“Okay,” she whispers, nodding. She tries to walk past the bed and toward the door, but I move in front of her and gently hold her forearm.
“Do you believe me?” I ask.
Her eyes lock with mine and she lets out a sigh.
“Yes. I think so,” she answers. “But this has turned into more drama than I can handle right now. Not with everything happening at my job. A job where your crazy ex-girlfriend is my coworker, nonetheless. And . . .” the soft and loose brown curls on either side of her heart-shaped face bounce back and forth while she shakes her head, “I’m barely staying afloat as it is. This is just too much. I’m not sure there’ll be a next time, Warren.”
9
SAVANNAH
Glaring at the computer monitor in front of me, I toss a handful of dried cranberries that I wish were french fries in my mouth. You’d think my email would be pretty empty on a Friday, but in this line of work, the weekend is fair game for billable hours and the flood of tasks and requests never seem to stop landing in my inbox.
Still being on probation, it’s the same drudgery they’ve had me doing since the jail incident. It’s frustrating. How can I prove myself as a capable attorney when everything they’re giving me could very well go to a paralegal? But for the last two weeks, this is how it’s been.
“Hey, girl!” A chipper voice sounds over the top of the cubicle wall to my left. I turn to see that it’s Emma and I inwardly cringe, but force a smile. I’ve successfully avoided her all week since the bunkhouse debacle thanks to the big case she’s been working on with the senior partners. I want to be the one on cases with the senior partners, jealousy gnawing at my gut. I suck in a deep breath to push it away, realizing that my luck in staying away from her has finally run out.
“Hi, Emma.”
“A peace offering,” she smiles brightly as she lifts an iced coffee over the top of the wall and extends it toward me.
“Oh, thank you. That’s not necess?—”
“I know most of the time, new girlfriends don’t get along with the ex, but since we work together, I thought maybe we could be friends instead.” Aside from the minuscule twitch in her right eye, her face is the picture of sweet enthusiasm, so I take the drink from her.
Wait . . . girlfriend? Does she think Warren and I are dating?
“Let’s double date soon! I knowallthe places Warren loves, so it’d be super easy and fun, right?” Her ponytail swings from side to side with her overly animated way of talking. I instinctively squirm away from her, scooting back in my chair. This woman isa lot.
I guess I can give her credit for being pleasant with me at the office despite seeing me kiss Warren. I had fully prepared myself for her to be a total bitch to me after hearing how obsessive she’s been over him.
“I think you have the wrong idea. Warren and I aren’t?—”
“You don’t want to be friends with me?” Her question comes out like a devastated and child-like whine while the size of her eyes grows and she pouts out her bottom lip.
It’s not that I don’t want to be friends with her. It’s that she mistakenly believes that Warren and I are together, which couldn’t be further from the truth. God, that’d be awkward if that were true considering she still has pent-up feelings for him. And she’s been stringing along my brother at the same time. The more I run the ridiculous scenario over in my head, the less I feel like I’m at work right now, instead on an episode ofThe Jerry Springer Show.
“No, that’s not it at all.” I take a quick sip of the iced coffee and offer a soft smile. Just as I’m about to correct her on the misunderstanding, my desk phone rings.
“One second,” I say to Emma and then pick up the receiver. “Hel—I mean, this is Savannah.”
“This is Henry. Can you come to my office for a quick meeting, please?”
“Sure thing, see you in a minute.” I hang up the phone and quickly stand, gathering a pen and my padfolio. “I’ll be right back.”
Emma nods and I turn to head toward Mr. Grant’s office.
“Don’t forget your drink, you don’t want it to get all watery just sitting there!”
“Right,” I lightly laugh and go back to grab the drink, lifting to her in cheers, a wordless way of me saying that all is good between us, and I want no part in her little circle of drama.
The inside of Henry Grant’s office isn’t lavish or gigantic like most managing partners’ offices are. It’s not on the corner of a city skyscraper with a view or furnished with fancy bookshelves and golden-hued lamps. It’s humble and welcoming with warm tones and pictures of his family decorating the walls. I take a seat in one of the soft taupe chairs across from him at his desk and put on my most attentive face.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Grant?”
“First off, call me Henry, please.” He lifts a glass of murky-looking water to his lips, takes a big gulp, and winces. “My wife’s pulling out all the stops after our doctor hounded me for my cholesterol. She’s got me drinking this crap.” He adds a good-natured laugh.
I smile at him, thinking how cute it is that he’s downing a foul-looking drink per his wife’s wishes.
