I raised a brow. “And people say I’m a bitch? By the way, how can you mix up those dog breeds? They look nothing alike other than both being small.”
“Potato, patato. And not people,” Wendy said, “just Bob. But he does talk to a lot of other people, and everyone knows him. Mailroom and all.”
“You’re not making things better, Wendy.”
She shrugged. “Just keeping it real.”
“You know I could replace you with a snap of my fingers?”
With a grin that almost dared me to try, she leaned back in her chair.
I tapped my finger on my chin. “Mergers and acquisitions. That doesn’t surprise me, considering his father is good at it.”
Wendy chuckled. “He was also apparently a wiz at securities law.”
I faked a yawn. “Boring. No wonder he’s not a lawyer anymore and needs a date.”
Wendy laughed again. “It’s hard getting intel for you since I’m still the new kid on the block—not far behind you in that regard.”
Nodding, I let out a sigh. “Well, I guess I’ll find out tonight.”
“Did you pick up your dress?”
Smiling, I replied, “I did. And it’s fabulous.”
She clapped. “Take a selfie when you get all fixed up. I’m dying to see it. Will you come to the regular office Christmas party tomorrow night?”
I shook my head. “God, no. One office party is enough, thank you very much.”
There was a knock on my door and Wendy jumped up. “Coldhearted, man-hating bitch,” she said softly as she made her way to the door. When she opened it, she nearly jumped back. “Mr. Morrison, how are you this morning?”
I stood and smiled while my boss and senior partner in the firm breezed past my assistant. “Good, Melody. I’m good.”
It took everything I had not to laugh when Wendy shot him a dirty look. “May I get you anything?” she asked.
Mr. Morrison raised his hand. “No, thank you. Shut the door, Melinda.”
I had to cover my mouth and look down so I couldn’t see what Wendy did in response, but I imagined it had something to do with her middle finger.
Once the door clicked shut, I dropped my hand. “Good morning, Mr. Morrison.”
“Good morning, Brighton. I take it you got the invite for the party this evening?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I’ll have a car pick you up at seven, promptly. Please be outside and waiting on them. Be sure to bring a coat, it’s going to be cold this evening.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from reminding him that I was twenty-eight years old and didn’t need to be told how to dress. After all, it was December in Boston and there was snow on the ground.
“Yes, sir, I’ll be ready.”
“Now, I need to let you know, Brighton, my son and I have a…rocky past. He has chosen a lifestyle and career that I’m not happy with at all. He only agreed to come back to Boston for Christmas because his mother asked him to. No, she begged him. She also asked him to come to the Christmas party, and instead of him bringing some…some…person he works with, I told him he had to come alone.”
I was positive I was going to blink my eyeballs right out of my head. Holy crap, was Mr. Morrison’s son gay? Great, even if there’d only been a shred of hope he was cute, there went any chance of a one-night stand. And holy crap, did Mr. Morrison have an issue with his son being gay? What in the hell?
“Is he okay with me being his date?” I asked.
“Oh, he doesn’t know yet. I’ll let him know on the way to the party.”
I felt my mouth drop open. “Wh-what? You’re going to…to…blindside him?”
He waved off my stunned stutter. “Don’t worry, he’ll be happy with my choice of date.”
Whoa. Okay, what?
“Happy with your…choice?”
He blinked a few times, then said, “Oh, I don’t mean it like that, Brighton. I meant to say you’re a very beautiful woman who’s smart and hardworking. I like your work ethic. You don’t get caught up in the office drama or the nonsense of dating anyone at work. I’m hoping you’ll be a good influence on Luke.”
I quickly looked around for the hidden cameras that must have been in my office. Then I focused back on Mr. Morrison.
“Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “I’ll see you at the party. And if you need anything, you’ll let Jill know?” Jill Locker was Mr. Morrison’s personal assistant.
Standing, I replied, “Yes, of course.”
“See you tonight, Brighton!” Mr. Morrison called out, quickly making his way out of my office.
Wendy slipped inside, shut the door, and turned to me. “Well? What did he say?”
I sank back down in the seat and let out a long groan. “I think Mr. Morrison is hoping I’ll make his son like women and not men.”
Wendy gasped. “He’s gay?”