She has to find someone. I have to believe the world is a decent enough place that she won抰 end up empty-handed after everything she抯 been through.
揑 don抰 know about that, Gemma,?she says softly. 揃ut the thing is, I have other pleasures in life. I have you, and I have all my memories of your childhood. I just wish I抎 done a better job. I wish you were happier.?
揑抦 really happy, Mom,?I tell her, but then I ruin it when my voice breaks.
I抳e been telling her I抦 happy for years now. I抳e been telling myself that too. But this is the first time I抳e realized that neither of us believe it.
20
Fields catches me just as I step off the elevator. He tells me the judge on a case I just won said I was singularly vicious.
It抯 not an insult, at least not in Fields?eyes.
揑 did what I had to,?I tell him.
A better person might argue that Chip Reardon, my client抯 ex, made mistakes, but also clearly loved his kids. A better person would argue that even our heroes, even Martin Luther King and Gandhi, would look a bit flawed under a microscope and that messing up and being a jerk to your wife doesn抰 necessarily make you an unfit parent. But why should I have to be a better person when no one else is? Why should I be a better person when Reardon抯 piece-of-shit lawyer wouldn抰 have been?
揑抎 like you to represent me at a gala we抮e co-sponsoring on Thursday,?he says.
I blink. Fields doesn抰 do much legal work these days but he sure likes to hit all the parties and take all the credit. Asking an associate to represent him is a huge honor.
揙f course,?I reply. 揑抎 be happy to.?
揟he company car will be here to take you at seven. Everyone who抯 anyone will be there. Might be a good chance for you both to drum up some business.?
揃oth??I repeat.
揟ate抯 going too,?he says.
A party with Ben, at night. Him in a tux.
My breath leaves me in an audible rush, and Gemma Charles, good girl, quakes in fear. The devil on my shoulder, though? His crowing, in this moment, nearly deafens me.
揗y God, Gemma,?Keeley says, entering my apartment. 揑t looks like you just moved in. Are you never going to decorate??
She says this every time she comes here, which is, admittedly, not often. Even when she lived next door, we always hung out at her place, and now that she has a lusciously equipped two-bedroom fully stocked with junk food and alcohol, it抯 a given.
揑 have a couch and a TV,?I tell her. 揥hat more do I need??
揝ome sign that you抮e human, or female??She places a garment bag over the back of a chair, then looks around at my bare walls, as if it抯 her first time seeing them. 揑抳e stayed in executive hotel rooms that are homier than this.?
I wave a hand at her. 揑抦 too busy. I抣l worry about it once I抳e made partner.?
揧eah, then you抣l be on easy street,?she scoffs. 揚artners do no work at all, right??
I open a bottle of wine. 揑抣l worry about your very valid point once I抳e made partner. What did you bring me??
揂 selection of four dresses that are going to make Ben Tate weep,?she replies with a triumphant smile. My eye roll has zero effect on her enthusiasm.
This makeover, of sorts, was Keeley抯 idea when she heard Ben was attending this thing. I initially refused, but she said, 損romise you抮e not wearing that funeral dress敆by which she meant the one and only cocktail dress I own梐nd I conceded because, yes, that was what I intended to wear.
揑抦 not dressing like a hooker,?I warn, handing her a glass of wine while I peek in the bag. 揘o sequins, nothing that barely covers my ass or has the midriff cut out.?
She stares at me balefully. 揑抣l try very hard not to take offense at that statement, Gemma. And it will be nearly impossible.?
I notice, however, that she did indeed bring both a sequined dress and one with the midriff cut out.
I take one of the remaining two and go to my room to put it on. It抯 purple, a gorgeous matte jersey with just the right amount of cling, but as I look down at the figure-hugging dress, I抦 not sure.
揗aybe it抯 too bright??I ask hesitantly, walking back into the living room.
揇ude, all you wear is black or navy blue. It抯 time to stand out a little.?
I shuffle in place. 揑 don抰 want him to think I抦 doing this for him.?
揕ook at yourself in the mirror,?she replies, turning me to face the cheap mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door. 揌e抯 going to be too busy kicking himself to think.?
I look at my reflection卆nd I抦 forced to agree. The dress is sleeveless, with a draping Grecian neck and tucked-in waist, and it makes me feel like a goddess.
Which is probably how I need to feel to survive an entire evening by Ben Tate抯 side.