J'adore New York (8 page)

A
s mornings-after go, there are few combinations more deadly than a BlackBerry, too much alcohol, and flirting with a colleague—no matter how subtle. I wish I could channel my inner Edith Piaf and hum,
“Non, je ne regrette rien,”
but it just isn’t so. I wish I’d been able to call back that last email to Antoine—I knew it as soon as I hit send last night; I knew it when I woke up blushing with embarrassment this morning; and I really knew it when I ran into him in the photocopy room and he didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

I stare at my computer screen and wonder what this will mean for our relationship going forward and, more importantly, my career. Why would he give me the cold shoulder? Does he think I have a crush on him? After all, he’s the one who brought up going out for a drink! Catherine, you can’t let stress and too much wine make bad decisions for you.

Rikash dashes into my office holding a stack of receipts.

“What’s wrong? You seem preoccupied.”

“I need your help, dah-ling. I’m under tremendous pressure.”

“How so?”

“Bonnie just snapped at me for not having finished the expenses for her most recent trip to Europe. I’ve been working on them for three days, but I can’t seem to reconcile the receipts.”

“Why not?”

“There’s one I’m not sure how to handle…It’s for a garter belt and a bra from a lingerie shop in London.”

“What? You’re joking?”

“Does a thirty-four C cup from Agent Provocateur sound like a meal to you?”

“I can’t believe she would expense that. Why would Bonnie expense her underwear? She makes enough money to buy the entire lingerie company. Then again, her undergarments are as key to closing a deal as her sharp legal mind. On second thought, forget what I just said. They’re her main negotiation tool.”

“What should I do?”

“There’s got to be something you can do. Wait, lots of restaurants use numbers in their names, right? Eleven Madison Park, Candle 79, and Five Napkin Burger. So why not Thirty-Four C Regent Street?”

“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, thanks, love. By the way, are
you
okay? You look a bit down and out.”

“I’ll be fine. Just busy with work.”

Despite a steady increase in women’s enrollment in law school and legislation to promote equality between the sexes, it looks like women are still heavily outnumbered in the world of high finance. I show up at the meeting Scott arranged at the Swiss Bank offices and there are only two women in the room: the woman putting together the coffee cart and me. The large boardroom is filled with young men speaking rapid-fire financial jargon while taking notes on a thick draft prospectus; I feel a bit lost in an ocean of Dockers and blue shirts. For a split second, I wish I was in Dior’s boardroom discussing counterfeit Lady Dior bags. But I quickly dismiss it; this testosterone-charged high-profile deal is exactly what I need to forget Antoine’s silent treatment. I’m seriously regretting that silly email exchange. How could I let my guard down so easily, especially in a time of war? It’s a tactical mistake and a tough lesson to learn. Catherine, never go to battle without your suit of armour. My thoughts are interrupted by a man’s deep voice.

“Good afternoon, everyone, and thanks for making it to our meeting on such short notice. My name is Jeffrey Richardson. I’m the CFO of Browser.” A stunning man with dark hair and broad shoulders is standing at the front of the boardroom wearing a light pink shirt and a tailored pinstripe suit. He looks like Nacho Figueras, the Argentinian polo player and Ralph Lauren model. Any lingering thoughts about Antoine quickly disappear.

“Just so everyone is aware, we’ve selected the firm of Edwards and White as our lead counsel. Is anyone from Edwards present this morning?”

My pulse begins to race.

“Yes, hello, my name is Catherine Lambert.”

“Very nice to meet you, Catherine. Glad you can be with us here today,” Jeffrey welcomes me with a bright smile. My palms turn sweaty and I fear I will soon turn into a babbling idiot. Be professional, Catherine! Remember the lesson you learned just this morning!

“The main contact at Edwards on this deal, I presume?”

“Scott Johnson, our department’s managing partner, will be the senior lawyer on the file, but I’ll be the main contact.”

The others around the table introduce themselves but I have trouble paying attention: I am totally mesmerized by Jeffrey’s good looks and warm smile.

“How quickly can we expect your firm to complete the due diligence process?”

My neighbour’s hand taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, miss, I think that question was directed at you.”

“Oh, sorry, can you repeat the question?” I awaken from my trance.

“Yes, hello, Catherine. My name is Howard Greenblatt. We represent the underwriters. What’s your firm’s expected time frame to get the documents ready for the due diligence process? We’re trying to get a handle on the upcoming deadlines and establish a legal timetable.”

“Of course, yes, yes. To answer your question, I don’t foresee
any delays and I can assure you that this file will be a top priority for me, I mean, for
us
at Edwards and White.” Not the most eloquent answer, but it does seem to satisfy Howard. Come on, Lambert, you’re not going to let a hot guy distract you like this, are you?

“Perfect. Thank you.”

A question period starts after the introductions are over.

“What’s the burn rate of the company?” one banker asks.

“What is the company’s EBITDA? How many rounds of financing have you gone through so far?” asks another.

I try to keep up with the fast-paced questions by frantically transcribing every question and answer on my laptop. After an intense two and a half hours, Jeffrey thanks the crowd and tells everyone that we will continue at the next meeting.

I’m packing up when Jeffrey walks over.

“Very pleased to hear this file will be a priority for you. I guess that means that you and I will be talking on a regular basis from now on, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I guess it does.” I pass him my card.

“Great. I’ll ask my secretary to add your name to the working group list.”

“Perfect.”

I catch him glancing at my outfit. “Beautiful suit.”

“Thanks.” I look up and his eyes meet mine; despite willing myself not to with every fibre of my being, I begin to blush.

“Like the woman wearing it.”

My heart stops; I fumble for words. Pull it together!

“I should be getting back to the office now. Um, I’ll talk to you soon.” I stammer, colour still rising in my cheeks.

He winks in response. I want to die.

I walk through the glass doors toward the exit while he stands in the lobby watching me; he waves goodbye.

Mon dieu,
it will be difficult to refrain from flirting with
him.
I stroll along Park to get back to the office and can’t help but think about Jeffrey. I replay our brief conversation in my head; it’s obvious that there was mutual attraction, but I’m not prepared to navigate the murky waters of dating an important client. No thank you.

“Rikash, can you please open a file for Browser, Inc.?”

“Browser? I read about them in the
Herald Tribune
over the weekend.”

“You read the
Herald Tribune?
”

Rikash never ceases to surprise me. I knew he was cultivated and well read but never thought he’d be reading international newspapers.

“Of course. I like to be well informed. I hope you have direct access to their senior management.”

“Why’s that?”

“Their CFO is one seriously attractive male.”

He totally catches me off guard and I’m sure he can read the look of surprise on my face.

“How do you know?”

“There was a picture of him next to the article. I could definitely show him a whole new meaning to the expression
playing with the numbers
.”

Hmm, so could I, if only he wasn’t a firm client…But dishing about his good looks with Rikash is not off limits.

“God, tell me about it. I almost fainted when he shook my hand. He’s not attractive, Rikash, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. His name is Jeffrey, by the way.”

“Do you know which way he goes?”

“Not your way, I’m afraid.”

“In that case, you need to jump his bones because if I can’t have him, someone I know needs to.”

Here we go. Put on your seatbelt, Catherine. I’m sure that Rikash will try to lead you astray.

“He’s a client and I want to keep it that way.”

“Just remember, dah-ling: good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.”

Before I can go on with our conversation, Scott walks into my office.

“How did the meeting go?”

“Extremely well.”

“Great, happy to hear. I’ve been invited to attend a Browser function at Carnegie Hall next week, but I can’t make it. Now that you’re involved, I’d like you to attend on my behalf.”

“Carnegie Hall?” I hesitate before answering. Scott had also asked me to attend a benefit Mel’s wife was hosting for the St. Matthew’s Society next week and I need to get my billables
up. If only I could bill the hours I’m going to spend at these functions, at least then they’d be worth my while.

He senses my apprehension. “I know I’m asking you to attend a lot of client functions these days, but I’m afraid it comes with the job. Clients need to be wined and dined.”

“Of course, I understand. I’d be delighted to go.”

“Great, I’ll ask Jeffrey’s assistant to contact you with the details.”

A few minutes later, Nathan walks into my office looking perplexed.

“I heard you’ll be working on the Browser IPO.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Won’t that interfere with your other mandates? You already have most of Antoine’s files on your desk.”

“I can handle it.”

“If I were you, I would delegate some of my work. You don’t want to be accused of malpractice. It can totally happen under a heavy burden, you know.”

This is a
very
weak attempt at appearing concerned about me. It is true that my load is getting a bit heavy and I’ve fallen a little behind in my Dior research, but there’s no way I’ll let him get his grubby fingers on Browser’s IPO; it could be my ticket to partnership. It’s been said that to get ahead you must bite off more that you can chew and then
just chew it.

“I appreciate your concern for my professional well-being, but I’ll be fine, really.”

A frustrated Nathan walks out of my office empty-handed.

“It’s Mel. Do you want to take it?” Rikash calls me on the intercom.

“Sure, put him through.” I put my finger in my mouth in mock gagging.

“Hello, counselaaar, looking forward to seeing you at the St. Matthew’s charity ball on Monday.”

“So am I. I’m especially looking forward to meeting your wife.” I wonder whether my nose is getting longer.

“She, um, can’t wait to meet you also…Do you have some time now to go over the memo you prepared?”

“Sure, let me get my file.”

Fifteen minutes of questions later, my other line rings and
Browser
pops up on the screen. I glance at Rikash to make sure he gets it. He answers and waves at me with big hand gestures.

“Mel, I’m sorry, but can I put you on hold for just one minute?”

“Catherine, it’s Jeffrey on your other line.”

“Great, put him through.”

“God, he even sounds gorgeous.”

“Rikash, put him through.”

“I can take a message for you if you’re busy.”

“Rikash, transfer the call.”

“You know I like to have my beefcake and eat it too.”

“P
UT HIM THROUGH NOW
!”

“Okay, okay, there’s no need to be such a party-pooper!”

“Hello, Catherine, it’s Jeffrey. Scott told me that you’ll be joining us next Thursday evening.”

“Yes, that’s right. Although I’m afraid Scott can’t make it.”

“That’s too bad. Can we meet for dinner beforehand to discuss details? I want to make sure this IPO goes as smoothly as possible.”

“Um. Sure.”

He senses my hesitation. “Strictly business, I need some legal advice—it’ll even be billable.”

Music to my ears. “Yes, of course.”

“Perfect. I’ll make reservations and email the details over.”

I reluctantly jump back to the other line.

“Mel, I’m sorry, where were we?”

“That was way more than a minute, counselaaar. I hope you stopped running your meter while you were on the other line. No double billiiiing!”

“Don’t worry, Mel, I won’t charge you for it.”

“A legal freebie? Wow, that’s a first. Can we go over the memo now?”

“Sure, but the meter is going back on.”

After a half-hour legal discussion, Mel ends the conversation.

“I’ve got to run, so I’ll see you at the Waldorf. Don’t forget it’s a black tie and the cocktails start at seven.”

“I’ll be there; wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I giggle as I hang up, surprised at my ability to make the statement sound sincere.

F
rançoise Sagan once said that a woman shouldn’t wear a dress to impress or dazzle other women. Rather, she should do so to be undressed by the man she loves. The sad thing is, I’m now slipping into a red floor-length sequined gown to meet Mel and his wife.

Roxanne and Maria walk in as I spritz some J’adore on my wrists.

“Aren’t we looking glamorous?” Maria remarks as she stares at me from head to toe. “Oh my god, love the shoes.”

Roxanne stands before me in stone silence and gives me her usual dirty look.

“Hot date?”

“No, Scott asked me to attend a benefit with Mel Johnson and his wife. Apparently Mrs. Johnson is on the board of trustees for the St. Matthew’s Society.”

“Really?”

Maria and Roxanne stare at each other.

“Have a great time.”

God, those two are odd.

“Counselaaar, you look marvellous.” I nearly run into Mel at the entrance.

“Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself.” I return the compliment despite the fact that he’s wearing a tuxedo a few sizes too small, making him look like the Michelin Man squeezed into Azzedine Alaïa.

We climb two broad flights of stairs and walk down a large hall that leads directly into a procession of elegant lobby spaces before we arrive in the Grand Ballroom. I crane my neck to look all the way up to the gorgeously painted ceilings.

“Would you like a glass of champagne?”

“Love one. So where’s Mrs. Johnson?”

“She’s tied up at some meeting. She’ll be joining us a bit later. Why don’t we walk around? I’ll introduce you to some friends and colleagues.”

We approach a tall man standing close to the bar and holding a cigar.

“Frank, let me introduce you to our lovely French lawyer, Catherine. She’s taking care of our paperwork with the securities regulators.”

“Nice to meet you, Catherine. I’m very fond of the French language. It’s the language of
looove,”
he says, making a tiny circle with his lips.

“Ah yes, the language de l’
amoowr,”
Mel adds, trying to show off his foreign-language skills.

After a painful half-hour of similarly stimulating conversation with Frank and Mel, I’m thrilled when we are asked to take our seats for dinner. Strangely though, there is still no sign of Mrs. Johnson.

“What about your wife, Mel? Should we wait for her before taking our seats?”

“I’m not entirely sure that she’ll make it tonight. She seemed a bit under the weather this morning when I left home.”

Is she sick or in a meeting? Something’s up because Frank is winking at Mel and giving him the thumbs-up.
Oh mon dieu, quelle horreur!

“So how long has your wife been on the board of the St. Matthew’s Society?”

“For as long as I remember. She runs the whole thing,” he answers in an uninterested manner.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” A man takes the microphone to thank the organizers after our main course is served. As expected, there is no reference to a Mrs. Johnson. Shortly after the dessert, the band starts to play and several couples are dancing on the dance floor.

“Counselaaar, would you do me the honour?”

“Sure,” I answer reluctantly.

He grabs my hand and leads me into a poorly executed fox trot.

“I hope you’re having a wonderful evening. My colleagues are so pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, Mel, I’m having a good time. Thank you for inviting me. I’ll probably be on my way shortly, though. I have an early morning meeting tomorrow.”

“Nonsense, the night is still young. We’re just getting started,” he replies as he awkwardly twirls me on the dance floor, almost making me trip on my dress.

“Counselaaar, I love your dress. It’s electric. It brings out the fire in me.”

Oh god, someone please call the fire department.

“You are zee one for mee!” he whispers in my ear. I move my face to look away, but he leans into the other ear. Get me out of here.

“And you are so veery deeesirable!”

As he leans his face closer to mine to kiss me, I turn my cheek the other way to avoid the strong stench of Scotch and cigar on his breath.

“Listen, Mel, I hope there’s no misunderstanding, but I want to keep our relationship professional.”

“Oh, counselaaar, I love it when a women gets feisty with me.” He twirls me again, this time making me bump into the charity chairman.

“What about Mrs. Johnson? You’re married, remember?”

“Well, as you lawyers would put it, I misrepresented the facts slightly.”

“How so?” I stand immobile before him, having stopped the fancy footwork.

“Well, there is no Mrs. Johnson, only several ex–Mrs. Johnsons.”

Okay, Catherine, act shocked—this is your exit card.

“What? You lied to me?”

“Have you never told a little white lie to seduce the apple of your eye? You’re having a great time, remember? Don’t be a party-pooper.”

“A party-pooper? I only accepted your invitation because you’re a client.”

“
Voolay voo kooshay avek mwoi ce swoire?
” he whispers with a ridiculous accent and a forced come-hither look that could be a cross between Pepé Le Pew and Rodney Danger-field. He then parks his hand on my butt.

Okay, that’s it, this party is definitely over.

“Listen, Mel, in case you didn’t understand what I just said, I’m not interested.”

I break away and run to the ladies room, dialling Lisa’s cell as I go.

“Lisa? It’s me.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in a stall in the ladies room at the Waldorf. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, what’s wrong?”

“I need your advice,” I say, perching awkwardly on the top of a toilet seat in three-inch stilettos to get better reception. “I’m at some charity ball with this client and he just tried to
kiss me and grabbed my derrière. He’s totally grossing me out. What should I do?” I ask, nearly falling flat on my face just as a woman walks in to use the facilities.

“Say you got called to the office and don’t say anything else. He’ll leave you alone after that. Don’t let him push you around, but stay professional.”

“You’re right. Thanks, Lisa, you’re the best,” I whisper loudly as I hold my dress up to get down from the wobbly toilet seat.

Mel is waiting for me in the reception area.

“Just got a call from the office. I need to go.”

“I would be very careful if I were you, counselaaar. I would seriously think twice about my next move.” I can’t believe he’s threatening me. I channel Lisa: stay professional.

“Good night, Mel.”

I grab my evening bag and head for the exit, my red sequined hemline flapping from side to side as I try to walk as quickly as possible with painfully blistered feet.

I hail a cab outside the hotel and see Frank near the entrance smoking a cigar with a group of men. “
Bon swoire,
Catherine,” he shouts.

My head spinning, I sink into the back seat of the cab. It wasn’t bad enough that Mel regularly made me squirm with his lascivious jokes and belittled me by calling me his “favourite little lawyer.” No, this time he had to go for gold.

“We’re making a quick stop on 42nd street. I need to pick up something from my office.”

The combination of a tight evening gown and shooting pain
in my toes turns getting out of the cab and walking through the lobby into a major achievement. As the elevator doors open on the twenty-eighth floor, it could very well be four in the afternoon given the loud clicking of keyboards and the whirr of photocopiers. I recognize some of the night staff, on the job at 12:30 a.m. to ensure that marked-up drafts left behind are typed up and on lawyers’ desks first thing in the morning.

In no mood for light chit-chat, I slink past the support staff work stations and toward my office. To the delight of my cramped feet, I slide into my worn pumps, then throw a blazer over my bare shoulders. I sit in my swivel chair for a brief moment, thinking about the evening’s events. How can Mel get away with this in this day and age? And how can we continue working together after his big come-on? I have to admit that I wasn’t entirely surprised by his behaviour. So far in my career, I had grown accustomed to male clients staring at my legs while I delivered a presentation. Did I use it to my advantage?
Absolutely.
If a pair of stockings helps you crack open that very heavy glass ceiling, then why not? Was it an open invitation to ask for sex and touch me?
Definitely not.

Still cringing at the thought of Mel’s hands on my body, I walk past Bonnie’s office and notice that her door is ajar. A quick glance down reveals a discarded skirt and two pairs of feet intermingled on her office floor. Stunned, I tiptoe stealthily toward the elevators until the sound of Bonnie’s voice in a breathy
Je-t’aime moi-non-plus
purr makes me stop dead in my tracks.

“Oh, Harry.”