Problem Child, page 2
“This is really nice,” I say.
He cocks his head as if he’s trying to puzzle something out. “Yeah, it is nice, isn’t it?” Do I want to get in his pants? Have I wanted that all along and that’s why I’ve been so prickly and difficult? I can see him reasoning it out and relaxing into the explanation. It’s really the only thing that makes sense, after all. He’s Rob. Everyone loves Rob, and a plain Jane like me must be more susceptible to his charms than most would be.
Cheeks flushed, he lounges back into the high cushions of the leather booth, a knowing smile on his face as the waiter delivers our meals. Rob has ordered a sensible lunch of baked sole and steamed veggies. I ordered the dinner portion of lobster ravioli, and it’s even bigger than I remember.
“Oh God,” I sigh as I take my first bite. “That’s so good.” I groan as the taste sinks in.
Rob chuckles. “Looks like it’s very exciting.”
“Oh, it is. Have you ever had this?”
He shakes his head, and I lean into the table in excitement. “You have to taste it. It’s better than sex.” I cut a ravioli in half—no way am I losing a whole ravioli to Rob—and spear it. As I hold it toward his mouth, I imitate what I’ve seen other people do, parting my lips and darting out my tongue as if I’m reaching for a bite too.
He doesn’t really care about sex with me. I’m not his type. But he understands this interaction. I can see his confidence grow as he chews, his eyes warming with the knowledge that he can finally get me in line. He grins and nods. He is in his element and he’s no longer thinking that he really shouldn’t have this much whiskey at a pre-meeting lunch.
“Isn’t it amazing?” I whisper.
“It’s very, very nice,” he concedes, smiling indulgently as he chews. “I like it.”
“Me too.” I leave the rest of my spritzer until half my dish is gone, but Rob is tipsy enough that he’s forgetting how to pace himself, and the man hasn’t ordered nearly enough fat and calories.
By the time I order one last round of drinks for dessert, he’s drunk and he’s lost all sight of vulnerability and any hint of wisdom. Why shouldn’t he have another drink? He’s a goddamn successful lawyer on his way to making partner, and he’s a man, damn it. A big man with a wife at home and a piece on the side, and one more ballbuster making eyes at him over lunch too. He’s a king among men, and he’s never lost at anything.
He accepts the final drink and raises it high. “To another great deal.”
“Thank you,” I respond, taking full credit. I deserve it.
Rob is a showboat, and he reflects the light of better lawyers off his shiny facade, recycling their knowledge and taking all the praise. The first few times we worked together, I kept my mouth shut, because I was still learning the delicate intricacies that make up the web of politics in this office. But I know them now. It will take me a couple of years to even be considered for partner, but they won’t notice me at all with Rob glinting into their eyes all the damn time.
“I’ve got this,” I say when the bill comes. I’ve spent almost eighty bucks on whiskey this afternoon and I don’t regret one penny. “I owe you for everything you’ve taught me this year, Robert. What a ride it’s been.”
“Anything you need, Jane,” he drawls with a wink. “Your work is really coming along.”
I worked on the legal team of an international conglomerate in Kuala Lumpur for five years. Rob worked for a furniture manufacturing group in St. Paul before he started here. He can kiss my ass and thank me for the privilege as far as I’m concerned.
“I’ve got those final numbers you asked for on the North Unlimited proposal,” I say, reminding him of the meeting we’re heading into.
“Good. Good job. I’ll stop by and grab them when we get back.”
“Yeah. That’ll give you half an hour to learn what I know so you can steal the show.”
His flushed face crumples for a brief moment. “What?”
I giggle as if I’ve just made a silly joke. “I get so nervous before these big client meetings.”
His lizard brain prompts a slow blink, sensing the danger of what I said a moment ago, but his ego wins out and he grins at my tipsy giggling. I dare to reach out and touch his hand as if I’m feeling naughty after the spritzers.
I am feeling naughty, but it’s not the spritzers. It’s the power. His defenses are down and his confidence is up, and I could make anything happen right now. I could tell him my condo is right around the corner, confess that I’ve thought about him while I touch myself in bed at night. That idea is practically lesbian porn for this future business leader of America. I could get him back to my place and compromised within a few minutes.
Or I could hit RECORD on my phone as we walk and ask him whether the mournful receptionist is a good lay and whether her breasts are as nice as they look under sweaters. He’s drunk enough to brag about it, and then I’d have him under my thumb, his job and his marriage in danger.
Really, I don’t understand why people don’t record more conversations in life. Is there any downside?
But I don’t need to work that hard this time around, risking animosity and accusation. And I don’t need to put my current relationship on the line by letting this boy wonder touch me. He deserves a much lazier approach.
Rob doesn’t sway or stumble as we walk back toward the office, but he looks confused whenever he stops talking. Not that he stops talking much. He carries on loudly, talking about his wife, of all things. How great she is. How beautiful. The trip she took to India to learn advanced yoga and meditation. How much she loves cooking. He brags about the blog she hosts on positivity.
She sounds like a goddamn nightmare, but she does have a great ass, I’ll give her that. I’ve been to her Instagram, and she’s definitely positive about how she looks in pink Lululemon pants.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Rob practically shouts.
“Oh, please do,” I prompt.
“Savannah might be pregnant. She’s taking a test tonight. She’s been taking the vitamins for months, laying off wine. Just in case.”
“Wow. That’s cool. But you have to get sperm involved too. The vitamins alone won’t do it.”
“Yeah,” he answers, his eyes bright with some far-off vision. Then he shakes off his joy and frowns. “What?”
“Nothing. Congrats. Sounds like everything is really lining up for you. And you definitely deserve it all.”
“Thanks, Jane.”
“My pleasure, Robert.”
“It’s Rob,” he corrects absentmindedly for about the fiftieth time this year.
“I know.”
When we reach our building, he pushes the glass doors open with way too much force, and one of them clangs against the discreet rubber stopper with a gong that echoes through the atrium. Faces turn. He doesn’t notice.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I say as he moves toward the elevators. “I need to piss like crazy.”
He wrinkles his nose at the crude words. Savannah would never say anything that gross. She’ll make such a great mom.
I give Rob a little wave and head toward the lobby bathrooms. “See you in a few!”
I take my time. I pee and wash my hands. Check my teeth for lunch remnants. Reapply the crimson lipstick. Smooth down my dark-brown bob. Then I dab a little moisturizer on my hands and slowly rub it in. The meeting starts in thirty minutes, but I’ve already prepared, so there’s no rush. In fact, I pop back outside to grab a coffee.
I’ve worn my power suit today, not that Rob noticed. It’s dark charcoal gray, nearly black, with a subtle red pinstripe that matches my mouth. The skirt is knee length and tight, hugging my hips and pointing the eye down to my scarlet heels. I feel like the queen of the world as I ride the elevator back up with my mocha latte and all the notes I memorized last night so I wouldn’t need to write them down.
The meeting starts in five minutes. I log into Google Docs using Rob’s name and password. All that teamwork we put in together means I know all of his passwords. Well. There’s only one. He uses the same one to access his laptop and unlock documents and log into Google. It’s Rob#1in2017.
I’m not kidding. He could at least update the year every once in a while.
“Jane.” Rob is leaning against the doorjamb of my office, a coffee cup in hand, his eyes bleary. “Did you get those last numbers on district budgets?”
“Yeah, I’ll just chime in when you get to that part, no problem.”
“Great.”
He dips back into his office to grab his laptop. I leave the first page of notes for the meeting intact so everything will look normal for Rob when he opens the document; then I handwrite a few critical details on my notepad before deleting pages two to four of the shared document. Rob is heading down the hall when I log him off Google and stand up to join the fun.
Here we go!
We met the client before, but this time there’s a whole team of people in attendance, faces open with possibility. I shine as bright as I can, shaking hands all around as I’m introduced as one of the lawyers helping with this project. I glow with friendliness.
Rob, on the other hand, is glowing with whiskey fumes. It’s not a subtle alcohol, and I can see eyes dart toward him as he weaves in and out of the gathering. Jesus Christ, Rob, it’s 2:00 p.m. on a Thursday! Control yourself!
He shakes every hand in the room before taking a seat near the two partners in attendance. I fade into the background at a far corner of the conference table. I’m dressed to impress, sure, but no one likes a woman who shows off. So I become modesty incarnate, zipping my lips and smiling benignly at everyone and no one. I fade the way I used to watch my best friend fade, making myself smaller and easier to swallow.
But Rob’s glow intensifies, blooming from his pink, flushed cheeks. “I guess I’ll start things off,” he booms, his too-loud words shaking my eardrums as they settle over the table. “It’s great to finally meet everyone in person after all those email exchanges.”
The two partners glance at each other before turning to stare at Rob. Why is he taking control of the meeting?
One of them clears his throat. “Yes, welcome, everyone,” he says, his words half the volume of Rob’s as he steps in. “Let’s get down to business. As you know, you asked us to put out some feelers about additional buyers for your imported supply of premium chicken products after your success with the state prison system. What we’ve found is that the contract possibilities are incredibly promising . . .”
The partner continues his spiel, but I’m focused on Rob. He dabs a drop of sweat from his temple as he stares at his open laptop. Frowning, his eyes creased with concentration, he keeps trying to scroll down on something on his screen, but it doesn’t seem to work.
I watch him click a couple of things and then click and click again. Another sweat drop forms and a wave of shivery pleasure laps at my gut, easing higher until my nipples tighten.
“Rob?” I hear someone say, and he and I both realize at the same moment that he’s been asked a question.
“Uh,” he replies. “Yes?”
“Rob, the numbers.” It’s no longer a question but a demand. The partner nearest Rob, Jeremy Browning, who’s distinguishable from the other silverbacks by his retro black-rimmed glasses, is turning nearly as pink as Rob now. He must be breathing in Rob’s whiskey fumes. A vein in his temple begins to throb, slowly but surely. Approachable glasses aside, Jeremy is known for his quick temper.
“Right,” Rob finally says. “The numbers. As you know . . .” That’s all he says, As you know . . . , instinctively repeating a phrase used moments before by one of his bosses. That’s his whole shtick. Mirror the partners and make junior associates do the real work.
It’s not hard for him to fit in with the senior guys. He’s so easy to get along with, and there’s none of the tiptoeing you have to do with the female or minority employees. God, they’re all so prickly. But not good old Rob. He’s just more . . . comfortable to be around.
“As you know,” he repeats; then he clears his throat and tries to get it together with a fierce glance in my direction. I smile.
“As you know, our calculations show there are a shit-ton of fantastic opportunities for you right now.”
Jeremy Browning blinks. Several times.
“Quite a few of the entities we approached were very interested in the high value and low cost that you’re offering.” He frowns again. “All three of the largest school systems in the state . . .”
The client clears his throat.
“Sorry,” Rob says, “I do have the numbers right here.”
Others in the room are beginning to shift and squirm. The whole client team looks toward the partners. They look toward each other. I wait a few more seconds. Then a few more.
“Pardon the interruption,” I say, just as Mr. Browning is tensing to open his mouth. “Robert and I ran the numbers, and we’re predicting district cost savings of over fifteen percent just on frozen processed chicken alone. Frozen raw chicken? Well, that gets even better, and, believe me, the school districts we approached were very excited.”
I flash a smile at the table and dip my head toward Rob. “I apologize, I don’t have Robert’s notes, but let me sum up the numbers for you on the board.” I stand and spin to the whiteboard behind me, snatching up a pen to immediately start jotting down the costs I’ve memorized along with the offers we’ve predicted we could pitch for years one through three.
“These are just rough estimates, of course. We can move forward with a deep dive before negotiations begin, but we all agree that North Unlimited is offering an ideal arrangement, and of course everyone is looking to cut costs, especially in non–education-related expenses. Reduced school funding only works toward your advantage in this environment. I even got a hint of interest from the state college system.”
“Whoa,” the president of North Unlimited breathes. “That would be unbelievable.”
It is unbelievable, because this is absolutely untrue, but who could know that? Four weeks from now, if anyone asks, I’ll glumly inform them that it didn’t work out.
“Obviously, the laws governing raw chicken imports create quite a complication, but that’s why you’ve hired us. So . . . do you think your supplier in Brazil could handle an order increase of three hundred percent? Because those are the kind of numbers we’re looking at.”
“Absolutely.” His supplier isn’t really in Brazil and the owner of North Unlimited is a goddamn scammer, but what do I care?
“So this should be our starting point with the first school districts,” I finish, poking the marker hard into the board. “You’ve indicated that we can afford to budge quite a bit from here, but I’m not sure we’ll have to. They’re excited by your assurances about the product being all-natural and minimally processed at that price point.” I swing back to smile at the clients. “We can definitely open with a two-year contract. What do you think?”
I don’t care what they think, of course, just like I’m not actually sorry for interrupting good old Rob. But I need to be likable as well as capable and confident. What a tightrope.
The room has relaxed, thrilled that someone stepped in to avert disaster. Rob is slumped into a loose lump of puzzlement on the other side of the table, thinking, What just happened?
The clients jump in with questions. I answer most of them, though I bite my tongue occasionally to let others at the table share in the triumph. We’ve got ourselves a plan now, and there’s profit to be had by all.
Half an hour later, I’m the one shaking hands with everyone in the room as they file out, though Rob has rallied enough to make a game effort of it. Still, quite a few people manage to slip by him with eyes locked on the doorway and hands occupied. The partners don’t bother avoiding his eyes. They clap my shoulder and say good job, and then they walk past him with lips curled.
“Thanks, Robert,” I say as I breeze through the door, the last to leave him standing there. “I’ll type up a summary of the details we covered and cc you on it. Don’t worry.”
“Oh,” I hear him murmur behind me. “Yeah, great.”
He won’t be fired, though once I start dropping hints about him and the mournful receptionist, he might become too much of a liability to keep around. But for now his job is safe; he’s just lost his golden-boy shine, and I’ve stolen it to rub all over myself.
Jane really saved the day, stepping in like that. Did you see her pull those numbers out of the air? What an asset she is in times like these.
Good old unflappable Jane.
I leave the door of my office open so I can catch snatches of conversation from the hallway as people buzz by. Rob closes his door with a hollow thunk that shivers over my excited nerves.
Grinning, I get out my phone to send a text. Meet me for a drink at The Train Car? 5:30?
Yes, he responds immediately.
They have individual bathrooms there. We can go in together and lock the door. ☺
Luke is a nice, quiet guy. Modest and kind. But I can get him to do anything. I make him nervous, but he feels alive, and isn’t that what really matters?
I hope it is, because that’s all I’ve got.
CHAPTER 2
The problem with having sex early in the evening is that it frees up too many hours for things like talking. This is my first committed relationship, and it’s the thing I hate most about it, that moment when he says “Jane . . .” in that serious tone.
“Nope,” I respond.
Luke looks startled by that and twists on the couch to face me more fully. “Pardon?”
“Nope,” I repeat.
“But I didn’t ask anything.”
“Well, I’m reading.”
“Oh.” He pauses for only a moment before trying again. “I just wanted to talk about something with you while we have the time.”
I don’t have the time. I’m in the middle of a book, and I just said that. But if I push him off now, he’ll bring it up later when I’m trying to fall asleep, and that will be even worse. I’ll say something that hurts his feelings because I’m tired and not being careful.
