Page 15 of Mr. Big Shot

“That was a rhetorical question. Did she spit in it, you think?” I’m pointing down at the mug now. It’s tempting to take a sip. She filled it all the way to the top, no cream.

“The coffee? I would have.”

“No way to tell if it’s been poisoned…” I hold it over toward Lucy. “Here, you taste it first.”

“That’s above my pay grade, I’m afraid. How about I get by my phone in case I need to call 9-1-1 real quick?”

“Real quick? You’ve never been quick in your whole damn life.”

“Right, well, good luck with your poisoned coffee. Oh and by the way, Scarlett came by yesterday afternoon too. Seemed kind of rattled. She wanted to be sure you hadn’t tried to contact her about anything. I asked if she wanted to schedule a time to meet with you and she nearly jumped out of her skin telling me no.”

“I can see from your accusing stare you think I’ve done something to her.”

“You better not have.”

“Relax.” Then I harden my features. “Though I’m not sure why you’d care.”

She props her hand on her hip. “I knew that girl when she was still in diapers. Cute as can be—still is.” She smiles. “Ah, so you noticed that too.”

I immediately relax my face just in case I was giving something away. “What the hell are you on about?”

She waggles her finger toward me. “I saw that little spark in your eyes when I mentioned her.”

I roll my non-sparking eyes. “You’ve really lost it. They say your mind can go”—I snap—“just like that at your age.”

She barks out a laugh and shakes her head, turning to leave my office. “I left your mail for you on your desk. Now I don’t want you bothering me for at least an hour. I’m going to drink my tea and do some of my crossword in peace before the phones start ringing off the hook.”

“Whatever you say.” I’m already reaching down to rifle through my mail. Invitations, marketing materials, letters—I get all my correspondence sent here, rather than my house. Near the middle of today’s stack, I spot a cream envelope that feels luxuriously heavy in my hand. Boy do rich people love thick cardstock, let me tell you.

I slice through the top of it with my letter opener to see it’s a save the date for Conrad Elwood’s wedding. The first weekend in March, he’ll marry a woman named Hannah Kline here in Chicago. I’m not surprised I’ve been invited. Though Conrad practices in the Los Angeles office now, he was assigned to my team as a summer associate at the Chicago office years and years ago. On top of that, this will likely be a massive wedding. I wouldn’t be surprised if every partner at the firm has received the save-the-date.

I set it aside so Lucy can add it to my calendar. Then, quickly, I pick it back up to read how they’ve addressed the envelope: Hudson Rhodes and guest.

Oh goodie.

I’m mulling over my date options—all zero of them—when Lucy shouts a belated, “Mr. Elwood wants to see you!”

I gotta get a new assistant, man.

Scarlett’s brother is already walking through my door, not bothering with a knock. That’s what I get for leaving my door open. When he leaves, I’ll deadbolt it shut.

“Barrett, a pleasure. Wish I had time for whatever you’re about to say, but I don’t, so if you could—”

“Humor me, Rhodes. You can spare two seconds, I’m sure.”

Wanting to get this over with quickly, I wave for him to get on with it. At least I can continue opening my mail while he talks. Multitasking is a particular joy of mine. I can do two, three things at once at any given moment.

“Word spread about the new-hire assignments. Scarlett shouldn’t be on your team.”

Here we go. I’m not surprised he’s here to discuss this. I figured he’d come find me eventually.

“Your dad put her there, so take your issue up with him.” I say this while glancing over a junk mail flyer for a car detailing service. Fifty bucks for interior and exterior detailing—that’s not bad.

“You didn’t move her yourself?”

I flip the flyer over to review the front. “Why would I have done that?”

He shakes his head, frowning, thinking… Obviously, this isn’t how he thought this conversation would go.

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