Now, I wonder if being so accommodating has been a hindrance to my career advancement.
Instead, I call the closest thing I have to a friend at the firm, Whitney Howard. She’s the only other black female associate in our department. We’re about as different as night and day, even when it comes to coloring. I’m more of a coffee—black, while she has a good dose of cream in the mix, and probably something a bit wild and wickedly fun like brandy or amaretto.
True to form, she starts in right away.
“Girl, I’ve never seen someone jump so fast out of the frying pan and into the fire, only to have her ass delivered right back to the fridge on a silver platter. What are you doing over there in Monte Carlo, and where the hell do I sign up?” she laughs. “You got all these silly boys in suits running around like puppies with their tails wagging.”
Usually, her casually uncensored manner and somewhat blasé attitude toward firm life leave me, at best, bewildered, at worst, a bit judgmental. I suspect she never even wanted to make partner! All the more so now that she’s pregnant and married to some man she met in Iceland of all places.
If it wasn’t for all the pro bono work she does with refugees, I’m sure Douglas & Foster would have dismissed her by now. Then again, for some reason, Jamie seems terrified of her. Perhaps because she doesn’t kowtow to his every demand. That alone gets her a point in her favor from me.
“So, what exactly happened?” I ask.
“You don’t know?” she replies in surprise, then continues without my prodding. “Spencer came bustling out of his office, dipping in and out of all the senior partners’ offices. Then he came to me, you know, because being black and female, I obviously knew what you were up to via the special telepathic connection we all have. Speaking of which, what are you up to? Was that what this trip was about? How the hell did you even get a meeting with the man? Is he as sexy as fuck as he looks in all those photos of him?”
I leave that one alone.
“So you don’t know exactly what…services Magnus Reinhardt stated he needed?”
“The only thing I know is that he dropped ten-million dollars as a retainer and said he’d only work directly with you.”
I feel my heart nearly explode with pride—the bad kind, the in-your-face, and kiss-my-black-ass kind. Also, the kind I have absolutely no right to claim. I did nothing to earn this other than raise the suspicions of a dangerous foe.
It isn’t a retainer Magnus has sent Douglas & Foster; it’s a purchase. I feel like one of those daughters in centuries past who were nothing more than chattel, moving out of their parents’ house where they were worked to death and right to their husband’s, where they suffered perhaps a worse fate.
“Wait a second, did you say ten-million dollars?” I ask, suddenly realizing the importance of that amount. It’s the same amount Linus and Theo stole.
“According to the rumor mill,” Whitney continues. “Oh, and whoever it was that set this up said he needed you to stay out there for at least forty days. Hello, sis! Monte Carlo for over a month? Even if it is for work, I ain’t mad at ya.”
If only she knew.
“Thanks, Whitney.”
“No, thank you, Sloane. Just watching Jaimie’s head nearly explode has been worth it.” She laughs, and it’s enough to perk me up just a bit.
“I guess I’ll see you in forty days,” I say.
“That sounds decidedly Catholic. Don’t abstain too much, Sloane.” She laughs again.
I’m reminded why I’ve only been tentatively friendly with her. The image she presents at the firm certainly isn’t the most strait-laced and professional, which is what Douglas & Foster likes to practically slap you in the face with. In fact, I’m pretty sure one of the reasons Jamie has been so persnickety about my being partner is because he can’t help but associate me with her.
Now, I’m rethinking all of that. Perhaps I should look into reconsidering my relationship with Whitney Howard. I have a feeling she’d make a better ally than most people at the firm. I have a feeling I actually like her better than most people at the firm.
Rather than absorb myself with work as I normally would, I pull up my e-reader app on my phone and dive into the latest Stephen King book I’ve been filling tiny breaks with since forever. For once, I can get through a chapter without the guilt that usually has me switching right back to the latest brief, or contract, or memo, or case file.
It feels sinful.
It feels heavenly.
The only thing eventually stopping me is the sleep that overtakes me.
* * *
My eyes blink open at the sun that filters in through the bedroom. I realize that I’ve left my curtains open and beyond the window is an expanse of various shades of blue, from the sky to the sea.
I smile groggily at the pretty picture it presents, especially framed by such luxurious surroundings.
It quickly fades when I remember what my circumstances are. I sigh and sit up. My instinct is to call Jamie as he instructed. I check the time and find that it’s still only eight o’clock in the morning here. A wicked grin appears as I consider calling him despite the time difference. Heaven knows he’s never been shy about sending me emails and messages at one in the morning for things that needed taking care of “first thing!”
But the last thing I want to do is ruin the start of the day by hearing his grating voice.
Magnus said I could sleep in, but I’m not tired. Still, I’ll interpret that to mean that my morning is mine.
When I took a shower last night, I couldn’t help but note the huge spa tub next to it. Baths have been a luxury that I haven’t dared indulged in. When have I ever had the time to be
