I swiveled back and forth, my fingers drumming against the armrests while I stared out the window. There was no innocent explanation for the partnership structure documents, and I didn’t misunderstand the legalese.
Patrick screwed me over. The plain black and white wasn’t lying about it.
His text messages informed me he was hobbling through thick traffic on the outskirts of Boston. He didn’t know my “ok” and “sounds good, meet me in your office” responses contained as much contempt, outrage, and betrayal as a text could hold.
The sad part was I knew better. All along, I knew better.
I heard him in the stairwell—his throat clearing and bouncing step on the stairs echoed through the empty building, and I hated the fluttering in my traitorous heart. It wasn’t fair that at least one whole organ wanted me to lay my head on his chest and just breathe.
Ray-Ban Wayfarers propped on his head, and blue Oxford shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and travel-wrinkled, Patrick filled the office like a blast of icy air. With his collar wrenched open and the top buttons undone, his tie swung from his pocket, and he looked about as hurt as I felt.
“Hey, I need to talk to you,” Patrick said.
Standing in front of me with his legs braced and arms crossed, his stance was defensive. Did someone tip him off to my study of the documents? What would be better? Catching him off guard or discovering that someone saw me crying over a partnership structure like a naïve, lovesick fangirl who was too busy pinning bridal bouquets to see her career going up in flames?
There was no ‘better’ in this situation. I was right back at worse and worst.
“Yes.” The calm in my voice betrayed every emotion hammering in my veins. “We do need to talk.” I tossed the file across his desk, its heft ringing out in the empty space, and I wrapped my fingers around the armrests to draw strength. “Care to explain this to me?”
The muscles in Patrick’s jaw ticked and bulged, but he didn’t spare a second to acknowledge the file. “Care to tell me about Dr. Batista?”
“No, Patrick, I’m not telling you a thing about Batista until you explain why I didn’t know that I was never going to advance past an associate here.”
We glared at each other, his rippling jaw to my white knuckles. Backing down wasn’t part of my game plan, but I knew all about Patrick’s style—he let his scowl do the talking and waited out his opponent with scalding silence. It worked like a charm on GCs and subcontractors, the entire office staff, and most of his siblings.
The scowl didn’t bother me one bit, and if there was anyone who tolerated silence as well as Patrick did, it was me. Arching an eyebrow, I tilted my chin and forced my fingers to loosen their hold on the armrests.
When he finally broke his stare, he peeled back the folder with a snarl, his bunched shoulders dropping as he scanned the contents. “Where did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter, Patrick. What matters is you failed to mention at any point in the past few months that staying here meant hitting the ceiling at associate. You know that’s not what I want, and you told me to stop interviewing. I’ve turned down partner-track jobs.”
“None of this means anything,” he said with a flippant wave toward the folder. “It’s just…paper.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You know that you should’ve told me about this.”
Patrick sneered at the file and slammed it shut. “These documents, they’re meaningless. If I wanted to promote you to partner tomorrow, I could. If you read past the first few pages, you would’ve seen that I’m pretty much empowered to do whatever the fuck I want. These are meaningless. Totally fucking meaningless. It’s the shit that lawyers like to do.”
“Yeah?” I challenged. “What about the clause stating that partners must be family? Is that meaningless too?”
“No, actually, it’s not meaningless,” he shot back. “Jesus Christ, Andy, what do you want me to say right now? You want me to go back to Shannon and have her change the whole fucking thing because you’ve been here for a couple of months and think you know how this shop runs? You’re not the center of the universe. You want me to change the operational philosophy because you want to be partner in a few years, and you happen to be fucking me right now? I’m not touching this document until you answer my questions.”
His words bit into my flesh like a whip. “I’m thrilled to hear I’m simply the person who’s fucking you right now. That’s great, Patrick.”
“Are you still seeing Batista? This guy left his wife for you?”
“Are you kidding me? Really?” I shook my head. “I’m going to assume that you’re not suggesting that I’m some kind of slut. You spend forty-five minutes at Cornell and you’ve bought into every rumor mill in town. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I thought you were smarter than making a habit of fucking the people in charge.”
“Wow,” I murmured. I shifted in the chair and recrossed my legs to absorb the sting. “Wow. I really misjudged you. I was wrong about so many things.”
“Apparently so was I.” He shrugged, and gestured toward me. “I don’t know why I thought you’d ever let me in, but I was really fuckin’ wrong about that.”
I shouldered my bag and stomped toward the door. Whirling around, I studied Patrick’s rigid form and the spasming in his jaw. “Not that you deserve the truth or anything, but I do still see Batista, and I’ve told you about it multiple times.”
Patrick turned his head to the side, but didn’t meet my eyes. “What?”
“Yeah. You might remember me talking about my friend, Charlotte. I see her when she’s in town.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “She didn’t leave her wife for me, you bastard. Her wife left her because she’s transsexual, and going through reassignment surgeries and the wife couldn’t hang anymore.CharlotteBatista confided in me about it. We’re friends. So no, Patrick, I don’t just fuck the people in charge, and I definitely don’t fuck you anymore.”
