The Wedding Pact Box Set - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,145

a disaster. “Thank God. With all the other issues—”

“What other issues?” Libby asked a little too eagerly.

Why had she said that? She was only feeding Libby’s odd obsession with their weddings. “My wedding isn’t cursed.”

“Of course it’s not.” She paused. “You’re cursed.”

“Libby! What did I tell you?”

“I have to go, Blair,” Libby said, sounding distracted. “Noah’s calling me. I’ll talk to you later.”

Before Blair could ask her anything about her odd friendship with Noah, she hung up.

A little over an hour later, Blair walked into the office wearing a black long-sleeve, scooped-neck blouse, white pencil skirt, and nude pumps, her damp hair pulled up in a neat French roll. She stopped to check in with Melissa, who assured her that Mrs. Norfolk was already in the conference room and drinking her latte.

“Has Mr. Norfolk’s attorney shown up yet?” When Melissa shook her head, Blair asked, “And we’re sure someone’s coming?”

“Yes, he called about ten minutes ago, saying he was almost here. His plane got delayed by the weather too.”

Blair sucked in a deep breath at the reminder of Phoenix. More and more pieces of last night had come into memory, and while she was thankful that nothing had happened between her and Garrett, she couldn’t ignore the part of her that was disappointed over it. But right now she needed to deal with her meeting and deposition. Her guilt could rear its head later. “Great. Well, I’m off to see Ben.”

“Good luck! Maybe I should order out for a celebratory lunch.”

Blair put a hand on her stomach to soothe her nerves. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet. This could be about anything.”

Melissa flashed her a grin as Blair headed for the staircase that joined the two floors.

When she stopped next to Ben Stuart’s assistant’s desk promptly at 10:44, she glanced up at her with a questioning glance. “Can I help you?”

Ben appeared in his office doorway and motioned toward her. “Hey, Blair. Why don’t you come in and tell me all about the wedding? I haven’t talked to Neil in ages.”

She tried to hide her confusion. Had he set up this meeting to chat about her wedding? She’d rather be downstairs preparing for her deposition. Hiding her irritation, she followed him into his plush office. He shut the door behind her, and she walked toward his desk, taking in his gorgeous view of the Country Club Plaza.

“Thanks for fitting me in,” he said as he gestured for her to sit in one of two leather chairs in front of his desk. “I thought you’d want to hear this.”

Now she was curious. She’d rather stand, but she was on Ben’s turf, and she suspected he was right; she wanted to hear whatever he had to tell her. She settled into a leather wingback chair while he perched on the edge of his desk.

“We’re voting on a new partner next week.”

She should have been happy to hear this, but something in his voice was off. “Why am I worried this is bad news?”

He grimaced and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Listen, you have to swear to me that you’ll never say you heard this from me.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“It’s between you and York.”

“George York?” He’d been at the firm longer than she had, but he brought in fewer billable hours. “Why would they choose him over me?”

“Look,” he stalled. “This is the sticky part that you can’t let on that you know. I’m only warning you because this affects Neil too, but I’ll get canned if they find out I said anything.”

“I won’t tell. I swear. What is it?” How bad could this be?

“Some of the partners are concerned that you’re too blunt and direct.”

She shook her head in confusion. “How is that possible? Why wouldn’t they want me to be blunt and direct?”

He shifted on the desk, looking uncomfortable. “Some of them were born before dinosaurs roamed the earth. Given the choice between a confrontational woman and a mediocre guy, they’ll pick the guy.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”

She stood, her anger rising. “No. I don’t know how it is.”

He held up his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

He was right, but it didn’t ease her anger. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Would they rather I play nice and lose cases?”

“No, I think they just want to see you’re capable of having a softer side.”

“So they want me to bake some cookies and bring them in?” she asked, her voice rising.

“No. I’ve