after me, trying to offer me a ride; but I don’t want to be driven.
“MS. FRASIER OR should I call you Mrs. Patrick?” Thomas says, bite in his voice. My stomach churns in fear. He waves me in. “Shut the door, Colleen. We don’t need the entire floor aware of your short comings.”
I shut the door behind me and sit in a guest chair, awaiting my fate. Thomas and I are close in age, but he’s the golden child of the senior partner. Thomas is not known for his people skills, but he’s a competent enough lawyer. He’s also not one for beating around the bush.
“When you were hired here, Colleen, the firm made it perfectly clear what our stance was on our associate’s personal lives interfering with their commitment to the firm. Need I remind you of the commitment you made upon being hired?” I shake my head. No, I needn’t be reminded, thank you.
“Employment at Nate & Caldwell is high sought after. Had it not been for your father’s connections in the D.A.’s office, you likely would not have been hired. Based on your University scores and your interview alone, you were not an ideal candidate for the position.” His words cut me to the bone. During my interview, Mr. Nate, Sr. asked me about my father several times, but I never thought much of it. And my scores from University? That must be a joke. I went to Harvard.
“Mr. Nate,” I say as confidently as I can, “I went to Harvard. I received above average marks, and I do not appreciate the accusation that I did not obtain this position based on my own merit—that I had to have daddy help me—so please. I have no defense for my absence this morning.” I choose not to apologize just yet. I don’t want to sound like I’m begging or kissing his ass. I know Thomas wants me to kiss his ass more than anything right now.