Page 50 of The Enforcer

I almost succeed, but then my name is called and my spine stiffens. “Mr. Astor.”

Turning around, I come face to face with Mr. Clinton and Mr. Bridge. Mr. Clinton’s expression is one of barely disguised disgust as he looks at Zeke. Defensively, I step in front of my man, plastering a fake smile on my face. “Mr. Clinton, Mr. Bridge. How are you gentlemen?”

Mr. Bridge answers friendly enough, but Mr. Clinton outright ignores me, staring at Zeke like he’s beneath him.

“This is my boyfriend, Ezekiel. Zeke, these are the senior partners from my law firm.”

None of them move to shake each other’s hands. Zeke has a slight smile on his face, though, like this whole situation is funny. It would be to Zeke. He takes nothing like this seriously and doesn’t let people get to him.

Zeke and Mr. Clinton stare each other down, like they’re having some sort of mental battle that can only be won through eye contact. When Mr. Clinton looks away first, Zeke’s smile grows. I elbow him discreetly and he grins over at me, then kisses me on the cheek. I’m sure I blush, my cheeks feeling warm from his affection.

“I’d like to see you in my office in one hour. It’s about your promotion,” Mr. Clinton says in a clipped tone.

That doesn’t bode well. My stomach does somersaults, but I don’t let him see my apprehension. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

Without another word, both Mr. Bridge and Mr. Clinton walk down the street.

My eyebrows furrow as I watch them walk away. Even though Mr. Clinton didn’t say it, he didn’t have to: I didn’t get the promotion. I should be gutted after working so hard to get to that position, but I feel … weirdly relieved. Yes, it fucking sucks that I won’t be promoted, but that means I can slow down. I can rest and take better care of myself. I don’t have to work so hard. The senior partners have already seen what I’m capable of, but if that interaction was anything to go by, they’re choosing to hold my relationship against me.

If I’m being honest, that’s not the kind of place I want to work. It might be time to think about walking away from this firm. All the work I put in, my love for my job, my desire for advancement—these are all holding me back from actually being happy and having a work-life balance. I should probably come to terms with not advancing there if I’m still with Zeke. I don’t plan to give him up for a job. Fuck that. So, I’ll need to find a job that welcomes me as well as him. Or where people at least have the decency to shut the fuck up if they see us together.

Sighing, Zeke tucks me closer to his side. “Sorry about that.”

With a wry grin, I glance up into his handsome face. “Are you really?”

“Would I be a dick if I said no?”

Throwing my head back, I laugh long and hard. Yeah, I’m not giving this up for the job. Zeke is the dream.

I resolve to let the chips fall where they may. If I don’t make partner, I don’t make it. I’ll still be a lawyer; that’s something they can’t take away from me just because they don’t like the company I keep.

As that thought circles around my head, I realize it’ll be an ongoing problem. No matter where I go, someone will find out who my boyfriend is and judge me before they know me. They’ll judge us and the club.

Working for someone with their noses in the air isn’t the best option for me since I plan to be with Zeke until the day I die. It might be time to figure out how to work for myself.

That’s a scary thought, going into private practice. So much uncertainty. Working at a law firm is more guaranteed clients, more guaranteed work and a guaranteed paycheck. Private practice would be a bitch to break into, having to cultivate my own clients and build my own brand. It’s a scary prospect.

Zeke walks me to my office, kissing me breathless against the door before he takes his leave to go find Kirk and exact whatever punishment Prez deems necessary. I busy myself for the next forty-five minutes going over notes with Tucker. Once I figure out the defense, I send Tucker back to the law library while I make my way to Mr. Clinton’s office.

My heart pounds hard as I approach. I might think I’ll be okay with not getting the promotion, but it’ll still be a bitch to hear.

Mr. Clinton summons me in when I knock on his door. Exhaling roughly, I step inside, taking a seat in the chair he indicated in front of him.

He doesn’t say anything for many long moments, just stares at me. I stare back, trying to figure out his game. Then it clicks. He’s trying to intimidate me. This is a stare I’ve seen him aim at witnesses on the stand and most of them quail under its intensity. Except I’ve been hanging around Prez, Zeke, Jace, Reaper and the rest of the guys. His stare does not scare me.

When I don’t look away or appear otherwise affected, Mr. Clinton nods and taps his fingers on his desk. “Mr. Astor, you’re an asset to this firm. You have a great win rate and you take the hard cases, the unwinnable cases and work your magic. We’re lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir,” I answer, but my tone is guarded. I’m not sure what hammer he wants to drop, but I know it’s something.

“Which is why we’d like to offer you the position of senior partner.”

The air whooshes out of my lungs. “What?”

“You were the best candidate and we see great things coming from you. We can only rise higher with you at the helm with us.”

That was not where I thought this conversation would go. To say I’m stunned is an understatement.

Standing, I reach for Mr. Clinton’s hand, shaking it earnestly. “Thank you. You won’t be disappointed.” What a relief. I thought for sure he wouldn’t recommend me for the promotion after his showdown with Zeke on the sidewalk. I thought I’d be coming in here for him to inform me the position was given to someone else. God, I can’t wait to tell Zeke.

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