Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance (14 page)

T
he following Monday
, the morning “Strategy Session” at
Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson & Associates
was cancelled for the first time. This was to prepare the firm for Representative Davis’ arrival. Gourmet coffee and Continental Breakfast was catered in. London sat in her office bracing herself.

At Church last Sunday it had just been the Davis family: Dion, his wife Vivienne, and their two little boys, Charles, age 8 and David, age 10. Today it would be Davis’ work family. That meant his staff: secretary, assistants, scheduler, aides…Clayton Moore.

It would be the first time she’d seen him since the breakup. Would he at least have the tact to feel awkward about it?

She looked at the clock on her computer. It was already 9:45. They had the large conference room set up to accommodate everyone for the meeting that was to start at 10:00. Best to just get it over with. Like pulling a Band-Aid off, the quicker the better.

She opened her door and headed down the hallway. She could hear her father’s loud, booming voice, which he reserved specifically for VIPs, before she even turned the corner.

“Ah, here she is,” he said once she made the turn.

London was relieved to see that it was only Dion Davis with him, along with his Chief of Staff, Sean Carmichael. Presumably the rest of his underlings were taking advantage of the free breakfast in the lounge.

“London Jefferson,” drawled the representative, his voice smooth as honey. “Lovelier, and lovelier every day.” He gave her a brilliant smile as he engulfed her slender hand in his larger ones. “That Clayton is a lucky, lucky man,” his eyes wandered down her body, quickly enough for it to seem almost innocuous.

London was too stunned by what he had just said to worry about it. “I’m sorry?” she asked, her eyes blinking rapidly.

“Uh, we should finish introducing you to the team before the meeting starts,” her father stammered, mimicking her own perplexed look. His was heavily painted with a plea to leave it alone for now.

She let them go. So the fucker didn’t even have the balls to tell his boss about the break up. Probably too worried about how Davis’ relationship with the firm might affect his standing. What a fucking weasel!

She let it go. After today, it would no doubt be apparent to the entire Dion Davis staff that Clayton and London were no more. She headed to the conference room preoccupied with those thoughts.

She saw them as soon as she opened the door. Clayton and Marissa.

Marissa Stokes, Staff Assistant.

Marissa Stokes, half black, half Mexican. Way to pull in double the constituencies, Clayton!

Marissa Stokes, whose father worked for the MTA, whose mother was a teacher. Two perfectly, humble, “antic”-free professions. A very
serious
family indeed.

Marissa Stokes, who’d always been so friendly and personable to London.

It was one full second. One second was enough.

Marissa was leaning back against the table, hands on the edge, head tilted girlishly to one side. Clayton, standing just close enough to invade her space, but not touching, leaning in, head tilted forward meaningfully. There was nothing damning about it. Two people on very friendly terms, no doubt chatting about something they were both passionate about.

It was the smiles that sealed it. London had smiled up at Clayton like that early in their courtship. He, in return, had smiled right back at her the way he was at Marissa right now. Those smiles took the dagger he had already stuck in her heart and gave it a fatal twist.

If the smiles hadn’t clued her in, the guilty way Marissa pushed herself off the table, and the easy two steps back Clayton took to distance himself, did.

“London,” said Marissa, her pitch just a notch too high.

“Marissa,” London said evenly. “Clayton,” she said turning her head to him.

“London,” he responded, his face a mask of complete apathy.

London turned around and walked steadily, but quickly, back to her office. The only thing keeping the panic at bay was maintaining that steady pace. One, two. One, two. She made it just in time to shut the door, lean back on it and let out a silent wail so powerful it brought her to her knees.

She skipped the meeting and spent the rest of the day in her office.

“
K
nock
, knock!”

Michael looked up from the computer to find Brooklyn standing in his doorway. This time around it wasn’t a surprise, since he had sent for her specifically. In the back of his mind he knew it was probably a tiny abuse of power, calling her up to his office. But being a partner had to count for something. If he was going to get anywhere with her sister, he had to nip whatever feelings Brooklyn had for him in the bud.

“Hi,” he said pleasantly. “Please, come in, have a seat,” he pointed to the chair in front of his desk, “Can you close the door behind you?”

She approached him with a wary expression, but closed the door behind her all the same. Once she was seated, he began.

“Brooklyn,” he began, placing his elbows on the desk. His fingers were intertwined, with both index fingers against his lips, a serious expression on his face. “
Douglas & Foster
is unusually lax in a lot of areas, like for instance, the dress code.”

A look of suspicious outrage immediately clouded her face. He took in the curly hair that was dark brown from the roots, and on the tips, blonde? White? Then he saw the black leggings, and oversized flowery blouse, and the same engineer boots she had been wearing the first time he saw her.

They really were lax on the 37th floor.

He immediately continued with his spiel to correct any conclusions she was incorrectly coming to.

“
Also
when it comes to inter-office relationships,” he went on. “Yes, some partners are, um, known to have…relationships with other firm employees. That’s a line
I, personally
, try not to cross.”

He looked at her to see if she was grasping where he was going.

“Listen Michael, if you’re asking me to quit,”

Wait, what?

“I should point out that I really need this job.”

Oh no. No, no, no.

That wasn’t at all where he’d been going. He could already see the law suit the firm would be exposed to. His intent had obviously taken a detour somewhere.

It was becoming very apparent that he was a partner, talking to a subordinate, in his office, with the door closed.

“Besides, I’m sorry but, I just don’t have feelings for you. I mean, I’m very flattered,” she added, obviously misreading his perturbed expression.

“Well, that isn’t exactly—”

“In fact,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “I think my sister is interested in you.”

The conversation had just taken an interesting turn.

“Well that’s nice to know, but I don’t really think it’s appropri—”

“It’s probably inappropriate of me to say it, but frankly she could use the rebound.”

Very good to know, but…time and place.

“I guess technically you’re my boss,” she pondered.

There was no technically about it. His eyes wandered worriedly to the closed door behind her.

“But she’s my sister so I have to ask,” she leaned in again and gave him a warning look. “What exactly are your intentions?”

All of a sudden his tie felt tight around his neck. This was not a discussion for the workplace.

“Well I just met—”

“Because even though you’re maybe, kind of my boss—”

“Actually I’m—

“—all I’m saying is, I don’t want her to get hurt.” She gave him a meaningful look.

Michael nodded. “I can appreciate that.”

She leaned in even closer. “This is probably waaay over the line but—

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t—” he began, his heart beating faster.

“—she spent ten years with a real loser, and, frankly, is in desperate need of a rebound. So I hope you’re at least good in bed.”

With that she popped up and headed toward the door, leaving Michael stunned.

“Oh wait,” she said spinning around. “Did you have a problem with your computer?”

He stared at her in bewilderment.

“IT department?” she reminded him, pointing at her chest. “You called me up?”

“Oh,” he said, flustered. “No, um, I’m good.”

He watched her open the door and skip out.

What the hell?

Two minutes later James popped his head into Michael’s office. Today he had on a pink and white striped shirt—French cuffs as usual—with maroon suspenders and navy blue pants.

“Did you see that girl?” he asked with indignation. “What in the world was she wearing? And that hair? I thought we had nipped that in the bud!”

“Well, James, technically her hair is in
natural
colors,” he made a concerted effort not to stare at James own helmet of hair, which looked as though he had been dipped head first into an oil slick.

“Humph,” James muttered. “I see I’ll have to have another discussion with HR.” He wandered off leaving Michael to his thoughts.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, staring at the phone. London had escaped after their kiss. He’d wandered the party, thinking maybe she was just avoiding him, but she’d obviously just vanished. He’d taken his cue from her and done the same. There had been nothing there that interested him any longer.

Even with the jarring news of his father’s announcement, he had spent the better part of Sunday thinking about her. He’d felt her response to his kiss Saturday night, despite her protests that he wasn’t her type. He smiled. Little sis’ had just confirmed it for him.

That was enough to get him to pick up the phone. A simple google search had given him the 411 on her. He had been surprised to find she was related to
that
Jefferson, the same Frank Jefferson who managed to snag a camera appearance any time a celebrity of a certain…
persuasion
, managed to find themselves a matter of public spectacle. It was nice to know they had something in common. Both of them hid in the shadows while their fathers stole the spotlight.

It was a Monday. Probably not the best day of the week for, well, for possibilities to unfold. But he had to at least try. Michael was pretty sure he couldn’t go the rest of the week thinking about her without acting on it. Who knew? Maybe he’d catch her in a moment of weakness.