Problem Child (Jane Doe #2) - Victoria Helen Stone
CHAPTER 1
He’s in my office again, bothering me. It bothers me just to look at him, but it particularly bothers me when he speaks, and Rob speaks a lot, plumped up on mediocre male confidence and throbbing, virile ego. He’s the partners’ favorite, so until I take care of him, I have to play it as nicely as I can. But when we’re alone, I don’t pretend. I turn dead eyes on him and stare as he prattles.
“Regardless of all that,” he says, continuing whatever train of thought I’ve blocked out, “you did a pretty good job with this one, Jane.”
“I did a great job,” I counter.
“Like I said, pretty good. I’ll turn over the final numbers to—”
“I already sent the final numbers to the partners, with appropriate credit where it was due. It’s all taken care of. Thanks, Robert. You can go.”
He blinks, spun into confusion by being casually dismissed. “Excuse me?”
“I took care of the details. Wasn’t that what you told me to do, Robert? ‘Take care of the details’? I sent the wrap-up email to the partners so you wouldn’t have to bother with it. You’re welcome.”
He shakes his head. “What? When?”
“Oh no, did I forget to cc you? I guess I was tired from all those late hours last week. I’ll be sure to forward it right now.” I smile and hit a few keys on my laptop. The original email wings its way to his account. I also forward the praise-filled responses from two of the founding partners of the law firm, along with my enthusiastic and upbeat thank-yous. Rob can respond now, of course, but he’ll still be the guy who stumbled up an hour after all the action, trying to get a leftover piece. A mere postscript. Poor Rob.
He’s staring at me. I cut my narrowed eyes toward him. “Is there something else you need?”
Rob has been outmaneuvered and he knows it, but he can’t reasonably assume it was anything but helpful gumption on my part. His stupid little lipless hole of a mouth bubbles open and closed like he’s a goldfish. Pop, pop.
The trill of my phone cuts off his shocked bubbling. “Oh, I’d better get this. Thank you so much for coming by, Robert. And hey, good job.”
His eyes widen at the indignity of being praised by someone lower on the ladder, as if I’ve snuck up the rungs and peed on his head in passing. “I’ll see you at the meeting later.” I wink as I say hello into the receiver.
“There’s a woman calling for you,” the receptionist intones in a voice that’s a strange combination of chirpy and depressed. She’s an odd, forlorn bird. “She says it’s about your niece.”
My niece? Luke has a niece, but I don’t. Well, I do, actually. Three of them. Could be four by now if my brother got even one moment out of jail between sentences last year, but I don’t know any of them.
“Send her to voice mail.”
“She says it’s important.”
“Voice mail is fine.” I hang up and find I am blessedly alone. A new email arrives. It’s Rob responding at long last to the partners’ praise. Tsk, tsk, Robert. Not very responsible.
Mid-grin, I realize it’s almost lunchtime, and I’m instantly famished. I woke up this morning craving the lobster ravioli at a restaurant two blocks from my downtown law office, and I hop up from my seat with a watering mouth and a simply fantastic idea.
“Robert!” I call across the hallway. His office faces mine, but we don’t face each other. He has his desk angled for privacy so he can look like he’s hard at work even when he’s trolling Tinder. I have mine near the door so I can watch every move in the hallway and eavesdrop on office gossip.
When I pop into his doorway, he’s scowling, still irritated with me. “Let me take you to lunch!” I exclaim, making bright eyes at him.
His gaze narrows at this shift. I smile wider. “As a thank-you for guiding me through this negotiation. What a bear, huh?”
The truth is this contract was nothing I haven’t managed before, and negotiations were made more difficult by Rob’s brotastic style. But now he’s blinking and off-balance. I lean back and wave at the receptionist, who’s glancing over her shoulder toward me. She waves in return.
“Come on,” I urge, sticking my head back into Rob’s office like we’re co-conspirators. “A celebration!”
“Uh, yeah,” he finally answers. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’ve been craving Camille’s all day. That time of month,