Page 2 of The Lawyer
Love Persephone
Nothing. Again.
No sense of regret because she left us.
Only a sense of remorse that she left in the wake of bitterness.
My stare aims at the view in front of me again, and I fold the letter neatly and tuck it back in my pocket. She’s happy. And no matter how I deliberate it or try to find a route to get her home, there appears to be no way in hell I can make it happen unless I engineer a fault on his part. Easily enough done. A man like him likes attractive women, evidently. As proved by these paintings.
I could make that happen if I chose to, especially considering the women already attempting to seduce him. Batting lashes. Ridiculous coy glances. A touch to his arm, another body too close for polite conversation. Nothing bold enough for outright flirting, but from what I know, that isn’t the Parisian way. The annoyance of it is, he doesn’t appear remotely interested in any of them.
More time passes, and a broad smile tips his lips after a while as his eyes lift over the masses. It doesn’t take the genius in me to work out what I’m about to witness. It causes a loose breath to blow through my lips, a sense of relaxation in my frame, and I watch as she glides through the people to him like she’s up on her pointe shoes.
Some part of me wishes I wasn’t here to see what’s coming because no amount of me should even think about destroying that look in her eyes. She’s radiant. Glowing, actually. As if the world, or a Foxton, has brought her something her family never could. And sadly, for me, the way his hands grab hold of her and swing her to him, appear to mean nothing but promise and contentment.
“Fuck.”
My eyes roll, shoulders square. I might be a bastard on some days—most days—but it’s not in me to destroy what she’s now found. Not that I’d know the sensation they’re feeling in the slightest, I’m damn sure I’ve never held a woman with anything close to that care. Nor have I been eclipsed by one like I’ve just witnessed Scott be. It’s like the room, the paintings, and all the guests in there just disappeared and faded into the background because the only thing he sees is her.
My sister.
The brandy gets thrown down my throat, and I stand, unsure whether to go talk to her or not. I might be able to manage this in my thoughts somehow, but Father never will. He’s part of the reason I’m here in the first place. Bring her home, he said. I doubt I could even if I wanted to. She’d bitch and scream the entire way through the airport, probably drawing enough attention that she’d involve the Parisian guard on the way.
The thought makes me chuckle lightly, at least acknowledging that Broderick nature inside her, and I toss some Euros on the table. She’s grown so much in the years I’ve been away—changed. Perhaps for the better in some ways. Although, it would have been more useful if she’d done this with anyone but a fucking Foxton. It complicates everything that could have been easier to manage, and because of it, we’re all left with a situation that is untenable to any Broderick.
I weave around the tables and make my way slowly over to the window. If I could just get a decent fucking answer out of my father, it might help me understand why he’s so opposed to it all. I know the inbuilt hatred. That’s without question, but the why behind it has confounded me more and more by the day. The situation with Persephone has thrown it into question. I don’t much like being confounded by anything. In fact, it’s been my life’s work to not be confused by a damn thing. There’s always a route out of everything, always a clause or a stipulation that advances strategic momentum. But this? This is all just some fucking undisclosed agenda that makes little logical wisdom to anything.
The evening light begins closing in around me, and I linger under a tree in full leaf to keep watching the way she’s acting. There’s nothing to show anything other than delight and joy. A little shy perhaps, given the nature of the art, a little demure under his arm as he walks her around and shows her off to the guests, but fundamentally, and without any contest, she is, indeed, happy.
If I was a growling kind of guy, I would. Untenable. Unmanageable. And almost indefensible, but for the look on her face. So instead, I stare at the man that’s made it happen until he takes a glance outside. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough for him to notice me standing here. Not hard given my height, nor the incessant frown permanently embedded in my glare lately. And it’s also enough for him to turn her so she’s looking away from me.
He nods at me, flicks his head as if I should come in. I’m not currently equipped for that. Much more of this agreeable nature coming out of me and I might well decide to blow up into a rage about it all just to purge the animosity. Fists, while productive on some occasions, are not going to recover this situation anymore. Not that they did the first time, it seems.
Patience is what I need. Not something I’m terribly good at, but it’s necessary for now. The thought has me turning and walking away, phone in hand, ready to book my flights home. He’ll fuck this up eventually. Maybe six more months, a year. Maybe two. Who knows? But one way or another, boredom and monotonywillset in.
It always does with men. Has done for me, anyway.
Chapter Two
WILLOW
Iclamp the straightening irons over the section of hair between my fingers and slowly draw them down to smooth out my eternally unruly locks. After I finish this daily ritual, I pull all my hair back into a sophisticated bun, suitable for any personal assistant.
With my hair tamed, my wardrobe pressed and presentable, I allow my only indulgence in such a stuffy job—my shoes. I slide back the wardrobe door and marvel at the array of choices in front of me. It’s my first day with Nina, so I opt for a more muted hue. A violet peep toe with scalloped edges, and as I slip my foot inside, I allow a private Cinderella moment for myself.
Grabbing my coat and bag, I head off to the office.
I’ve been making this journey to Broderick Media for a little over eight years. I joined as a necessity rather than anything else. I was desperate for a job back then, and they were hiring office administrators. A very junior role to begin with, but as I picked up the work quickly and efficiently, I've been promoted and moved up in position and salary.
Looking back now, I hardly recognise the disorganised and grief-stricken girl who joined that office. She was adrift and searching for anything to cling to—searching for hope. Thankfully, she found that refuge in the small rituals of daily work.
The grey clouds ahead are a disappointment for early summer. There should be warmth and light in the air, not the cover of clouds. But that’s London for you. I weave in and around others on the way to the Tube and make my commute into the centre. As I do on most trips, I look down and examine the multitudes of footwear on display—trainers, flip-flops, sandals, brogues all in different shapes and styles. You can tell a lot about a person by their choice of shoe. Do they invest in a shoe that they will undoubtedly be in for hours on end? Or do they simply buy a cheap pair and have done with it?
It doesn’t take the whole journey for me to size up all of my companion passengers mentally, and I’m left to wonder what level of torture I’m in for today. I shouldn’t be so ungrateful. Nina was supportive and friendly when we worked together a few years ago. That she even thought of me for her maternity cover should be a huge compliment. After all, she’s now the PA to the big boss.
She’d been working for one of the other executives when she was promoted, handling a lot of his work even before he took up a regular position here back in the spring. Now, he’s the CEO. Although, there’s to be some sort of official thing in the next few weeks. Nina’s timing to get knocked up is impeccable.
I’ll have the next few weeks to shadow and learn everything I'm required to do. A part of me is insulted. I mean, how hard can it be to manage someone’s calendar? I’ve been an assistant for plenty of other staff, and I had a year of business and management under my belt before I had to give everything up. I'm more than qualified.
