Mikalo's Flame Page 4
“Okay,” she said. “So, ask him.”
“You think --”
“He’s talked with you how many times about this?”
“I know, I know,” I quickly said. “And I did, you know. Last night.”
“And?”
“And we talked,” I said. “Briefly.”
“And?” she repeated.
“And then we stopped talking.”
“Ergo, the glow,” she said, sipping her drink.
“But this Byzan info,” I continued. “That really bugs me.”
“So, talk with him again.”
“You really think he’s going to --”
“I swear I’m on repeat here, Ronan,” she interrupted. “He’s said how many times --?”
“I know, I know.”
“I don’t know that you do know. Just trust it, for Christ’s sake.”
She was right. Again.
“Now you know what to do, it couldn’t be more clear, so get off your butt and do it,” she finished. “Moving on.”
Oh, that was quick.
I sighed, surprised, but relieved to be out of the frying pan. At least for the moment.
She took a generous swallow of her Bloody Mary.
“I’m having dinner with Jacob,” she then said.
“Jacob?” I asked. “You mean your Jacob?”
She nodded.
Ah, the earlier “peachy” was starting to make sense.
“Yep, the one and only,” she answered, her eyes scanning the crowded room. “We coordinated our calendars, settled on Thursday and, well, there you go.”
“And you’re off to California.”
“Of course not,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t do California. He’s in New York. At the Pierre.”
“So, he’s not staying --”
A brief shake of blonde curls.
“No.”
I was speechless. None of this sounded good.
“You don’t think he ... I mean, the two of you, you’re okay --” I began.
“Not really.”
“Is it serious?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah, but you don’t actually think it’ll lead to the two of you, oh, I don’t know, you know, actually --”
“Almost definitely,” she quickly said.
“See how lucky you are now?” she then added with a shrug.
I waited, not sure what to say, but aware I needed to say something. Anything.
That my Deni would no longer be Deni Dollisandro Goldin, but just Deni Dollisandro? On her own? Alone?
It was almost too much to fathom.
“How do you feel?” I finally stammered.
“Like I need another one of these,” she said before knocking back the rest of her Bloody Mary.
Chapter Eleven
Deni’s words haunted me, my mind reeling with the possibility of her and Jacob divorcing. It didn’t need to be said that, with the fortune at stake and the fame of those involved, it could easily be considered the Divorce of the Decade in New York society. Unfortunately.
And the possibility of Mikalo knowing Mara Byzan? Of possibly even flirting with her or dating her or, oh god, “being” with her at some point possibly in the past?
No. Just no.
The thought alone made me want to hurl.
With all of that on my emotional plate, the last thing I wanted to deal with was the smiling sycophant sitting in my office.
Marcus Marunder. Abigail White’s soon-to-be son-in-law.
Yeah, her horse-toothed daughter and this ambitious cretin still weren’t married, the two of them continuing their torturous drag down the aisle to the altar. Both of them desperately hoping to find someone better, no doubt.
Smooth, polished, insincere, he sat opposite me, flashing his pearly whites while doing his best to stab me in the back.
“I still don’t see what M&A has to do with what I do for the Byzans,” I said for the millionth time, fully aware that Mergers & Acquisitions had nothing to do with anything I was doing for the Byzans.
Another smile as he nodded, obviously ignoring every word I just said.
“I know, I know,” he almost cooed. “But Partner White --”
Partner White? Since when has anyone ever called Abigail “Partner White”?
“-- believes it’d be best,” he continued, “I’ll just watch over you, make sure everything’s okay. That the clients are happy and, of course, that my department agrees with the decisions you make.”
A quick flash of pearly whites.
His department. He hasn’t even been here two months and now Mergers & Acquisitions is “his department”?
Bet Bill Blazen will be happy to hear that.
“Are the Byzans planning on acquiring anything of importance?” I asked. “I’m just not sure what I do and what you do in Bill’s department makes it necessary for us to be joined at the hip.”
A nod, a smile, the grin never reaching his cold, dark, calculating eyes.
“Of course, of course,” he agreed. “Still, it’s best I be a sounding board for the Byzans when it comes to their work with the Firm. And the work my department does with you.”
Damn, he was really desperate to claim M&A as his.
“I’m sure you understand,” he said, standing to go.
“I don’t,” I answered, standing as well. “And, frankly, it’s ridiculous for you to watch over my shoulder, so that’s simply not going to happen.
“The Byzans will be fine,” I said, finishing.
No smile this time as his eyes slightly narrowed while his mind raced.
This had been building for weeks. And I wasn’t sure what, exactly, this “this” was. Wasn’t sure what was happening beneath the surface. What had changed. But there was definitely a sense of Abigail rallying her troops for ... well, who knows what?
I was Partner, so firing me was a complicated process. And my work, despite the recent distraction of Mikalo, was as strong as ever. No complaints that I knew of. And, believe me, if there were, Partner White would no doubt race her skinny ass down the hall to tell me.
But something was happening here.
And I was finally realizing that being brilliant and working hard was no longer enough. If I was going to remain at Macfarlane, Schaal, I was going to have to fight.
And I wasn’t necessarily sure I wanted to.
He spoke.
“I’ll speak with Partner White.”
“No,” I said, the red rising to my cheeks. “Have Abigail --”
“Partner --”
“Abigail,” I interrupted. “Have Abigail speak with me.”
Taking my eyes from him, I sat.
“I have work to do,” I finally said.
Reluctantly, he left, the door closing a little too hard behind him.
Whatever. Thank god he was gone.
I put my head in my hands, my fingers massaging my temples as I steadied myself, willing the beginnings of this headache to go away.
A small knock, knock, knock.
“Yes,” I called out.
Janey, my fantastic secretary, slipped in, closing the door behind her.
Despite the petite figure, bouncy blonde hair, and quick smile, the girl had a spine of steel. I knew she’d go on to great things. I was just lucky to have her now. I knew that and I made sure she knew that.
“What did he want?” she asked.
“To walk with me hip-to-hip, looking over my shoulder, making sure my work was good enough for the Byzans.”
She laughed.
“That fucking dick,” she said.
I smiled.
Couldn’t agree more.
“As if he,” she continued, “this kid out of law school, what, two, three years would have the gall to look over your shoulder and correct you or something?”
“Well, Partner White --”
She rolled her eyes.
“Oh Jesus --”
“-- Partner White thinks it’d be
better if Marcus’ M&A department --”
Janey hooted with laughter.
“Oh, Bill is going to love that.”
“I know, right?” I said. “Anyway, Abby thinks it’d be better if Marcus makes sure I make the Byzans happy.”
“Oh, I get it,” she said.
“Get what?”
“The Byzans. Abigail is desperately trying to pole vault into what she sees as the Winner’s Circle. You know, she has another daughter and the Byzans have a son.”
“Oh please,” I interrupted. “As if the daughter of a law firm partner would ever be considered marriage material for the Byzans.”
“Well, Mikalo has you and word is the two of you are headed down the aisle.”
“What?” I said, trying not to laugh. “No, no, no, no, no, we haven’t even .. I mean, it’s a bit too early to even consider something like ... it’s just ... I don’t know ... really? That’s what people think?”
She nodded.
“That’s what Abigail thinks,” she said. “And the thought of you marrying a billionaire and living that life --”
“What life?”
“You know,” she continued, “Caviar and private jets and shopping in Paris and all that stuff.”
I laughed, long and loud.
“Mikalo is so not caviar and private jets and shopping,” I finally said. “And I doubt very much I’d live that kind of life even if Mikalo and I ever married.
“And, I mean, c’mon! It’s way, way too early to even be thinking about the M word with Mikalo.
“This is what Abigail is really thinking?”
Another nod.
“It’s fucking killing her, Ronan.”
“So, linking one of hers up with a Byzan is some great plan to compete with Mikalo and me?”
“She thinks so.”
“As if I care? As if anyone cares? Jesus, she’s stupid and pathetic and insane.”
“And desperate to get near the Byzans.”
“Ergo,” I said, “She sends her flying monkey Marcus to look over my shoulder --”
“Sit in all the meetings --”
“Mention Abigail and her single daughter in glowing terms any chance he gets --”
“Maybe go to dinner with them --”
“Parties --”
“Anything to work their way into the Byzan’s lives.”
“Yep,” Janey agreed. “That’s her plan.”
“Unbelievable.”
Janey turned to go.
“Well, it’s either that or find a way to force you out,” she said. “Either way, Abigail is one busy woman with a lot on her plate.”
Chapter Twelve
One, two, three, and then four.
Four bites.
And like that, Mikalo’s cheeseburger was finished.
He started on the fries, dunking each one in ketchup before inhaling it with a single bite.
He chugged down the last of his beer and then finally paused, looking at me.
I looked down at my dinner, the bun of my burger barely nibbled on.
He laughed.
“My appetite,” he said. “It was hungry.”
Smiling, I grabbed a nearby knife and sawed my burger in two, offering him the second half.
“Ah,” he said as I placed it on his plate. “Yes?”
Yes, I nodded with a small smile as I turned my plate, placing my own pile of fries near him.
We both knew he’d finish those eventually, too.
Besides, my own appetite was almost non-existent tonight.
I wanted to tell him about my day. Tell him of Deni and her potential news. Tell him of Marcus and Abigail. About their jealousy and their plans and their hopes that somehow in someway she would upend me in this ludicrous Marry a Billionaire sweepstakes. As if that was even a contest.
Stupid.
Or, failing at that, that they’d somehow get me fired or I would leave or ... ?
Oh, who the hell knows.
I wanted to just open my mouth, open my heart, and tell him everything.
But to do any of that, I’d have to mention the Byzans. And mentioning the Byzans might lead to Mara. And this mention of Mara could lead to my learning about the two of them doing, well, whatever it was they did. If they did anything. Maybe.
I don’t know.
Or it could lead to nothing.
Frankly, I just didn’t have the strength tonight. I wanted to stumble my way to the library, let the plush couch cushions swallow me whole, and watch stupid, senseless TV.
I didn’t want to think anymore. I’d decided, for tonight, anyway, that thinking was stupid and idiotic and ridiculous and led to more trouble than it was worth.
No, tonight was me and a remote and Mikalo ... somewhere.
Odd.
Usually I’d want his arm around me or to be near him or, I don’t know, something.
But right now I just wanted to be alone.
Of course, I loved him, I thought as I watched him dig into my fries, each one dripping red with ketchup before disappearing into his mouth, his fingers quickly sucked clean before grabbing the next one. And I could most definitely see myself with him for years and years and years.
Perhaps even forever.
Ah, I got it.
It was the “M” word that was throwing me. The realization that people were expecting -- or at least Abigail White was expecting -- Mikalo and I to get married.
The thought was ridiculous, though. Seriously. Check us in six months. Or a year. Two years. Five years, maybe. See if we’re still strong. See if we’re still madly in love. See if we were still even together.
But to talk of marriage just a few months into a relationship? That was crazy. Even I knew that. And, frankly, I just wasn’t ready. Being in a relationship as intense and crazy and consuming as this was enough. But to add the “M” word into the mix?
No, thank you.
He was watching me now.
“You are thinking, yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Just, I don’t know, nothing big. Random stuff.”
“You would like to speak?”
I shook my head.
“No, not really,” I said with a small smile. “Thank you, though.”
“I do not know what worry you have, my Grace,” he said, his hand reaching to cover mine. “But together we will win.
“This is my promise from me to you.”
I nodded.
But I also knew that the only way we’d win would be if we were together. And to be together, I needed to ask these questions, get some answers, and settle these doubts. Not everything, of course.
But the big things? Like Mara?
Yes. Absolutely.
I needed to find a way to speak with him about that. Find the time. Find the courage.
“Tomorrow, I will come and we will have another small bite, no?” he suddenly said.
I smiled, thinking of the dinner he just inhaled, his mammoth cheeseburger disappearing in four big mouthfuls.
Small bite indeed.
“I’d like that,” I said.
He nodded and then ate my last fry.
I’d speak with him about “the Byzan” then. Tomorrow. Over lunch. Or walking to lunch. Or walking from lunch. Or ... whatever. I’ll figure it out.
Regardless, that’d give me time to relax. Stop worrying. Move beyond this latest obsession with What Might Have Been, But Probably Never Was when it came to that skinny Byzan bitch.
Yes, that’d work.
I’ll think about it tomorrow.
It couldn’t hurt to wait another day, right?
Chapter Thirteen
Mikalo was waiting for me outside when I left work.
With Abigail lurking and Marcus looking over my shoulder, not to mention a day spent putting out fires left, right, and center, I’d had to cancel lunch.
“My Grace,” he had assured me when I’d called to break the news. “Outside, we will meet when you are done with work and let u
s walk then, yes?”
I agreed, eager to leave the office and all its unnecessary drama behind and just get out.
And so, with the clouds now gone and the sun warming the persistent chill of late-winter, I left, all but bursting onto 42nd Street through the revolving doors and fleeing into the arms of my Mikalo.
“Ah, I know this girl,” he said with a nod of his head as we made our way through the crowds clogging Fifth Avenue, these anonymous souls rushing by, skirting our path, their scarves hanging loose and top buttons of their coats undone, optimistically celebrating the hoped-for advent of Spring.
And in this oversize coat I was wearing, an almost ludicrously roomy tent of soft wool, it certainly felt as if Spring was around the corner.
I undid the top two buttons, grateful for the gentle rush of cool air.
“So, you do know Mara Byzan,” I said, turning my focus back to our conversation.
“Oh yes,” he agreed. “I would see her at parties at home, in Europe. She is not so nice, I think. Not so quiet. Not so liked. Not so polite. And she drinks a bit much.
“Her father, he has money, though.”
“That I know,” I said. “I’m one of their many, many lawyers, remember?”
He smiled.
“Of course. And they are lucky, my Grace, to have you with them, helping them.”
“Why do you call me ‘my Grace’?” I suddenly asked, stunned by my own curiosity.
He stopped, quietly taken aback before politely answering.
“My father, he would call those he loved, those friends he loved, by their second names. This is what I grew up hearing. All the time. It is not so uncommon where I am from, this second name as the first. It is quite nice.
“And ‘my Grace’, it is beautiful, I think. It is a word, a name, I enjoy.
“This upsets you?” he then asked.
I shook my head.
“No, no, not at all. I was just curious.”
We walked in silence.
“Tell me more about Mara Byzan,” I finally asked.
He shrugged.
“There is not much to tell, my ...”
He stopped.
“There is not much to tell, Ronan,” he then said.
Oh shit. Now I felt horrible. And stupid. And like a major bitch.
I didn’t want him to not call me “my Grace”. I was just curious. Really. And now that he seemed likely to stop, I missed it.