Chapter Thirteen

Landon

 

“Hey, Landon.”

Duncan waves from across the large foyer, marching toward me like he has all the time in the world and smiling like he’s doing me a big favor by meeting me.

There are two things I remember him telling me during the interview process: One, the pro bono position they hired me for was to make the firm look charitable instead of the high-priced, high-rolling, money-making machine it is. The second was that his third wife is expecting his fourth kid.

The pro bono work doesn’t rattle me, bring it. I’m not looking for fame and fortune, nor am I afraid to work hard. The three wives and four kids, that’s a different story. That’s my worst nightmare.

A string of Bernadettes, one after the other, and kids I can’t keep track of because they live in different homes, no thanks. Or should I say, fuck that. From what Duncan admitted, his last divorce was just as bad as the first, and already he thinks the current one won’t work out either. “She was different when we were dating,” he told me. “The minute I put a ring on her finger, she turned.”

Sure she did.

His gaze passes along my Brooks Brothers suit, appearing amused. His problem, not mine. If I’m representing the underprivileged, I’m leaving the Armani at home. And if he’s going to support all those kids and their mothers, maybe he should look at hocking that Panerai watch he’s more than happy to flash me.

Damn, if I was Duncan, I wouldn’t be grinning, I’d be begging God to put me out of my misery. He’s the “Love is Bullshit Posterchild”, and I’m a moron for even thinking I had it.

He holds out his hand. “Good to see you.”

“Duncan,” I say, giving him a nod. I motion to the stand at the other end of the foyer. “Want some coffee?”

“No, we have people for that.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me my I.D. “This will give you access into the building and garage even if you stay after hours. There are a lot of perks to working here, and you’ll get to experience them during your first few weeks. That’ll change once the judge starts assigning you cases.” He huffs. “I’ve seen the list of shit being considered. You’ll be lucky if you get out of here by midnight if you get some of dem’ immigration cases.”

“I figured, but I’m ready,” I assure him.

I walk beside him to the security desk. “With the kind of people you’ll be dealing with, you better be,” he says, not bothering to censor his remarks.

I was raised to give back so I’m not fazed by “the kind of people” I may or may not deal with. And since I was also raised to be polite, I don’t call Duncan out for being an asshole. It’s only my first day. I’m sure I’ll get plenty more opportunities.

After a brief introduction to the security staff, we head to the elevators.

“God,” he says, when we step inside. “I wouldn’t be caught dead doing what you’re doing. I worked for Legal Aide in New Jersey right out of law school. I had drug addicts, prostitutes, and don’t get me started on those D.V. victims. Worst six months of my life.”

“I’m sure it was,” I agree. Hey, for someone like him, it probably was. “But don’t pay those people who needed you any mind, Duncan. You’re making the big bills now.”

“Damn right,” he agrees, my insult completely flying over his head.

What an idiot. Out of habit, I go to scratch my beard. Smooth skin greets the pad of my fingers, reminding me that it and my long hair are gone.

“So why do it?”

“Why do what?” I don’t even blink. “Work pro bono? Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Apparently the right thing is a concept completely lost to Duncan. “You graduated at the top of your class from Duke. You could have applied for an associate’s position—hell, for a junior partner slot based on your connections and litigation experience—and you would have received it! Instead, you volunteered for this.”

It’s almost the exact same thing he said to me during the first of my three interviews. “It’s the right thing to do,” I repeat. I don’t bother to tell him I don’t need the extra cash or remind him the partners are giving me a generous salary just to make them look good. Someone like Duncan is always too busy looking at the dollars he can make rather than the people he can help.

“Better you than me,” he says, reaffirming that in his world, pro bono work is pure bullshit.

He hits the button to the elevator again, even though it’s already lit. “Damn thing always takes forever when I’m in a rush.” He eyes me closely. “You single?”

“Yes, sir.”

He huffs. “Good. You’re better off. Although I should warn you, you might not be once word gets out around the office. Just try to avoid dipping your pen in the company ink. That gets messy and the last thing you want is drama.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I assure him.

He makes a face. “I said the same thing and she became my second wife.”

“Nice,” I say, stepping into the elevator.

When we reach the tenth floor, the doors open, revealing pristine cherry paneling and more marble tile. A receptionist with dark hair glances up, the firm’s name in large gold letters shining behind her.

“Good morning, Duncan,” she offers brightly, her stare skipping my way.

“Cynthia, how’s my girl?”

It seems Duncan is already lining up wife number four. “This is Landon Summers, our new associate,” he tells her.

I switch the briefcase to my other side and offer her my hand. “Nice to meet you, Cynthia.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Summers.”

“You can just call me Landon, ma’am,” I offer, resuming my pace when Duncan marches forward.

I don’t bother to see if she smiles or says anything back. She’s a pretty young woman. But nowhere near as beautiful as Luci.

Luci . . . hell, didn’t I screw that up.

She texted me to tell me she arrived home safely. How did I respond? “Good.”

Even though it was a damn lie.

It wasn’t good she’d left, or that we didn’t make plans to see each other again. I know I could have picked a better choice of words, but nothing seemed right at the time.

“I miss you” was too soon, despite that’s how I felt.

My house . . . shit, it didn’t seem so big and empty with her around. But once she left all that space grew wider, leaving me in the middle with no real place to go.

Her text to me would have been the perfect opportunity to start a conversation, maybe even face-time with her. Instead there was nothing but silence on both ends.

Every night since then, I’ve wanted to call her and make sure she’s okay. Except every night came and went, leaving only doubts and too many regrets.

You don’t know someone after two days, I told myself. It’s impossible, I insisted. It can’t lead you to any place real. These are the things I kept repeating over and over, and ultimately why I haven’t called her.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her every night I fell asleep without her or that I didn’t reach for her when I woke.

I should stop thinking about her. The way her hair fell around her shoulders, her smile, and how easily my smile came in her presence.

Problem is, I can’t.

Duncan cuts a right down the center row of cubicles, leading me to an office that’s all wall to wall glass. “All the new guys get these.”

It comes out like an apology, but I don’t care. Like I said, I’m here to work. “You’ll get new furniture,” he says. “And our office manager will assign you an assistant.”

I place my briefcase on the desk. There’s not a lot to the small space, but I don’t need much. The desk, file cabinet, and two chairs is plenty.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says. “We have a breakfast meeting.”

“Now?” I ask.

“Yeah, this way.”

He leads me down a long hall. The same fishbowl offices lay to our right while a sea of cubicles line the left. A few women walk toward us, some doing double-takes when they see me and more taking the time to watch me pass.

A few years ago, I would have welcomed the stares that lingered, and the smiles that had nothing to do with being friendly and everything to do with being more. Now, all I want is to be left alone to do my job.

It’s what’s best for now. But I hate the thought. As much as I don’t want to be Duncan, with too many wives who mean nothing and a slew of kids who mean less, I also don’t want to become that bitter, lonely old man, pissed that life went on without him.

I do my best to be cordial when another pair of women stop what they’re doing to watch me.

“Are we late?” I ask Duncan, noting how much faster he moves when we reach the far end of the office.

“It’s not that. It’s just that the senior partners will be there and it’s best you arrive before instead of after them.”

“True,” I agree.

The door he throws open is heavy and the large boardroom we enter is immense. A rectangular table, wide enough to seat about twenty overlooks the city skyline to our right. Every chair is occupied by men and women dressed in suits, except for the five seats on the end which lay empty.

Everyone quiets when they see us.

“Oh, it’s just Duncan,” a man dressed in Armani mutters.

“Fuck off, Jefferson,” Duncan tells him, scowling.

Most of the male attorneys laugh while the women roll their eyes. I suppose the men enjoy the ball-busting while the women are tired of the show. I don’t bother laughing even though it’s clear that’s what the testosterone generators are expected to do. Hey, I’ll be the first to admit attorneys have egos. But egos are like trolls, no need to feed them.

Duncan introduces me to everyone except Jefferson, making their dislike for each other all the more obvious. Still, I offer him my hand before taking a seat beside Duncan.

We’re shooting the shit when the big boss comes in. I’m the first to stand, but not the last, meeting the senior partner with grin and a firm handshake.

He nods, ignoring everyone else. “Landon, welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ballantyne. I’m glad to be here, sir.”

He sits at the head of the table. I resume my place by the window. “We ready to start?” he asks the woman at the far end.

“Not yet, sir. We’re waiting for Luci, she has all the materials.”

The name gives me pause. I chalk it up to a coincidence although I can’t ignore all the feelings that name stirs, feelings I’m better off forgetting than dwelling on.

The door flies open and in walks a tall woman in a red suit, her shoulder-length dark hair skimming just past her shoulders. I relax a little. “Luci” I presume.

“I thought you were supposed to be in court,” Mr. Ballantyne barks at her.

She tosses a folder on the desk in front of him, a very satisfied grin splaying across her face. “I would be if we didn’t just settle,” she sings. She turns to the cluster of attorneys gathered at the table. “Seven figures. Read ‘em and weep, bitches.”

“Language,” Mr. Ballantyne, mutters, not bothering to glance up.

Everyone falls perfectly still as Mr. Ballantyne flips through the folder and reads the letter. “Well done,” he tells her. “Well done indeed.”

She glances around, seemingly pleased with herself despite that you can slice through the jealously in the room with a machete. She stops when she sees me. “And you are?”

“Landon Summers. I’m the new pro bono attorney.”

She shakes my hand when I offer it, giving me the once-over. “Kee-Kee Washington. Good to meet you.”

I release her hand slowly. So, not Luci . . .

I lean back in my chair, wishing I could kick this nagging feeling and my own ass while I’m at it. It was two days of companionship and hot sex, I remind myself. Nothing more.

I’ve repeated the same thing like a mantra every night I’ve gone to sleep without Luci, wondering if she’s okay and wishing she was with me.

“I have a case before Judge Mizan this afternoon,” Jefferson says to me. “If you want, you can tag along. Get to know the clerks, some of the staff, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, ignoring the glare Duncan casts his way. “Do you know where I get my parking pass?”

Jefferson smiles. “Oh, yeah, Luci will totally hook you up.”

Luci.

Again.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake what I’m feeling.

“Kee, did you see Luci out there?” the woman at the far end asks.

Kee-Kee huffs. “No. She’s probably fending off the mob that surrounds her every time she leaves her office. Between them”—She motions irritably around the table—“And all of you, my girl can’t get a break.” She turns to Mr. Ballantyne. “Sir, I’d like to talk to you about giving Luci one of the corner offices down here when we move upstairs. If anyone deserves it, it’s her.”

The room of suits collectively mumble, agreeing for the first time since I sat down. Mr. Ballantyne nods as if it’s already a done deal.

I loosen my collar, feeling suddenly hot.

I’m hoping this Luci woman is old, real old, the kind of old that’s going to pat me on the head every time she passes me—the kind I shouldn’t be interested in.

“Who’s Luci?” I ask Duncan, unable to stop myself and hoping whatever he says will calm me the hell down.

Jefferson cuts him off. “Our office manager and go-to for just about everything. You’re going to fucking love her.”

“Language,” Mr. Ballantyne repeats, again, not bothering to glance up.

“I’ll call her,” Kee-Kee says, reaching for her phone when the room quiets. A phone rings right behind the door. “Luci, get in here, will you?”

“I’m trying,” a quiet and very familiar voice answers.

I straighten in my seat.

No way.

The door pops open. All I see is part of a leg belonging to a very petite body. I go perfectly still.

No way.

The person at the door—the one who can’t possibly be Luci because that Luci lives in New Jersey, speaks quietly to another woman just outside the room. The other person is agitated. Luci is not, talking calmly and reassuring her.

No fucking way.

My heartbeat grounds to a halt when Luci, the Luci, walks in. The hair I tangled between my fingers when she went down on me is pulled up in a messy bun, held together by a pencil. Maybe this shouldn’t be my first thought, and maybe it shouldn’t be my second either. But I am a man and that’s exactly what happened.

Instead of a cocktail dress, she’s in a long, shapely brown skirt and silky white blouse. Her arms are stacked with folders, and still she greets the room with a warm smile.

“Luci.”

“Luc!”

“Bout damn time.”

Almost everyone is saying something to tease and reach her. Everyone is happy to see her.

Everyone but me.

What da hell?

“Hi, everyone,” she says. “I apologize for being late.” She drops the stack in her arms at the opposite end of the table, moving toward me when the people at the end start shooting the folders down the line.

“Luci,” a woman asks. “What’s going on with the new hire?”

“I’ve scheduled you to meet her tomorrow morning before your eleven o’clock appointment,” Luci replies, using that same sweet voice she used when she offered to cook me dinner. “She’s a highly qualified secretary with years of experience in tax law.”

“Wait,” Kee-Kee says. “Why does Sharon get the highly qualified and I get Liza?”

Luci pauses, barely blinking. “Liza will be fine, Kee. Sharon needed someone with a specific area of knowledge, hence her candidate’s more advanced qualifications.”

“Luc, I need to talk you about the stock options,” Jefferson calls out.

“That’s fine,” she replies, scrolling through her iPad. “Does four work?”

“Anything for you,” he tells her, winking.

She’s almost to me. I wait for something, some sort of recognition, apology—something to explain why she’s here, in Charlotte, the same place I’m supposed to work for the next year.

She doesn’t so much as glance my way, her focus on Mr. Ballantyne as she nears my end of the table. “My apologies, sir,” she tells him, fussing with the scarf around her neck. “There were a few issues that needed my attention.”

“Don’t worry, Luci,” he says. His expression is relaxed and he appears to calm in her presence. “If you would, I’d like you to meet our pro bono associate.”

She turns, her olive skin and light eyes radiant, and her presence just as magnetic as it was the first time we met. “Hello,” she says, smiling politely. “I’m Luci.”

At first, I think she’s blowing me off. Until it becomes perfectly clear she doesn’t recognize me. Frustration punctures my chest as I wrestle with how to play this.

Except I’m done playing games and I’ll be damned if I pretend to be someone I’m not.

I rise, offering her my hand almost at the same time a spark of recognition goes off beneath that mound of hair. “Landon Summers, charmed.”

Her eyes fly open and her hand doesn’t quite make it to mine. She jerks her head in Mr. Ballantyne’s direction and then back at me.

“No,” she says

And that’s about it.

“Something wrong, Luci?” he asks.

“This . . .” she says, struggling to find the right words to describe what “this” is.

“Luci, what’s going on?” Kee-Kee asks.

I think Kee-Kee is looking at me. I think everyone is looking at me. But my eyes are on Luci and that’s where they stay.

“You’re the new associate?” she stammers.

It’s not really a question, more like a “holy shit” response. Hell, that makes two of us because what the unfathomable fuck is happening here?

Duncan nudges me as I take a seat, oblivious to anything that’s happening. “Luci’s going to take care of all your needs,” he says.

She already has, I don’t bother to add.

“Do you know each other?” Kee-Kee asks.

If her reddening face doesn’t answer that question, mine for sure does.

“Oh,” some asshole a few seats down says, dragging out the word.

Well, I’ll say this, I know how to make a lasting first impression.