Page 16 of Mr. Big Shot

“Take your sister off my service. I don’t care, but this whole charade is getting a little tiring. I’d rather not have a rotating door of Elwoods coming in and out of my office every day.”

He’s frowning at me, giving me the macho act. “If he wants her on your service, that’s fine. But I’m warning you, if you—”

I suddenly groan like I’m being choked to death. “Oh god. Save it. Your dad already beat you to it. You know you two are really doing her no favors. Enough with the cavemen bullshit. Is she an attorney or is she not?”

He scowls, but at least he shuts up. That’s progress.

“Your sister is going to be fine.” I reach for my mug. “She actually brought me coffee this morning.”

I go for the first sip, taking a gamble on the whole poisoning thing. I’d hate to give Barrett the pleasure of watching me die an agonizing death, but I figure it’s worth the risk to see his shocked expression.

Mmm. Freshly brewed pecan blend, my favorite.

“You have her bringing you coffee?”

Oh, he’s pissed.

My smug smile nearly sends him over the edge. These Elwoods are so easy to toy with. Scarlett has the same temper as her brother, as evidenced by her little outburst yesterday. I’ve never had an associate—a first-year associate at that—call me an asshole. To my face.

I almost smiled when I heard her say it. I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep my amusement from showing in that conference room.

“Getting a partner a cup of coffee is hardly outside the realm of possibilities for a new hire,” I tell him.

Barrett clenches his jaw before wisely turning to leave so things don’t escalate further. “Do us all a favor and, for once, be a decent human.”

A decent human!? Now that’s asking too much…

Sure, I could have cleared the issue up with him, told him his little sister voluntarily brought me coffee this morning rather than me demanding it of her, but eh, too late.

“Hey, Luce!” I shout. “Come get this flyer and schedule my car to get detailed, will you?”

To which Lucy replies, loud and clear, “No!”

Fucking crossword book—that’s the last time I get her a Christmas present.

I work tirelessly through the morning and, occasionally, I think of Scarlett. I’m not totally sure what tasks I should send her way. I mean, I know I could do all the usual fun things: laundry pick-up, a little shoeshine, send her across town to get one single cookie. All of that is great, don’t get me wrong, but where’s the inspiration? Where’s the real wickedness?

Truth be told, when I told her I’d have extra work for her yesterday, I was talking out of my ass. I don’t have extra work. I do my work—with pleasure. I’m a control freak, and the last thing I’m going to do is let some first-year associate come anywhere near one of my contracts.

I’m still at the drawing board concerning the Scarlett situation when, around lunchtime, I head down to our building’s food court. Usually, Lucy will come down to get us both something to eat. Today, I volunteered to do it. I’ve been at my desk all morning and needed a little break. No, it has nothing to do with Lucy complaining about a headache.

I enjoy the quick walk. Later, I’ll use the building’s gym to work out, but for now, browsing the restaurant options in the food court will have to suffice for physical activity. Lucy requested Chinese food, which is just plain insane. Chinese food in the middle of the day? I opt for a sandwich and salad combo from a deli instead, knowing full well I’ll put away half of Lucy’s Chinese food when she inevitably doesn’t finish it. This way, though, I get the added health benefits of eating two lunches instead of one.

I’m waiting for the deli to finish making my turkey club when I scan the crowded seating area. I’m not consciously looking for Scarlett until I spot her left of center at a table by herself. She’s eating a salad topped with—I narrow my eyes trying to make out her plate from way over here—grilled chicken. Huh, so she’s health-conscious like me.

“Wait, did you want double cheese on this?” the teenager behind the counter asks me.

“Yeah, load ’er up.”

Scarlett’s reading a book while she eats, stuffing bite after bite into her mouth in quick succession like she’s in a hurry to get out of here. Maybe she’s in a rush to get back to work, or maybe she wants to avoid the other first-years from our department who are sitting only a few tables away from her. All ten of them are together, everyone sitting and goofing off while they eat—everyone except her.

Why?

Is it by choice? Did the group invite her to join and she declined? That doesn’t seem right. Why alienate yourself from your peers this early on? I mean, I didn’t make friends when I was her age, but that’s different.

I’m still watching when a guy walks up to her table and bends down to talk to her. Scarlett’s face lights up. The guy points down at the unoccupied chair right beside Scarlett, and I expect him to tug it out and sit down to join her. Instead, he pulls the chair away and plops it down at a new table, leaving Scarlett there, still all alone.

She looks up and around, her cheeks red. When our eyes meet, her gaze widens, and then she looks down quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear and acting as if it never happened.

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