J'adore New York (11 page)

“It’s looking good. Everything’s with the SEC.”

“Good to hear. I’ll be travelling again early next week and I don’t want any hiccups.”

“Leave it with me. There won’t be any problems,” I say, trying to appear confident and in control.

“So, Catherine, what made you decide to become a lawyer?” he asks after our final course arrives.

“I love to analyze things, and I take pleasure in simplifying complicated issues and explaining them to people in understandable terms.”

He smiles. “I’ll enjoy working with you then. I don’t like spending hours trying to decode complicated legal details. I’m into numbers.”

“Sounds like we’ve both ended up in the right field. How did you become involved with Browser?”

“I studied accounting in college and then got involved with a few start-ups in Silicon Valley. One of the investors in my previous company lured me away to join Browser. It wasn’t a sure thing at the time, but I’m really glad I did it. Things have gone really well since I’ve started. And look at us now, ready to go public.”

He remains silent for a moment and smiles tenderly while gazing into my eyes.

“So did you leave some poor guy back in Paris to move to New York?”

Here we go again, back into slippery non-work territory. I need to steer the conversation back into professional mode with the grace and strategy of Mary Pierce playing against one of the Williams sisters at the U.S. Open.

“No, I’ve found it nearly impossible to mix personal relationships with the demands of my career.”
(15–love)

“I can’t believe a girl like you is alone in the big city.”
(15–all)

“My job is my priority at the moment.”
(30–15)

“All work and no play makes Catherine a dull
laday.” (Ouch! 30–all)

“You’ll be glad work is my priority when you try to reach me at two in the morning to discuss your prospectus.”
(Good shot! 40–30)

“When I call you at two in the morning, you can definitely assume that it won’t be to discuss the IPO.”
(Wow, impressive backhand stroke! Deuce.)

“As a lawyer, I never assume anything. I rely solely on facts.”
(Okay, pretty strong return, advantage Lambert.)

“And I would just love to learn every little fact about you, Mademoiselle Lambert.”

My cheeks go from Shiraz red to Port burgundy as I stare down at my empty dessert plate. Sensing my uneasiness, he waves at the waiter to bring us the bill and hands over his credit card with the satisfied smirk of victory.

Game. Set. Match.

At Carnegie Hall, I put my BlackBerry on vibrate.
Just in case.

After Jeffrey introduces me to the entire Browser executive team, we take our seats.

“I hope you’ll enjoy this. It’s a spectacular lineup tonight.” He hands me a copy of the program and I flip to the concert details: Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major.

As the orchestra begins, it transports me into another world. I’m in the most exciting city in the world, in a concert hall that gives me goosebumps, listening to some of the world’s best musicians in the company of a gentleman—I mean, fantastic client. What else could a woman ask for? I’m basking in the moment when my left leg begins to vibrate: my BlackBerry is flashing with an email from Antoine.

I have a choice: ignore it for fear of being rude—
and risk becoming unemployed
—or read it quickly (after all, I can do it discreetly).

As I take a few seconds to consider my options, my BlackBerry vibrates a second time.

Then a
third.

And a
fourth.

All this vibration is strong enough to cause a microseism in the parquet and lower-tier sections of the concert hall. We’re so close to the orchestra pit that I’m convinced I just heard BlackBerry interference come through the speaker system. I fumble to switch it to silent mode as I open the messages.

The first email reads:

Catherine, are you there?

A.

The second:

Where are you? I have an angry managing director from American Bank on the line; he says you sent him the wrong document. Please call ASAP.

A.

The third:

I’m in the middle of a conference call with a client. Where the hell are you?

The fourth:

CATHERINE, PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE WHEREVER YOU ARE AND CALL THE OFFICE NOW.

I’m in deep caca.

I count the number of seats between mine and the end of the row: six. That’s really not that bad, is it? I lean in toward Jeffrey. “I’m terribly sorry, but I need to excuse myself for a moment. I’ll be right back.” He looks puzzled as I awkwardly scramble over the knees of the entire Browser executive team and run to the back.

“Antoine, it’s Catherine. What’s going on?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m at a client event at Carnegie Hall.”

“What?”

I stay silent.

“That’s just fuckin’ great, Catherine. You’re out at some concert while the rest of us are slaving over here at the office.”

“Scott asked me to fill in for him at a Browser function,
okay? I read your message about the document. Is Rikash around?”

“No, he left for the day.”

“I don’t understand what happened. I gave Rikash the document before I left so that he could send it to Phil.”

“Haven’t we gone over this before? How many times do I need to tell you? You shouldn’t be delegating your work to a secretary.”

My pulse starts to race and beads of sweat trickle down the back of my dress. Catherine, how could you have let this happen,
again?

“I didn’t delegate the actual drafting, just the sending. If I tell you where the document is located in our database, can you send it to Phil?”

“Jesus, I don’t have time to handle this. I’m working on a huge deal and I’m in the middle of a call with a client. Just come back to the office and take care of it.”

I stand dumbfounded in the middle of the empty lobby. Did he just tell me to go back to the office in the middle of a Beethoven concerto? How can I explain this to Jeffrey? The team player and new-kid-on-the-block side of me responds: “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I look around and walk toward an older gentleman who appears to be an usher. I ask him if he could slip a note to Jeffrey.
Please?
Seeing the desperate look on my face, he agrees. I scribble a message on a piece of paper, show him my ticket so he knows exactly where Jeffrey’s sitting, and run outside to catch a cab.

On my way back to the office, my feelings waver from anger to fear. I hope I don’t get fired over this; I’m sure I gave Rikash the correct information. And if I didn’t, I’ll be completely mortified.

I rush past Antoine’s office and shut my door. As I sit down in front of the computer, I only have one thing on my mind: getting back to Carnegie Hall. I try to compose myself before dialling Phil’s extension at the printer’s.

“Phil, it’s Catherine from Edwards and White. What’s wrong with the document we sent you earlier?”

“We received it, but it didn’t have the revised offering price on the cover page and the company logo is missing.”

“Can’t you guys add the price and logo from over there? The printer has the graphics and all that information.”

“We could have, but Antoine told us that you would take care of it. You guys need to get your act together.”

Furious, I add the share price and the logo and send off the draft prospectus. Why did he make me come back to the office for something he could have done in two seconds flat? As I’m about to leave, Antoine looms in my office doorway.

“Listen, not to be overly critical, but I don’t think you’re taking your role here very seriously. You need to get your hands dirty like the rest of us if you want to get ahead in this place.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’ve been working extremely hard and putting in long hours. I’m doing the best I can—I have big shoes to fill, you know.” I throw that last bit in there, hoping that a little flattery will go a long way.

He crosses his arms. “I’m concerned about your future at the firm. You don’t want to be perceived as someone who’s more interested in glamour and shopping than in doing the legal work. I handed you the Dior file so that you can impress them with your legal skills, not to attend their sample sales. The client has expectations and so do I.”

“Have you seen the hours I’ve billed so far? I’ve been doing my share of legal work.”

“I have. Your hours are acceptable but, frankly, aren’t enough. We require your full commitment in order to make this relationship work.”

Great, now he sounds like one of my ex-boyfriends. Is he truly concerned or is he jealous that Scott asked me to attend client events while he stays here getting paper cuts?

“Catherine, you really need to focus on your career if you want to be considered for partnership.”

He knowingly hits my weak spot and I get a knot in the pit of my stomach.

“Listen, Antoine, I’m really giving it my all here. I’ve been working day and night. I’m not sure what else you want from me. I’m sorry about the shopping incident, but I apologized for that already.”

“It’s not just that.”

“What is it then?”

He stares at me in silence and his lips form a tight pucker.

“What?”

He responds with a shrug and stares at his shoes. I wonder whether this has anything to do with the email I had sent him
the other night. This is no time to bring that up. Keep it professional, Catherine.

“What is it?”

He remains silent.

“The Mel Johnson thing?”

He replies with a blank stare and a nod.

“Scott asked me to attend that stupid gala so I shouldn’t have to justify going,” I respond, fuming. “I already explained what happened and, frankly, I’m really upset that Scott hasn’t sided with me on this. I could file a harassment claim against the firm for putting me through this.”

“You could have handled it differently.”

Differently?
How? By sleeping with Mel? I can feel tears of frustration welling up and I want to scream.

“Is that so? How?”

“By not going.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Scott asked me to go, I already told you.”

“We all have choices, Catherine. You don’t have to attend every single party or concert you’re invited to.”

“Are you suggesting I should’ve said no to our boss?”

“All I’m saying is that you need to keep your eyes open. Don’t you see what’s going on around here? Things are about to change and I don’t think that you should trust that anyone’s looking out for anything but their own interests.”

“Then why should I trust you?”

His face turns a deep shade of red. I can see him take a deep breath.

“It’s quite simple really. If you look good, I look good. You have a lot of work on your plate, deadlines to meet, and I’m counting on you to help make my transition to Paris go smoothly. Got that?”

So this is all about saving
his
reputation, not mine. I’m humiliated that I didn’t see it earlier—god, and to think that I flirted with him. I start past him to signal that our conversation is over. He remains planted in the doorway.

“What? Is there anything else you’d like to criticize?”

“It’s just—”

“Just what? Tell me,” I plead, my face inches from his and my heart racing.

“Never mind.”

He walks back to his office and slams his door.

“Best of luck to you in Paris,” I murmur as I leave the office, flustered.

Back at the concert hall, I anxiously wait for the intermission to find Jeffrey. I catch a glimpse of him and wave.

“Sorry for the disappearing act.”

“I figured you either got kidnapped or you went back to Per Se for more foie gras!”

“Sorry, I got an urgent call from the office.”

“Don’t worry about it, I got the note. How about a glass of wine to help you relax?”

Relieved that I haven’t ruined the evening, I smile back

and nod.

“Fabulous idea. What about your colleagues?”

“I see them often enough as it is. Let’s go to the bar.”

We sip our wine while strolling through the Rose Museum, reading about Carnegie Hall’s history, and gazing at treasures collected from famous performances.

“I hope I wasn’t being too forward at dinner.”

“Maybe just a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say in jest.

“I rarely meet women who are as captivating and who smell as good as you do,” he says while staring at a picture of Andrew Carnegie.

“Thank you. As for the scent, you can thank Mr. Dior.” “I’ll make sure to send him an email first thing in the morning.” He smiles as he gestures for us to walk back toward the main entrance.

We slip back into our seats and enjoy the second half of the concert. This time, as I turn
off
my BlackBerry, the lady sitting next to me gives me a dirty look.

“That was fantastic, wasn’t it?” he asks as we head toward the exit.

“It was.”

Outside, the smell of spring fills the air.

“Shall we walk? It’s such a beautiful evening.”

“Absolutely.”

We stroll along majestical Fifth Avenue and turn right on 68th until we finally reach my doorstep.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening. I’m really sorry about the call from the office.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the drill.”

He leans forward and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. The heart of his lips seems to burn itself onto my skin. Keep it professional!

“
Bonsoir,
Mademoiselle Lambert.”

“
Bonsoir.
Thanks again for the great evening.”

He walks toward the street and waves goodbye as I enter the building.

“Don’t worry, I won’t call you at two in the morning just yet,” he shouts. “Unless you want me to.” He smiles, both hands in his suit pockets.

I wave good night to signal that our evening is over.

“Good night, Catherine.”

As soon as the door is safely shut behind me, my head starts to spin. My god, this guy is so perfect. I need to call Lisa for a quick debrief.

“I have a 6:30 a.m. conference call with a European client. This better be important.”