“A bull in a china shop. How did you get roped into this?”
“The party, or the conversation? I work with David at the United Nations. You?”
“I work with Catherine.”
“Hang on, you’re the Keppel in Gaffney, Anber, & Keppel?” She takes a step closer and lowers her voice. “You’ve known Catherine for a while, right? Can I ask you a question? Is she always so. . . direct?”
“What did she do?”
“She quizzed me on my relationship status the second time we met,” she replies. “My own mother hassles me less about being single, and she’sIndian.In Catherine’s defense, she might have been tipsy. It was an excruciatingly boring work function.”
My lips twitch. “She probably wasn’t. She can drink most of this room under the table. Has David ever told you how they met?”
Mala is interesting. She’s just returned to New York from a stint in Jordan. She grew up in London, speaks three languages, and has a lovely smile. There’s only one thing wrong with her. She’s not Addie.
I finally corralCatherine after dinner. “Take me off your list, please,” I tell her, muscling in on her conversation with Shane. “I’m not looking for help to find someone. Come to think of it, why am I the target of your matchmaking efforts and not Shane?”
“I have a black heart,” Shane responds promptly.
“No, you don’t,” she responds. “You just like to glare at people. What’s wrong with Mala? She’s moving back to London, in case it’s the distance you’re worried about.”
“Nothing is wrong with Mala. I’m not looking for anything right now.”
Catherine opens her mouth to say something and then decides against it. “Fair enough,” she says. “Where’s that bottle of champagne you brought? We should open it and toast to an amazing year.”
“It has been good, hasn’t it?” Gaffney, Anber, & Keppel had a banner year. We’ve increased billable hours, brought on six new associates, and doubled revenues. Clients keep coming back. Boutique law firms have a terrifyingly high failure rate, but so far, we seem to be the exception.
“Theo, you’re a master of English understatement,” Shane says as Catherine pops the cork and pours the bubbly into three flutes. “It’s been bloody fantastic.” He tilts his glass at Catherine. “The Dublin and London offices are doing okay, but New York.” He shakes his head in admiration. “Cath, you are a rock star.”
“Matchmaking attempts aside, she totally is.” I lift my glass in the air. “To Catherine.”
She looks embarrassed by the praise. “Thanks, you guys. Most of it was the Byard case, and I can’t really take credit for that. It was pretty open and shut. Elliot Meyer and Adelaide Byard were undoubtedly together. When he received his cancer diagnosis, he wrote her into his will. He had it witnessed, and he even informed his son so it wouldn’t come as a surprise.”
“I didn’t know that.” I hadn’t been lying to Addie; the three of us really don’t follow each other’s cases unless asked. “Why did Reed Meyer think he had a case?”
“He didn’t,” Cath replies, an uncharacteristically hard look on her face. “He thought if he spread enough dirt, she would cave. He had people write hit pieces on her and called every law firm in Manhattan, telling them that if they represented her, Meyer Industries would no longer do business with them. He wanted to isolate her and make her feel alone and friendless.”
Shane’s hand clenches into a fist. “It wouldn't have worked.”
“Is that what you think? Addie was reeling from the loss of her partner. If Xavier hadn’t interfered, it would have absolutely worked.” Her tone turns contemptuous. “Reed Meyer is a fool. He could have settled at any time. Addie didn’t care about the money; she just wanted the whole thing to go away. So I propose a toast to Reed Meyer, whose bullheaded pride paid our bills this year.”
I’m not a violent person, but if I run into Meyer, I’ll beat him to a bloody pulp. He’s the reason Addie wants nothing to do with Shane and me outside Club M. He’s the reason her walls are so high.
Catherine wanders away to chat with a group of people, and Shane stares at me meaningfully. “What?” I ask defensively.
“Should you really be seeing Addie again?”
“What do you mean by that?” I hedge.
“Oh, come on. I saw the way you looked at her. I saw the way you held her. You’re involved, Theo.”
I can't deny that. My need for Addie is unwise. Destructive. “If I had any sense,” I say quietly. “I'd stop.”
Shane looks at me with keen eyes. “And are you going to?”
“No. This is foolish and unwise, and I cannot bring myself to walk away.”
“Why not? You've never been self-destructive before.”