Zoe greeted her with, “Harry and John are looking for you. They want to see you immediately. In the Grand Conference Room.”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. It was the nicest one the firm had, the one the partners used to impress new recruits and clients. She walked briskly down the hall, getting a few strange looks along the way. They barely registered. Strange looks were becoming almost normal, now that she was working so little.
She stopped in front of the dark wood door and took a deep breath. The Grand Conference Room isn’t designed for layoffs. You’ll be okay.
She knocked once and went inside. The conference room had a long mahogany table with expensive leather chairs. The windows gave a panoramic view of downtown Los Angeles, and the pristine cream walls had built-in shelves that held strategically placed awards and photos of the partners posing with various VIPs. It had been designed to impress.
Neither Harry nor John sat at the head of the table. Oh no. That seat currently belonged to another, far more important person: Barron Sterling.
Vanessa paused. Despite his age, Barron looked as languid and deadly as a great white shark. Fortunately his eyes twinkled with something that looked like good humor. She wondered about it for a split-second before remembering that it had to be because Justin had survived the crash. Totally understandable.
A Saville Row suit encased his solid body, only a hint of softness around the middle betraying his advanced years. He toyed with a sugar cookie that was on a plate in front of him.
Vanessa nodded to him and turned to the partners. “You were looking for me?”
“Yes.” John glanced at his watch. “For the last twenty-six minutes.”
She flushed. “I wish you’d called.”
“Nonsense,” Barron said, his gaze turning flinty as he glanced at John. “I’d never let anybody disturb my niece’s morning.”
She blinked a few times. “Your niece?”
Barron wiped his hands clean and rose. Facing her, he spread his arms. “Welcome to the family, Vanessa.”
She stared at Barron, then at the partners. The latter looked quite pleased. They were actually beaming at her like she was a prize race-horse who’d just won the triple crown.
“Mr. Sterling, I think there’s been a mistake,” Vanessa said thinly. Despite her suggestion to make their marriage public the night before, she was certain Justin hadn’t gone ahead and told his great-uncle. He knew how Barron was.
“Nonsense. I don’t make mistakes. And please, call me Barron.”
No mistakes? She bit the inside of her cheek. She could think of a few times, but mentioning them now wouldn’t be prudent.
Barron continued, “My only objection to all this is that you didn’t invite me to the wedding. Despite what you might’ve heard, I make a marvelous wedding guest.”
“I’m sure,” she said automatically. Her stomach suddenly started churning. “Excuse me,” she said, then bolted from the conference room.
John yelled from behind her, and Barron muttered something. She couldn’t make out anything, her ears ringing. She reached the bathroom and emptied her stomach.
She rinsed and wiped her mouth. Her cheeks looked flushed, matching the apple red of her hair, but otherwise she was deathly pale. She put a hand to her forehead. How could Barron know about the marriage?
As she walked out of the bathroom, she bumped into Stan. He gave her a smirk too big for his small head. “Now it’s Barron Sterling, eh?”
“Back off, Stan.” She gritted her teeth at how shaky she sounded. It was galling to look weak in front of the enemy. Stan raised a supercilious eyebrow and walked off; she composed herself and marched back into the conference room.
Barron munched on his sugar cookies, while the partners sat to his left, making small talk and trying to appear nonchalant, as though an associate running out was an everyday occurrence. Vanessa closed the door. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you all right? You look a little peaked,” Barron said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have barged in like this after the unfortunate incident yesterday, but I simply couldn’t wait.”
“I’m fine, thank y—”
“I agree with Mr. Sterling.” Apparently Barron hadn’t given Harry leave to call him by his first name. “You should take some time off. I’ve seen your billable hours, and you’ve been working too hard recently. We’re all quite concerned.”
Concerned? Vanessa’s jaw loosened. Harry hated associates billing fewer than a hundred hours a week, to the point that he called them “parasites.” He probably thought she was the most indolent sloth in the history of mankind since she was only working forty.