“You know what? I’m going to let you do that,” Isaac laughs as he wipes the corners of his mouth. He seems to think that he ended up on top of this agreement too.
As Maxwell slides a black card onto the silver tray to pay the bill, he scowls and squints at the face of his cell phone. Suddenly his attention is diverted and when the waiter returns with the receipt for him to sign, it takes him an awkward few seconds to finish up.
“Really looking forward to working with you,” I add, hoping to cover for Maxwell’s rudeness.
I realize I haven’t been very useful at this meeting, but Isaac smiles at me anyway. Those three glasses of scotch probably don’t hurt too much.
“Yeah, Clarissa will join us on Friday,” Maxwell announces abruptly as he stands.
He passes the paper contract to me and steps away from the table.
“Can you get the addendums to Isaac’s office this afternoon? We will need all that for Friday,” he asks me, suddenly cold and officious. Then he turns back to Isaac and extends a hand to shake it. “Okay! See you then!” he announces before hurrying from the restaurant.
I’m left with Isaac, sort of startled at Maxwell’s sudden rudeness but not completely shocked. This was a classic Greg move as well: grab all the glory, leave me with all the paperwork. I smile gamely at Isaac as though I’m just thrilled to death to have the opportunity to run back and forth between our offices and get the rest of the signatures today.
“Can I circle back to your office this afternoon at about 2:30?” I ask, careful to make sure my resentment doesn’t show.
“Certainly, certainly,” he nods, but he’s already distracted too. Now I’m just the assistant and completely beneath his attention.
The lunch rush is in full swing now, and I slip from the restaurant practically unnoticed, back to my office to assemble the remaining paperwork. It isn’t my job to be a messenger too, but a hired messenger would add hours to this process anyway. It’s just simpler for me to handle it, I guess.
As I go over the forms, I quickly change the templates from Greg’s name to Maxwell’s. I know all the forms by heart. Down where it says “Head Broker” I consider putting in my own name… but I don’t. Greg always instructed me to leave my name out of it. I’m not sure Maxwell will feel the same way, but… Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it will be the same.
Chapter 3
Maxwell
As the Lyft driver weaves in and out of lunchtime traffic downtown, I clench my molars together and remind myself that in the big picture, this is not a big deal.
Yes, I look like a jerk for dashing out of the restaurant right at the end. I couldn’t help but see the look on Clarissa’s face, especially because over the course of the lunch it seemed like I had really made an impression on her. I didn’t make her take the lead, I didn’t talk over her, and I maneuvered Isaac into a near-effortless contract signature.
It was very close to a complete professional and personal victory, right up until the moment Zella texted me “911.”
At that, I had to make my exit. Terrible timing, but 911 could be anything. Zella’s mother has had some issues since her hip replacement—though we are not supposed to call it that, lest the society pages get wind of it. Zella herself can be a bit on the dramatic side. But we did agree to remain friends, and 911 means emergency.
As my cab slides quickly between Gold Coast townhomes, I see Zella and her mother standing under the elm tree by the curb, smiling and laughing. My stomach tightens immediately.
“Oh, Maxwell!” Zella’s mother, Judith Hews, calls out in exaggerated relief as I tip the driver and mount the curb. “You didn’t have to come so quickly! It’s fine! Absolutely fine!”
She positions herself defensively between Zella and me, a manipulative maneuver that I know only too well. Zella smiles coquettishly and clutches Turtle, her bichon frise, to her chest.
“Good afternoon, Judith,” I say evenly as I approach, accepting her chaste kiss to my cheek out of habit.
She withdraws immediately, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, you just reek of scotch!” she exclaims. “I hope you are not slacking off on the job already!”
“Stop, Mom!” Zella giggles against Turtle’s fluffy white years. “Maxwell wouldn’t do that, and it’s none of our business anyway!”
Judith shrugs like a teenage girl. It’s both one of her most charming and most annoying aspects. Both of them, really, seem to exist in this never-ending space of girlish mannerisms that do not age. Zella used to complain that her mother’s forced ideas of femininity made her feel old-fashioned and constrained. But I guess they took root, anyway.
In
any case, they both seem far too happy to see me.
“You said there was an emergency?” I begin awkwardly.
“Oh, that!” Zella chirps nervously. “No, we’re fine now! Poor Turtle, here, the naughty scamp!”
Judith leans toward me as though divulging a secret as she lays her fingertips lightly on my shoulder. “We nearly lost him!” she says with her eyes widened dramatically.