“My client never thought his wife would let a simple misunderstanding spin out of control like this,” Jack says. I can feel his eyes burning into me, but I refuse to turn and face him. One look at those baby blues might just melt me, and I want to stay strong.
“My client is very serious about her business, Your Honor,” I say, as Judge Martin strokes his chin and regards me. “She is very serious about business.”
“That’s become increasingly clear to me,” Jack says. “I mean, to my client.”
“My client didn’t want it to come to this either, but she’s learning things about her husband that she really didn’t know.”
“Such as?” Judge Martin asks.
“He wasn’t able to stand up for her in the way that she needed him to. I mean, stand up for the company, of course. So, she really thinks it’s best that they dissolve their partnership now, before they get hurt even more. The shareholders, I mean.”
“I still think that we can come to some sort of agreement here, though,” Judge Martin says. “Isn’t there some way we can meet in the middle?”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” I say, shaking my head, “it’s just too late for that.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, sweetheart,” Judge Martin says, looking at me as if I were his own daughter.
“I am, too, Brooke,” Jack says, and I can see out of the corner of my eye that he’s about to try to grab my hand. Not knowing what else to do to stop him from taking my hand, I lean to the side and begin fishing in my briefcase for my day planner.
“Then, we set a date,” Judge Martin says, looking at Jack.
Set a date. Judge Martin wants Jack and I to set a date. Sure, it’s for a trial, but I can’t help but think about how those words had such different meaning to us just months ago. When Jack and I first set a date, it was the beginning of our lives together. Now, we’re setting a date to end it, once and for all.
Jack doesn’t say a word. I can see him staring straight ahead at Judge Martin out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m going to schedule this for one day,” Judge Martin says, “this shouldn’t take more than one day, should it?”
“No,” Jack and I say in unison.
“One day should be perfectly sufficient,” I then add.
Judge Martin picks up his calendar, the large red leather book that sits on the edge of his desk, and flips through it.
“Next week’s out, since we’ve got the Federal Bar Council luncheon,” he says. He pauses for a moment and looks up at us. “Honoring Judge Solomon. I assume you’ll both be there?”
Jack nods—of course he’ll be at a Federal Bar Council luncheon honoring his own father—but I’m already formulating ways to get out of it, so I do a sort of yes/no nod to stay noncommittal.
“Then we’ll do the week after next,” Judge Martin says, flipping through the book’s massive pages until he hits a Tuesday. “The week after next on Tuesday. I never like to start a trial on a Monday.”
“That’s fine,” I say.
“Thank you, Judge,” Jack says.
Jack and I stand to shake Judge Martin’s hand and then leave chambers together. It kills me that he holds the door open for me as we walk out. I thank him so quietly, it’s practically under my breath, and I walk briskly toward the elevators.
“So, there’s no hope of settlement?” Jack asks, after he pushes the button for the elevator and stands next to me.
“No, Jackie, I’m sorry,” I say, looking down at my feet.
“We really need to settle this.” He gently grabs my arm.
The elevator doors open with a slight
“You don’t answer my calls,” Jack says, “and you’re never there when I come by.”
“I’m busy, Jack.”
“We need to talk,” Jack whispers to me.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I’m whispering, too.
“Yes, there is.”
“Anything you want to say to me,” I turn to him, “you could have said in Judge Martin’s chambers.”
“It’s not about the case—” as the elevator doors open to the lobby and I rush to get out “—it’s about us,” Jack says, walking quickly to catch up to me.
“Still nothing to discuss, Jackie,” I stop dead in my tracks.
“I made a mistake. But you’ve made mistakes, too, before, you know. And I’ve always forgiven you.”
“It’s not just one mistake, Jack,” I say. “We don’t even know each other. I don’t know you. And I can’t marry a man I don’t know.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you know me. We’ve known each other for six years. How can you say you don’t know me?”
“No, Jack,” I say, shaking my head. “No. The way you litigated against me, the way you let your family treat mine…I don’t know you at all.”
“Of course you know me.” He takes my hand and holds it gently. “Let me give you a ride back to your office so that we can talk.”
“I’ve got a car waiting outside to take me back to the office,” I say, releasing my hand from his grasp. “There is one thing I wanted to give you, though. That I thought you’d want back.”
I take his grandmother’s engagement ring from out of my purse and place it in his hand. I can’t even bring my eyes up to meet his as I rush off to the town car idling outside the courthouse.
28
“Noah wants to see you in his office,” my assistant announces, and my hands freeze on my keyboard. I can’t type another word of the memo I’m working on because I know what’s about to happen. Usually when Noah wants to see you, he just picks up his phone and calls you directly. When Noah calls your assistant to summon you, you can rest assured that you are in pretty big trouble.
“So,” my assistant says as I sail by her, “what can you tell me about that wedding videographer of yours?”
“Nothing,” I say, furrowing my brow to show my disapproval of the mere mention of him. “You should probably stay away from him.”
“Is he single?” she asks, twirling a stray curl around her index finger.
I consider telling her the truth—that I really have no idea whether or not Jay is single. But then I realize that I’ve just told a twenty-two-year old girl to “stay away” from a guy she’s got her eye on, and in doing so, I’ve just about ensured that she’ll go after him. Full guns blazing. So, in an effort to protect my assistant’s life, I tell her that Jay’s married. I just hope, for her own personal safety, that she doesn’t have the same view on married men as Miranda Foxley.
As I rush down the hall to Noah’s office, I take a quick stop into the ladies’ room to make sure I’m presentable. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, straightening my skirt and smoothing back my hair, I can’t help but remember how nervous I was during my first week at SGR. I was acutely aware of the fact that I’d never worked anywhere but Gilson, Hecht before, so starting work at SGR was a whole new world for me. I was used to Gilson, Hecht’s mammoth offices—encompassing 17 floors of their building at 425 Park Avenue—and was getting adjusted to life at a firm that only had one floor of offices. I was just beginning to find my way around, figuring out where the mail room was, the file room, and, of course, the bathrooms. Which wasn’t as easy as you may think when you’re used to an office with the same exact floor plan on all seventeen floors.
I remember the day, even, that it happened—it was a Thursday. On my way to the ladies’ room, I bumped
