Page 2 of The Boyfriend Swap

Sidney

I logged off my computer, slipped into my Burberry trench coat, and turned off the light. It was almost eight o’clock—past the acceptable time to leave work on a Friday night, even for a lawyer—but I’d never take off for the weekend without responding to all my client’s emails. The advent of the smart phone meant I could communicate remotely from anywhere with cellular service or wi-fi, but once I left the office on a Friday night, I liked to unplug at least until the morning. My assistant, Anne Marie, had invited me to a wine party she was throwing with her roommate, and I wanted to get there before all the bottles were empty.

When I opened my office door, I came face to face with my father. My hopes of making a quick escape dashed like a reindeer through the snow on Christmas Eve.

“Sidney, I’m glad I caught you.” His eyes, the same jade color as mine, twinkled. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he was going to share a humorous anecdote or even invite me out to dinner to celebrate another successful week at the law firm where he was one of the name partners and I was a third-year associate. But I knew better—he wanted to talk shop.

“You’re leaving?” He gestured to my coat and pointed toward my dark office.

“I’m guessing the answer is ‘no’ if you have anything to say about it,” I mumbled. The man was my boss, but he was also my dad, which made maintaining professionalism at the conclusion of a long work week more challenging.

He waved me away. “I was going to ask you about a case, but we can do it tomorrow.” It didn’t matter that the next day was Saturday—lawyers didn’t do weekends. “Is it a date? Your mother will ask me.”

“No comment.” Iwasseeing someone, but since my father was privy to all my professional activities, keeping my personal ones from him and my mom helped maintain a sense of independence (and my sanity). I was twenty-eight years old and some aspects of my life, specifically ones pertaining to love and sex, screamed for privacy.

He scratched at his hair—salt and pepper and impressively thick for a man in his late fifties. “Fine. Keep your secrets, but she’s planning the Christmas party and will ask who you’re bringing.” He paused. “Preferably someone in a leadership position in the field of power and construction. The industry is booming, and the firm can use an in to a new client.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll see what I can do, Dad.” I stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind me for emphasis. “I’m late for a party, and you should head out soon too before Mom loses it.” She was accustomed to my father’s late hours, but her patience ran thinner on Friday nights and weekends.

My dad glanced left and right as if finally noticing the lights were off in nearly every room on the floor. With a wave goodbye, he headed in the direction of his office, which was blessedly on the other side of the hallway from the elevator bank.

I grimaced as my stomach growled in hunger. Anne Marie had said there would be food at the party, but I was positive the pickings would be slim to none two hours into a gig attended by all women. I’d purchase some goodies on the way to both satisfy my appetite and apologize for showing up late.

When the doors of the elevator opened, I stepped out into the lobby and almost collided with Michael Goldberg, a senior associate at the firm with a distaste for country music, solid-color neckties, and me. As far as many of the junior partners and senior associates, including Michael, were concerned, the reason I received a summer associate gig followed by an invitation to be a first-year attorney at Bellows and Burke LLP was because my last name was Bellows and had nothing to do with the fact that I was editor of Colombia Law Review and graduated at the top of my class. Three years later and I still had to work twice as hard for half the credit.

“Leaving so early, Sidney?” He raised the bag from Main Noodle House in his hand, no doubt wanting me to know he was working through dinner.

I tried to bite back the desire to say something snotty or defend myself. Nothing I said would make a difference anyway, but I couldn’t let Michael have the final word. “I need to make an appearance at a wine tasting. Sitting behind a desk for twelve hours a day is not the way to bring in new business. Sometimes you need to get out there and network.” Planting on a smile, I said, “I already made myself late sending out last-minute emails to clients, so I must go. Enjoy your Chinese food.” I hoofed it toward the exit without awaiting his response. He probably didn’t buy my story, but I’d find a way to beat him at his own game—maybe impress one of his clients into requesting me as his direct contact. My billing rate was lower and my work product was the level of a fifth-year—more bang for the buck. In the meantime, my skin burned with annoyance, my belly cried for food, and my liver begged for wine.

When I got outside, I spotted an available cab headed in my direction. I also saw a trio of tourists waving their arms frantically to get its attention. With one gesture of my hand, it stopped at my feet. I climbed inside, pretending not to hear the girls shouting at me. Being a native New Yorker had its advantages.

Robyn

Two hours into the party, and enough red wine varietals from the southern hemisphere in my system to feel a buzz, I raised the volume on my iPod and moved my hips to Rhianna’s “Where Have You Been.” I pulled Anne Marie away from the plate of cubed cheese to dance with me as a clear loud voice called out, “Sorry I’m so late.” I twirled around to see a pair of long slender legs in tight blue skinny jeans, a designer trench coat, and high heels. Her face was hidden by the layers of boxes she was holding.

Afraid they would topple over, I ran over to her. I stood on my toes to remove the top box and smiled up into a pair of forest-green eyes. “Let me help.”

“I’ve got it,” she said, walking over to the bridge table we’d set up for food. She placed the other two boxes on the nearest surface and turned to face us. “Sorry I’m late. I think it’s a rule in the law firm bible that associates must always be late for Friday night festivities. Anyway, I brought mini cupcakes and pizza so I hope you’ll forgive me.” She smiled. “I’m Sidney. Friend of Anne Marie’s. Well, technically her boss, but not for tonight.”

I should have known. Anne Marie said her boss was larger than life, and I could tell already the leggy redhead before me was a force. After putting down the cupcakes I was holding, I returned her grin. “Robyn. The roommate.”

Sidney scrutinized me. “You’re very pretty. I bet you get called ‘cute’ a lot though. Am I right?”

Amused, I said, “Yes, actually.” I was only five foot three and many people equated lack of height with cuteness. Some of my younger students called me Truly Me, after the American Girl doll with the long wavy brown hair and blue eyes.

Nodding knowingly, Sidney said, “I thought so.” Before I could thank her and return the compliment, she peered over my shoulder. “Is Anne Marie here?”

“She’s here some—”

“Sidney!” Anne Marie raced over to us and wrapped one solid arm around Sidney’s waist and the other one around mine in a group hug.

I giggled to myself, thinking the three of us, a blonde, brunette, and redhead, probably looked like the modern-day Andrew Sisters. I kept it to myself since I doubted either of them had heard of the American close harmony singing group from the mid-twentieth century.

“Someone’s had plenty of wine, eh?” Sidney locked eyes with me before we both turned to Anne Marie, whose fair skin was flushed to a deep shade of pink.

I shrugged. “I knew somehow the wine ‘tasting’ would turn into a wine ‘drinking.’”

Separating from Anne Marie, Sidney grabbed a cupcake and an empty glass. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Now, excuse me while I taste some wine.” She used air quotes around the word “taste” and winked at us before heading over to where the expert was standing a few feet away.

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