Lawfully Yours (6 page)

My getting the mall to agree to the three-month notice of termination period surprises Jordan, which is not surprising at all. “You said I couldn’t do it. But I did,” I gloat.

“Yes, you did.”

“Where’s my kudos?”

“You want a special reward? Here’s a dollar. Buy yourself a candy bar.”

I frown. No matter, I still did better than him. Even better, the shoe store, liking how I thought about their needs from a business perspective, is happy with me. They compliment me in front of Jordan and I’m elated. Jordan’s response is, “You couldn’t value her any more than I do.” This means a lot to me, but I’m not about to let him know. I’m still irked by the candy bar crack.

I guess I’m actually doing well. I am successfully representing commercial clients in real estate deals. I feel empowered. Maybe I really can change who I am.

CHAPTER 8

It’s great to be friendly with all of my new clients. I want to give them my business, too. I go regularly to Mrs. Nang’s. The half-inch she adds to my nail length makes me look more feminine.

Reluctantly, I take my mother with me to Sophisticated Clothing. The two owners soon have me trying on cashmeres and wool crepes. “Thank God,” my mother says when she sees me in the new clothes. You’re finally showing off your looks a little. Maybe not looking like a professor will actually make you look smarter.”

Sure I may have bad taste, but being broke hadn’t helped my fashion situation either. Mom used to tell me that even a thin wallet could purchase flattering clothing. It just requires patience and persistence. But not all of us are consignment store gifted.

Now that I’m making good money, my mother’s really on my case to buy nice clothing. I concede that I have enough to pay both of my school loans, my rent, and my credit card bills. I buy some garments at Sophisticated Clothing and am relieved when my mother tells me she has to leave to meet a friend. I can now shop in peace.

I go over to my shoe store client who hasn’t yet moved out. I figure since they were also a client of mine they won’t let me screw up too bad. I pick various styles and the manager smiles at me every time I pick well. Black heels, three inches high, are now mine. My mother will be overjoyed. I’m happy, too. I have purchased shoes and sexiness.

Looking feminine should be as plausible for me as growing another arm. Yet here I am, not looking too bad. Straddling two worlds, I do the only thing I can do to entrench me solidly in one: I go to the most expensive hair salon in the mall. They proceed to undo my ponytail, the only hairstyle I’ve ever known.

Two hours later, a soft chestnut brown replaces my mousy coloring. They also give me something else unrecognizable—style. I’ve had enough for this afternoon. Transformation is hard work. At home I pass out.

When I wake up from my nap, I fire up my computer. And after watching a dozen “How to apply makeup” videos on YouTube, I brave a trip to Sephora.

On Monday morning I set aside an extra hour to get myself ready for work. I put on the makeup I purchased, and apply it as light-handedly as I can from the bags strewn around my room. I choose a flattering V-neck coral sweater with gray slacks and black heels. A coral and silver necklace with matching earrings complements the outfit. I brush out my hair, leaving it down. I’m ready to go.

Driving to work, I wonder how I will be received. I want everyone to gaze at me, prostrate themselves at my feet and exclaim “Forgive us, Sue, we didn’t realize how beautiful and sophisticated you are!” I know this isn’t going to happen any place outside my head. One of the times I got all dolled up in an attempt to impress was when I was in junior high. A classmate had persuaded me to go to the mall with her. We had a cosmetics salesclerk apply our makeup and bought new tops, which we immediately put on. We thought we’d gone from gawky to gorgeous. But when boys saw us, they laughed. I guess the cosmetics clerk’s hand was as heavy as mine. I hope I’ve finally mastered a more natural-looking technique. Or what will I be walking into now?

I walk into Jordan’s office to ask his opinion about a problematic lease clause. When he sees me, he asks me to step inside and close the door behind me. Then he asks me for a date.

“Umm. What?” I ask. My eyebrows and vocal pitch are raised high.

“A date. Tonight.”

“What?”

“We just went through this, Sue. A date. With me. Tonight.”

“Umm, I . . .” I trail off.

“Sue, your attire has improved. Your conversation has not.”

My face goes hot. My temper as explosive as Java Lava’s mural. “Neither have your manners. So, no, I’m not interested. That should be articulate enough.” I reach for the doorknob.

“You can’t be serious,” he exclaims.

“Why can’t I be serious? Because you’re too powerful and too handsome for me to say no?” Is this guy for real?

Jordan’s voice drops to a soft, almost gentle, tone. “No. That’s not it at all. I’m saying I hope you’re not serious because I have feelings for you.” He’s no longer looking at me—his eyes are focused on the floor.

I hate to admit it, but the sudden sensitivity and shyness is working. Damn! “Look, Jordan, I just can’t, okay? I barely fit in as your associate, let alone as your date. If we were together, I’d spend my whole life wondering where I stand with you.” My answer surprises me, being too well developed for a topic I’ve never consciously contemplated before.

“Your whole life, huh? You’re a little pushy to pitch marriage, don’t you think? I’m just asking for a date.”

Too irritating. “Jordan, I don’t even know you. If I had a bead for each time we’ve spoken on a personal level, I wouldn’t even have enough for a bracelet.”

“We can talk personally tonight.”

Talk about not getting the idea.

His desk phone lets out a buzz and Amber’s voice comes on. “Jordan, Deborah McIntosh is on the line.”

“Tell her I’ll call her back.”

“She said it’s important.”

“I’m doing something else that’s important,” he snaps.

“Okay, okay.” Amber’s huffy voice clicks off.

I feel huffy, too. “Jordan, if you’ve had a thing for me for some time, why did you wait until now before asking me out?”

“I didn’t wait. I tried to ask you out at Denny’s.”

“You did?” I make a mental note to rub my jaw later, to soothe the pain from having it hit the floor.

He looks irritated. “The best I could without knowing whether you had a boyfriend. I gathered from your non-response that you’re not involved with anyone. Yet.”

“So you thought I turned you down?” My eyes are going to pop out of my head. Not a pretty look. This ought to change his mind about finding me attractive.

“Yes, and I thought your new look was your way of telling me that you’re now ready to accept my offer.”

“Why would you think that?”

“A come hither kind of thing, I don’t know. Look, I’ve been waiting for some kind of sign from you. I didn’t want to scare you off or have you think your job depended on dating me.”

“So you’re not looking for a sexual harassment suit, just sex?” The magma has left the mountain. Run, Pompeiians, run!

“No, Sue.” His voice softens again. “I’m not looking to talk you into bed. I really want to go on a date with you.” He pauses. I swallow hard. “As for sexual harassment,” he continues, “I’m not worried about that, although I know I should be. I don’t want you to think your job depends on being with me because if you do, I know you’ll leave. And then I won’t see you anymore.” His voice softens even further, and he raises his eyes. He is now looking intently at me. “I would miss you.” His gaze is unnerving. I’m becoming uncertain whether the heat coursing through me is entirely from rage.

“Umm, I . . .”

He smiles. “I can see from your expression that you’re thinking about my offer. Well, I can wait for you to come around.” He gets up to open the door for me and calls out to Amber, “Get Deb McIntosh back on the line.” I walk out, feeling both reluctant and relieved to leave him.

CHAPTER 9

I’m an emotional mess. At first I was relieved when I didn’t bump into Jordan. But now it’s beginning to worry me that I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks. Is he trying to avoid me? If so, how long will this continue? Does he hate me? How will this affect my job?

Maybe he’s just trying to give me space to make me feel more comfortable. That’s the problem with this man—I never understand his angle. Our only communication lately is through e-mail or Amber. His responses to my queries and FYI’s are brief and devoid of anything other than directives.

As aggravating as the situation is, I can’t quite shake off the conversation we had. Maybe I’m desperate for attention. It’s not as if anyone’s ever held a torch for me before. Was he lying about being interested in me? Worse, do I like him?

Despite being consumed with confusion, I’m determined to sort this situation out. I call Leila’s extension and make plans to go to happy hour that night. I want to talk somewhere we won’t be overheard. I suggest we head to a bar a few blocks’ away instead of going to the pub downstairs.

Entering the dive bar I selected, I wonder how I’m going to sneak my Jordan questions into the conversation. I don’t want Leila to get suspicious. I really like her, but I am as protective of my privacy as my career. Nobody needs rumors flying around the workplace.

We are seated at a booth. The oak wood table is scratched up with people’s initials and mild obscenities. I wait until after Leila’s second beer and then start in with, “So, how do you like working for your boss?” I feel a little guilty manipulating the conversation, but still manage to be pleased when, after she’s done, she asks how I like mine.

“I can’t really answer that.” I absently straighten out the damp napkin under my beer glass. “I don’t really know Jordan that well. The worst thing about him is I never know where I stand.”

She looks at me. “You’re better off not knowing. His last associate thought she knew where she stood with him, and she was wrong.”

“His last associate? The one I replaced? Didn’t she leave the Friday before I started?”

“Yep. Rochelle Van Houten. Very tall. Very thin. Very busty.
Dressed only in the best. All the guys in the firm, even the married ones, had their eye on her. But she only had eyes for Jordan. Word around the water cooler was that he wasn’t interested. He didn’t talk about the situation, but everyone knew. It’s a large firm, but you’d be amazed how small it is in some ways, especially gossip-wise.”

“So what happened?”

“I guess one day she had enough of carrying around the torch and told the first year associates she was going to ask him out. Everyone thought he’d cave. People were shocked when she up and quit. She didn’t even give notice.” Leila let out a loud burp. “Sorry,” she giggles. She continues more somberly, “she probably didn’t want to face him or the firm after he rejected her. I wonder if she regrets making her move. But I guess she just couldn’t live in limbo anymore. Like I said, sometimes you’re better off not knowing where you stand.”

I try to shake off that comment, the irony sticking in my throat. Leila orders another beer and continues, “I didn’t know Rochelle too well, not like I know you. We’d just waive ‘hi’ to each other and see each other at the annual holiday party. I felt bad for her. It’s not like she was the only one in love with him, there must be at least fifty. But she got rejected and that’s always sad.”

“Fifty girls in love with Jordan?”

“Fifty. Fifty-five. Whatever.” She takes another swig.

“How do you know that?” I sputter.

“There’s a list of names in the reception area’s ladies room. Once someone no longer likes Jordan she strikes out her name, and when she gets re-infatuated she writes it back in. That’s why there’s always a numbers flux.”

I stare at her.

“Oh, Sue, I’m just kidding. Though part of it’s true, they’re plenty of drooling hopefuls. You can see it in their expressions when he walks by. Besides, he’s a partner, one known to have a large book of business. And for some of the firm’s young single females, that’s a double bonus prize. Anyway, enough about him. Let’s talk about you. I am so happy my fashion advice worked out. I knew it would. You look absolutely fabulous!”

As our chatter goes on, my mind keeps circling back to the early part of our conversation. So that’s how Jordan is sized up at the firm, as a trophy. Funny, a few minutes ago, that’s how I thought he viewed me, now that Leila thinks I look trophy-worthy. What are looks really worth anyway? And wanting him for his money is way worse than wanting him for his looks. The superficiality of it all sickens me.

Between going out to clients, negotiating business terms, and drafting up leases, I’m pretty busy. I assume Jordan is busy too, or just continuing to avoid me. In the past few weeks I saw him quite a bit, but now it’s infrequent. When I do bump into him, I mumble, “Hi.” Sometimes my hello is acknowledged, other times not. It’s upsetting and awkward to not be acknowledged. Especially when he’ll be sure to grunt a hello to everyone else.

He now regrets hiring me. It has to be the case. But is my work good enough to keep me employed, despite his apparent anger? I can’t even hazard a guess as to what’s in his head. His curt, clipped e-mails aren’t giving me a clue.

The bright side is that no conversation means no confrontation. I won’t have to deal with figuring out what to tell him. Ever. The bleak side—no conversation means no resolution. I’ll be in limbo for the duration of my employment at Grovas. Not purgatory, but hell. Not knowing where you stand? Priceless.

Deciding I’ve had too much distraction because of this guy, I throw myself into my work. It’s time to focus on my career. I’m learning every day, but the files are piling up, and it’s getting harder to keep up. Secretarial help is critical to my survival but Amber throws very little time or effort in my direction. I also need my own office, not having moved out of the conference room since the P & Z hearing in Canton months ago.

Unfortunately, I need solutions and only Jordan has the power to provide them. Unclenching my fists and forcing my jaw muscles to relax, I walk into his office. He doesn’t look up until I close the door.

“Hello, Sue,” he says with a trace of surprise in his voice.

“Jordan, my clients are growing, and so is my work load. I need a real office and a secretary. I’m happy to share staff, but I need more than what Amber’s been giving me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay meaning you’ve heard me, or okay meaning you’ll arrange for this?” Confused, I feel my brow furrow.

“I mean okay, the rest of the associates have both offices and more dedicated support staff, so there is no reason why you can’t have this, too.”

“If I could have had this all along, why didn’t you offer it to me earlier?” Yes, confusion reigns the day.

“Well, at the beginning you were almost always out of the office so you didn’t need all that. Later you seemed content to have the conference room. I thought you liked having all that space to yourself. The associates’ offices are so small in comparison. And they’re inconvenient. Your office, for instance, would be upstairs where the rest of the first and second years are. You’d have to come running down here all the time. I didn’t think you’d like that.”

I don’t know how to respond. He’s being nice. I tackle the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you saying you’re going to keep me on as your associate?”

He smiles. “Yes. I thought you knew that. Everyone else around here does.”

“They do?”

“Yes, they do.” He stops smiling.

I don’t respond. I just quietly look at him.

“You were serious when you said you barely fit in as my associate? I thought you were just trying to make a point about my personality flaws.” Now he’s frowning.

I feel a smile creep over my face, replacing his. “Okay, you do like having me as your associate. Good. So at least one of our issues has been worked out.” Damn. I shouldn’t have even alluded to our other little issue. Ignoring it would definitely have been the better way to go.

“Sue, no pressure, but any time you want to work out the rest of it, let me know.” He picks a pencil off a legal pad and lightly doodles a rectangle. “If you don’t want to go out with me, that’s okay. But if you change your mind, the dinner offer is still out there. I’m sure that I—we—would enjoy our time together. Okay?” He puts the pencil down and looks at me with a fragile smile.

Fluttery feeling. Again. I nod soberly then walk out. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I feel. If I decide to go on his dinner date, how will an office romance affect my job? Or my mind? At least I know one thing—he is still interested.

In bed that night, I can’t sleep. I wonder if the work situation is awkward for him too. Jordan is a partner at the firm, and my supervisor. He’s dangling from a professional tree limb by asking me out. Maybe he hasn’t been ignoring me because he doesn’t like me. Maybe he’s been trying to give me space to decide. Have I also been wrong about not wanting to date him?