Page 24 of The Lawyer
Nothing.
The door opens, and Willow walks in. “Landon, can we talk about the florists for the ball?”
“Fuck the ball.”
“Woah! Okay.” I swing my gaze to her, frown deeply embedded, and watch as she backs up. “I’ll … I’m sorry, I’ll go.”
“Do. And don’t bother me again with trivial crap. Deal with it yourself like you should. Do I look like I give one fuck about flowers?”
Her feet stop, shoulders squaring as if she’s got something to say. “Wow. I think I preferred when you’d just grunt and stay quiet. You’re in arse mode this afternoon.”
“You have no idea. Get out.” Thankfully, she turns to leave before getting another mouthful of vehemence that has nothing to do with her.
Unfortunately for her, she does the incomprehensible thing of shutting the door with her still in the room. She leans on the door, arms crossed with a folder she’s carrying in her grasp. “Care to share?” I don’t speak. Share? With her? What fucking planet is she from?
I look back at the window instead, unsure why I’m not bellowing all kinds of shit at her to leave me the hell alone. What does she think sharing will do? She does nothing but come in here, look too fucking attractive, and deal with trivialities, and now she thinks she can help me through a month’s worth of more goddamn work and marketing catastrophes by talking about it?
“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” she says.
I turn the screen for her, letting her take a long, hard look at the spread on it. “It is.”
She pushes off the door and takes a few minutes looking over the information, several gasps at the content. I’m not surprised. It’s nauseating, suggestive, and points to every fault that treacherous behaviour exhibits. Not only that, it shows us as nothing but conniving megaliths of society, something which, if I’m honest with myself, we are. The suggestion that we’re also linked to the government and manipulating the general population because we’re paid to do so is also fucking annoying. Regardless of that being reasonably close to the truth as well.
“Not good,” she says. Quite. “And I’m assuming you can’t figure a way of stopping it?”
“No.”
Silence.
“Anything I can do to help?”
My eyes close, a breath heaving in and out. “No.”
And then the phone starts ringing on my desk.
Staring at it for a while, I wait until it’s rung out and then listen as it instantly rings again. I start tugging my tie from my neck, and the jacket’s shrugged off just as quick, and before I know it, I’m working at my laptop to try and minimise the damage as best as I can. “Coffee, and keep it coming,” I mutter, pulling up a list of email addresses. “No more interruptions today. Cancel everything that was booked in.”
She moves in my periphery, and I listen as the door closes quietly. She’s a distraction too much for today, and perhaps, if she hadn’t been these last few weeks, then my head would have caught this crap before it even started. Giving Ivy the time of day was a big enough mistake. The last thing I should have been doing is letting a fucking PA invade my thoughts, too.
I pick the phone up on its fourth ring, eyes scanning words I’ve already written.
Let's see what I can come up with.
Chapter Ten
WILLOW
Ithought I’d seen the worst of Landon Broderick when I first started. I was wrong.
Ever since that article showed up in his inbox, he’s been furious. Intimidating doesn’t cover it. I'm surprised the office is still in one piece. And the seriousness has made me reconsider some of my flirty behaviour. It's clear he hasn’t been in the mood, and I've needed to leave it at that. Besides, tonight, hopefully, I get to make him forget.
The mess with the FT article is a distraction I don’t need because all of a sudden, nobody can make a decision about the ball without my say so.The caterers arrived today for prep, but the kitchen at Tallington Hall wasn’t equipped for a banquet of this size and needed an additional combi-steam oven—at the cost of nearly ten grand. Would I authorise it as it would take the catering bill over budget? How in the world an oven costs ten grand, I don’t know, but I signed it off. And then, additional wait staff for the canapes and champagne because apparently, the dimensions of the welcome hall were off on our plans, meaning there weren’t enough people to serve adequately. So far, we're nearly twenty grand over budget, but that’s a drop in the ocean to a company like this, right?
I keep telling myself it'll be over soon, and while the thought of not having to make decisions on the specific blooms in the centrepieces is a delight, a part of me will miss it. Besides, I'm excited about actually going to the ball.
The dress I found at Nuova Moda is simply out of this world. It's a vintage Julien Macdonald and wouldn't be out of place in the more risqué side of my wardrobe. Black sequins, jewels, lace, and other embellishments cover the body, and it's slashed at the front past my cleavage and splits to high thigh. The lace pulls tight from shoulder to wrist, and while the overall appearance might first be shockingly revealing, every part of me will be covered. Landon said not to wear something I’d wear to work—of course, he doesn’t know that me and Juniper share the same wardrobe. What Iwearto work is dependent on whichworkI am currently doing.
~
