“Have a good night, Mr. Bianchi,” he tells me. They already all know my face, my name around here. I like that.
I’m halfway out the door when I pause and turn back. “Listen, if Nick comes back before me, let him know I went to the office, will you?”
Nicky will be annoyed at me for going out, maybe, but at least he won’t be able to claim I disappeared without a trace.
* * *
It’s notthat Miranda has done anythingwrong, I discover as I go through the papers and double check the hardcopies. In fact, she’s done everything right. She got a better deal than I did with the original Sardinian supplier, after I had tried and failed a few times.
That’sthe problem, though. It makes it look like I didn’t try hard enough.
Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I’m not as great as negotiating as I thought. Maybe I need to go back to basics around hashing out deals; maybe I was having an off day; maybe I didn’t pick up on some hint from the supplier on where they could give a little more.
Maybe.
I’m still staring at the contracts when I hear soft footsteps on the carpet in the hall outside, and Miranda herself appears, as collected and polished as she always is, even at eleven p.m. on a Sunday night after a full day in the office. I know it’s been a full day for her because it always is. She’s the only one here who works the kind of hours I do.
The kind of hours Iusuallydo. I keep thinking of all that time Nicky and I spent walking along the beach this weekend. I can’t bring myself to bill the Morellis for it, since it wasn’t even something I could pretend was work-related, so I’m not going to be anywhere near where Ishouldbe this month in my billables. I just wish I could bring myself to care about it a little more than I do.
Miranda feigns shock at seeing me in my office and then leans against the doorway with a cool smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Didn’t expect to be here.” I watch her steadily and then return her smile once she starts to look uncomfortable. “But the sheriff’s back in town, Miranda.”
“So I see. And having a late night?” She slips into my office fully and closes the door behind her.
“Something like that. You too?”
“Always.” Her eyes drop to the files on my desk and a fleeting frown crosses her face. “That’s the olive oil file.”
“Yes.”
“It’s been signed by Luca D’Amato. I’m filing them tomorrow.”
“Yes, I saw.”
Her eyebrows twitch, almost a frown until she smooths it out. “Is there some…problem?”
I sit back in my chair and watch her. She’s leaning against the wall next to the door, trying to look relaxed, her ankles crossed and her arms, too.
But the fingers of her right hand are beating out a tattoo on her left bicep. She sees me looking and stops fidgeting. “Well?” she asks. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem.” Her shoulders relax until I add, “I’m just wondering how you got the Sardinian supplier down so low.”
Those shoulders come up in a tight shrug. “Charm, I suppose.” She gives me what I assume is the same smile she used to charm the Sardinians. Itischarming. And Miranda is a woman who knows and uses her strengths. She likes to let men feel comfortably superior to her and then she slides in the stiletto when they’re not expecting it.
Only I happen to know the Sardinians’ matriarch is immune to the kind of charm Miranda would have tried to use. I’ve tried it before myself with Signora Ricetti. Although she pretends to be a warm, grandmotherly type, she’s a hard-headed businesswoman who knows what her product is worth, and would never let herself be simplycharmedinto a cheaper deal.
But I grin now, and stretch my hands behind my head, leaning back in the chair even further. “Maybe I should work on mine, if charm’s getting you deals like these.”
“You don’t need it. You’ve got the Bianchi name. It’s only the rest of us mere mortals who have to…” She trails off, bites her lip and looks down. “I apologize for that,” she says stiffly. “It was rude and I spoke out of turn. It’s been a long day.”
I stand up and shuffle the contract pages back together. “You don’t need to apologize,” I tell her, hoping that she can’t tell my hands are shaking. I’m starting to suspect exactly what might have happened. “Anyway, congratulations again. It’s a great deal. I’d like to make one small change, though.” I’m not looking at her, but I can sense her tension rising. “I’d like to put your name on as senior legal advisor instead of mine.”
There’s the merest pause before she gives a little laugh. “Oh, no. Not at all. You put in the legwork. I don’t want to swoop in and take credit at the last second.”
I look up at her. “I insist.”
Her eyes don’t even flicker as she replies, “That’s not the way I work. I don’t want your scraps. I want to earn my way up.”
