Page 23 of The Lawyer
“It’s horrendous, as is the coffee.”
“Stop being a snob. If you want decent coffee, try Afghanistan for a while.”
“You’ve been in Afghanistan?”
“A little.”
“Why were you there?”
“I go where the money leads me. You know that. I'd be entirely comfortable staying closer to home if a certain someone would pay well enough. Unfortunately, he's a miserly scrooge.”
My brow arches. “Not this again. You ask for too much, Ivy. We don't pay anywhere near that amount for freelancers, and you know it. I'm far from miserly; I'm simply a realist when it comes to profitability.”
“You're loss. Anyway,Seffi?”
I smirk at her tenacity and lean back in the chair. “Have you had your author interview yet?”
“Yes. Strange bloody woman. Didn’t stop talking and was clearly digging. Father made a poor choice, but honestly, this redirection isn’t going to work on me. Seffi?”
“What about her?”
“Stop it. We’re not in a courtroom and you can’t circumvent this.”
“Fine. What would you like me to say?”
“I’d like to know how you feel about it. Being such a fucking arse to her about being happy is bloody awful.”
“I’m not. In fact, I went to Paris to see for myself how happy she is. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you that.”
She looks shocked. “You did?” I nod and pick up the fucking awful coffee again, needing something to fill my stomach even if it is horrendous. “And you spoke to her?”
“No, I watched the opening of Scott’s show from a café outside, and then I left. He knew I was there. Which is why I’m surprised she doesn’t.”
“Oh. Perhaps you should have gone in and said hello?”
“The fact that I have, and still am, leaving them alone to evolve whichever way they choose should be enough of a sign that I’m reasonably accepting of the situation, regardless of the stupidity of it.”
“What a truly wonderful way of describing love. You really are a bastard.”
Her food arrives the moment she’s given me her view of sisterly affection. “Perhaps, but given our father’s thoughts on this matter, I can assure you that, for now, this is the only way forward. If she expects bouquets of flowers to congratulate her apparent contented bliss, she’s very much mistaken.” The vibrations in my pocket kick up to manic proportions, and I finally get it out to look at what the commotion is. A full pdf spread of an editorial piece for the Financial Times hits me square in the face, the title blazing—Unrest within Broderick Media.
I frown and start scanning through the document, standing in the next breath. “Look Ivy, this is all I’ve got to give Persephone at the moment. Bastard or not, this is the way I’m handling the situation.”
“Hold on, where are you going? You’ve only just got here.”
“Back to work. Some of us don’t have the luxury of lunches and chit chats.”
“Good god, you’re turning into such a fucking bore, Landon.” My head swings back to look at her. “You were fun once, you know?” Hmm. Well, those days are long gone. “Maybe you could try a laugh now and again. Might even manage to get laid by a decent woman if you do that.”
A smile spreads on my face, my thoughts running to a certain dancer. Or PA. “The last thing I want is adecentwoman. I prefer them completely indecent.”
She chuckles and drives her fork into her meat. “Ewww. Go away before I’m sick. I didn’t need to know that.”
Turning, I wave my hand and hurry through the building. I don’t know what this email is, but so far, it appears to be an unprinted copy of a piece that is about to hit the headlines tomorrow morning. I call through to legal on my way through town, eyes checking for traffic as I cross the frenzied streets. They know as little as I do, but I can hear the panic in Tonya’s voice when she tells me she’s already spoken to Mike Harris—editor in chief over at the FT. He’s not budging on it, and unless we’ve got some way of stopping them, it is going to print in the morning.
Having arrived back into the offices, I go straight to mine and pull up everything relating to the piece. My hand’s on my phone before I’ve fully absorbed myself in it, another call through to Tonya so we can work through the options of having it pulled. We don’t have any, and more importantly, the Financial Times is too big for me to be able to manipulate a damn thing or pay them off. The fact that they’re suggesting that this fucking Foxton buyout has been underhanded and that it proposes we’ve not been legitimate in our dealings is, unfortunately, reasonably correct. However, questioning our next move, and morals, and what’s already happening behind closed doors in this deceptive company, isn’t the kind of news we need printing anywhere.
I put the phone down and stare out the window, pondering anything I have to counter it.
