A Thin Line (2 page)

"Then Preston threw out that bullshit Hawaiian wedding idea. Mom, it was
sooo
corny. He actually suggested a pig roast! Gross. Nate said no, though. Thank God." My mother laughs on the other end of the phone line. We live fifteen minutes from each other, but I talk to her every day on my way to work.

On top of the drinks I had last night, when Nate came off duty, he bought a round of shots to celebrate the engagement, so I'm dragging ass today. Unfortunately, I have to be in the office. The partners will be assigning new cases and I'm praying for some easy ones. I'm overloaded.

I make the firm sound like an important, prestigious place, and while I'm happy to have a job that makes ends meet, it's not all that. Through a grant from the state of Florida, we help residents fight evictions, utility shut offs, discrimination cases, landlord disputes— basically a step above Legal Aid. Every so often, we land an actual case, a car accident or a lawsuit (one that will incur a settlement for damages), but those usually go to the partners. First and second year associates like Troy–recent Barry graduate, a new hire and Preston’s brother–get to do the grunt work I give them. It's really the only perk of being a Senior Associate.

Preston and I graduated in the same class, but in law school it's all about the percentages. I was in the top ten percent, something to be proud of. Preston graduated in the top fifty percent. Still a feat, but he got there by taking my study guides, where I'd written all of the answers. He worked his family contacts— his uncle is some big shot New York lawyer, and clerked with a large firm every summer. I didn't have any contacts, so I clerked with Flanning & Rourke, the firm I work for now. After he passed the Bar Exam, Preston went to work for the Perry Law Group, a downtown boutique law firm. I heard they offered him a nice hourly rate, plus bonuses and a secretary.

A secretary! I have Troy, but only when they're not making him snake the drain in the kitchen or lug boxes from storage.

When a landlord wants to evict a tenant, the case goes through Perry. That's the kind of law they practice. The tenant usually comes to us and if we can't mediate, we go to court. Perry’s top pick to go against cases assigned to me?

Their star, Preston Reid.

I'm still ranting to my mother as I pull into the parking lot. A maroon Honda parks next to me and Troy bounces out of his car and waves a greeting. I sign off with my mom and toss the phone into my bag, grab my heels from the backseat and walk toward the building with him.

"Heard you hung with my brother last night."

"It wasn't one of the finer points of my evening. Did he tell you about the wedding we're supposed to plan together? Is that the craziest thing you ever heard?"

Troy laughs, his head bobbing a nod. At the rear door, he pulls a tattered badge from his pocket, swipes it across the reader and pulls the door open after it beeps. I walk in and he follows me down the hall into the kitchen.

"You heard about the stupid Hawaii idea?"

I sit in one of the chairs around a table covered in sweet treats–cinnamon rolls, cookies and the like. The receptionist is an older woman that loves to bake. I kick off my sneakers and slip on my heels.

"He mentioned that you weren't into it." I snort and he adds, "Okay, he said you
really
weren't into it. But he also said Nate was nixed the idea."

"Because Nate has class. A pig roast? Really?"

I join him at the coffee pot with a paper cup. He fills my cup, leaving room for cream and sugar, which I add generously. If I'm not going to eat the goodies on the table, I'm going to drink some sugary sweet coffee.

"I'm not looking forward to this, Troy. He's going to fight every idea I have, even though I know Morgan the best, because it's my idea. He's going to plan the most..."  I shudder. "The most gauche and déclassé bachelor party for Nate, and–"

"Bachelor parties are pretty déclassé. Only women do that fancy, law abiding, upstanding shit."

"And when is the last time you went to a Bachelorette party?” I laugh, thinking of the deliciously hunky, dark skinned cowboy I hired for the last party I planned. I distinctly remember his rippling muscles, his sexy deep voice, how he grabbed me and spun me into his arms while he ground his...

I snap back to find Troy staring, one eyebrow lifted in mild curiosity. I wipe what must be an odd expression from my face. "Anyway, I know he'll get a kick out of messing with me and he will not pass up an opportunity to piss me off."

"See, that's it. Stop letting him know you're pissed off. Any reaction makes him work harder to get to you."

"I can't help it. He just…” My hands clench, almost crushing the cup in my fingers. I loosen my grip. “I don't know why he's so invested in driving me crazy."

Troy's chuckle is deep in his throat as he stirs sugar into his black coffee. He turns, grabbing his black attaché case that is already scuffed. "You know why. You don't want to accept it, but you know exactly why."

"Oh, shut up." I roll my eyes, grabbing my own scuffed case and stomp toward my tiny, cramped office, where I don't have a secretary or a view of downtown Orlando, just my old shitty car parked in a gravel parking lot.

"You're wrong," I toss over my shoulder, watching Troy dip into his miniscule cubicle. "That man is not in love with me."

***

At the Case Assignment meeting, the partners and I discuss a nasty discrimination dispute between a tenant and a slumlord. There's good documentation and the case could bring a hefty settlement for our client. Greg hands me the file but doesn't let go when I grab it.

My eyes meet his and I already know what he's about to tell me. "The landlord is with Perry. The case is assigned to Reid. I'd give it to someone else but you know these like the back of your hand. We need a win here, Angie. Can you do this?"

I swallow hard and nod with confidence but my heart is at my knees. Preston is good at his job and I honestly don't think I can beat him.

But I just promised that I would.

Fair Housing Law is my bread and butter and I’m flattered that my bosses recognize that. I win cases day in and day out, more than any other attorney at this firm. I excel at turning up shreds of evidence and getting a settlement for my clients. Most other attorneys play fair. They follow the letter and the spirit of the law. We both present good cases and either let the mediator or the judge decide the fate.

Preston seems to only care about money. He bends the law so far, it nearly breaks. He doesn't have a soft, compassionate bone in his body, and that's what makes him good at what he does, in his world. He'll go for the jugular if he has to. And he has had to.

And maybe that's what scares me so badly about getting into a courtroom with him.  I'm so afraid he's going to bring up that time I peed my pants in the third grade that I freeze up.  

I get back to my desk, hauling documents and paperwork, already mentally shuffling around my workload. On top of this new case and my current cases, I also have to plan a romantic destination wedding with him. I groan as I drop an armful of work onto my already cluttered desk.

My life just became All Preston Reid, All the Time. Seriously. 
Fuck My Life
.

“So I’ve got you as my Maid of Honor. For bridesmaids I have Brandy and Jacks…”

Morgan scrunches her lips together and leans onto an elbow, resting two fingers on her temple, careful not to mar a perfectly shaped eyebrow. On the sheet of paper are the names of our closest girlfriends. The process of wedding planning begins with choosing bridesmaids and deciding which of them would look best in tulle and taffeta in an ugly shade of sea foam green.

“If we can pry Jackie away from her new man,” I say, reaching for the glass of water I’ve been sipping since I arrived at Morgan’s. I still have cotton mouth and a kicking headache from the previous night’s celebration and a long day at work. I don't want to see another shot for at least a week.

“She has been conspicuously absent lately.” Morgan taps the tip of her pen against her teeth. “I never pictured her for the kind that dumps her friends when she meets a man but… here we are.”

Jackie is still a newlywed, only married a few months. She met her husband, a chef, on
BlackSinglesMatch
. Not long after they met, it was
Matthew this
and
Matthew that
and
Matthew asked me to marry him over the flame of bananas foster and I said yes and we’re going to Vegas.
  Matt is tall and thin, which already gives me pause. You know that saying, never trust a skinny chef? He’s still on the Watch List, as far as I’m concerned.

Morgan sighs, pushing the sheet of paper away. “I hate to be that bride, but I haven’t seen or talked to her since she met him. Do I want her in my pictures? Forever?”

“It’s one day out of a lifetime. I’m sure she’ll come back around after the newness wears off. We’ve known Jackie forever. You
want
her in your wedding.”

Morgan shrugs. “You’re right, I guess.” And with that she picks up the pen and adds
Jacqueline Ross-Cooper
to the list.

“I hope you had stronger conviction when it came to picking your Maid of Honor.”

I swivel off of the stool I’m sitting on and hop down to the Italian tile that Morgan and Nate had installed a few years back. At the refrigerator, I pull open one side of the stainless steel contraption to reveal a drink selection fit for a queen. I replenish my glass with lemonade and offer to fill hers. She slides her glass across the countertop to me. 

Now perched atop my stool again, I broach the subject that has been driving me out of my mind since the night before. “So… this wedding planning thing? Like… what?”

Morgan stares blankly at me. “What do you mean, what? We want you guys to plan–"

“Yeah, I’m clear on the mission. Just not why this is a partner project. Me and Preston?” I wag my head. “You guys know this is a bad, bad thing, right? He and I–"

“Will do fine.” Morgan smiles and pats my shoulder reassuringly. “I have faith that you two will be able to set aside this petty squabble you’ve been in–"

My eyes narrow. “Petty? I wouldn’t call it–"

“—and work together to put on a fun event for us and our friends–"

“—petty. It’s actually the complete opposite–"

“—and that’s all we want; a memorable experience with no bickering and fighting and no being selfish and thinking of yourselves.” Morgan interrupts, her usually sweet mousy voice so loud that I sit and stare at her. “Just this once, it would be nice if the two of you would consider everyone else and how we feel, being in the middle of this never-ending fight.  Do us a favor and get along for five minutes. Besides, you owe us.”

I bristle. We owe them?
I
owe them? For what? Putting up with Preston?

“Fine,” I grudgingly agree, indignantly crossing my arms over my chest. “But I hope Nate is having this
‘can't we all just get along’
conversation with Preston. I know you don’t expect me to ignore him picking a fight over everything all the time.”

“Nate will talk to Preston. Do what you can.” She perks up, claps her hands together and grins. “Now…let’s talk dream wedding, shall we?”

***

I stumble through the front door of my apartment well after ten pm, hauling a sack full of wedding swag that Morgan dumped on me. Brochures, magazines, lists, books—I’m supposed to sort through them all and figure out which resources would be the most help. I chuckle to myself, knowing full well I would dump this garbage heap in the corner of my office and log on to the ultimate in wedding planning websites,
TyingtheKnot.com.

I hear a faint chime coming from the bottom of my bag and dig for my phone. I have one guess at who would be texting me at—I squint around the corner at the green numbers on the microwave installed above the stove—10:34PM.

I frown at the text as I pull the phone from my bag.

Preston Reid

Me, you, Prime. Tomorrow, 8:00. Be there or I get to make all the decisions.

***

             
I will not fight with Preston
chants roll through my head as I park in my usual spot at Prime. I’ll give him an hour. We’ll chat about initial ideas, make a to-do list and I can be home by ten o’clock. I have files to review and a brief to prepare before morning. Perry has already slapped us with a stack of paper an inch thick. For this reason alone, I don’t want to be near him.

But I have to. For Morgan.

Preston pulls in next to me, right on time. He hops out of his car and meets me at my trunk. “Evangeline… sorry. Angie.” Preston gives me a look that says he isn’t actually sorry.

I hike my bag up further onto my shoulder. “Are we ready? I don’t have all night.”

He falls into step beside me as we walk inside and head to our favorite table, set far enough away from the bar and the kitchen that we don’t get the noise or hustle of traffic, but close enough to the action so we’re still a part of the scene.

I slide into a chair on one side of the table; Preston sits in a chair opposite me after he removes his suit jacket and loosens his tie. His usually meticulous goatee has not a follicle out of place and his hair is a sea of gentle waves.  He clasps his hands and I notice that his nails are clipped. Square. Shiny. He’s the type to go to a spa for a manicure.

His suave demeanor, sharp sense of style and winning smile don’t fool me. I know what all those women that smiled at him as we walked through the bar don’t know. This man is an asshole.

“Let’s get this over with.” I pull a clean notepad and a ball point pen out of my bag before setting it on the chair next to me. In neat penmanship, I write
Nate & Morgan McCord Wedding
across the top.

“Morgan didn’t have any preferences for dates. How about Nate?”

I glance up to find Preston not even listening—he’s making eyes and faces at the same waitress from last night. I clear my throat and tap my pen against the table.

“Preston?”

“Uh hunh,” he grunts, but his eyes are on the waitress across the room.

I snap my fingers in his face, grab his chin and turn his head toward me. “Pay attention. Let’s get through this so I can leave and you can pounce, okay?”

Preston leans back in his seat, laying an arm across the top of the chair next to him. “Why the hurry? You have a date or something?”

“Yes, with some briefs that opposing counsel dumped on me today. Can we get back on topic?”

“Let’s get a drink first.” He raises a hand and the waitress starts to make her way over to our table. I groan inwardly at her flirtatious, expectant grin. “Let me get a cognac–Remy Martin, if you have it. What do you want, Ev–"

He pauses at my glare and rephrases.  “Angie. What would you like? My treat.”

His treat? How generous. “I’ll stick with water, thanks.”

“You can’t sit in a bar and drink water.” He grins at the waitress. “Bring her something. She likes girly fruity drinks, something peachy. She needs to loosen up a little.”

“I don’t need to loosen up and I don’t want a drink,” I argue, but my protests are futile. He shoos the waitress away and watches her ass bounce as she walks back to the bar. “You’re a pig. Can we do this, please?”

“We can do this all night.” He winks at me and a little of my dinner threatens to come up.

“Did Nate give you any ideas of when they’d like to do this getaway?”

“Nope. They trust us to come up with dates that work.”

“Then I think we’re talking summer…maybe late summer? Brandy and Kent have kids in school.”

They were our first set of friends to hook up and get married. They had two children one right after the other, and we hadn’t actually seen them in a while. After school sports and piano lessons and riding lessons and visits to Grandma and Grandpa in Jacksonville has taken up all of their time. They seem happy. Well, they look happy on Facebook.

“They’d never leave them for an extended weekend, which is what it sounds like Nate and Morgan want.” From my bag I pull my phone and open the calendar app, forwarding the dates to the following year. “That gives us a lot of time to plan.”

“I don’t need a lot of time to do anything.”

I don’t even look up at him when I say, “I wouldn’t brag about it if I were you.”

Preston sits up in his seat, his mouth pursed in irritation. I mentally score a point for myself. I must have struck a nerve. “Funny. I was fifteen, Angie.”

“It was thirty seconds of your best work. I hope your stamina has improved. Back to dates.” I flip through the months, back and forth from June to September.  “You know, the dates are all going to depend on the destination. If we pick summer, it’ll be hot as hell. If we go later than that, it'll be prime booking season and that’s going to drive the cost up. Not that I’m worried about Dr. Nate’s pockets but the less we spend on stupid stuff–"

“The more liquor we can buy.” Preston finishes. Good point, though that wasn’t exactly where I was going.

“I was going to say, the more we could spend on the more important events, like the reception.”

Our drinks appear before us and the place must be picking up because the waitress doesn’t linger.

“So… I have an idea. One of the partners at Perry hipped me to it.”

He downs a gulp of the amber liquid, taking his time explaining himself. I grimace at the mention of Perry. “One of our attorneys got married at an all-inclusive resort on St. Lucia. They booked a block of rooms, all with nice views of the beach. Lots of activities people can do and they work with you to put together the ceremony and the after party.”

“After party? Like it’s a rock show?”

“Reception, whatever.” Preston rolls his eyes. “I can tell you want to argue with me, so go for it.” He lifts his glass to his lips and takes a few sips. I reach for the drink I didn’t want but am so thankful for at the moment and do the same.

“It’s not that I want to argue. We should research a
few
places, get some information and prices and present them to Nate and Morgan so they can pick.”

“I thought they put us in charge?”

“They did–"

“So we get to pick. That’s what that means.” He sets his glass down and fixes his eyes on mine. For a long,
long
moment we stare at each other. Until I become uncomfortable and drop my eyes to the table. Preston chuckles and I curse myself. Does everything have to be a battle of wills?

“Look, I think it’s a good idea, but you know everything about it and I know nothing. Do you mind if I look it up myself?”

“Sure,” he says, digging into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a brochure and sliding it across the table. “Research your heart out.”

The slick tri-fold opens to a beautiful panoramic of white sands, blue water and an elegant resort hotel. My eyebrows rise as I run my eye down the package prices.

“A week’s stay for basically a grand per couple?”

“That’s their summer deal. We’d have to book pretty quickly to get that price. Also the McCord’s would have to get married this year, since you have to use the deal before the new prices kick in. Maybe like… October.”

I almost choke on my own breath. I was thinking we had a year to plan… not months. “And if they don’t want to get married that soon? And if people can’t get away in October? People have lives, you know.”

“Then they won’t go.”

“Okay… back up. The point of us planning this is so we can coordinate with everyone so everyone can celebrate. Right?”

“No." He shakes his head, tapping a finger on the corner of the brochure. "The point of us planning is so they don’t have to. The main event is the wedding. The two people that matter are Nate and Morgan.” He pokes up two fingers and sticks them in my face. “Whether or not everyone else can make it, they're going to get married. So we plan what’s best for
them
and people can come… or not.”

“That seems so…" I squirm, trying to think of an appropriate word. "Harsh.”

“That’s why we’re doing it and not them. They want to get married. We plan it, tell them where to be and when to be there and they get to enjoy their destination wedding with no guilt.”