I had no idea, but couldn’t ask before she opened the door and yelled into the vacant conference room, “I’m here, the party can begin.”
“You’re early, Shrimp,” his voice echoed from down the hallway.
My knees almost buckled as I gripped the back of a chair.
Alex was here. Not in San Francisco, not traveling. Here.
He stepped into the room, eyes fixed on a stack of papers. He looked like a Brooks Brothers model in pressed trousers and a simple button down, the top notch unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. Meanwhile I was a makeup-free mess in sweaty yoga pants and a baggy hoodie.
“I told you to be here at eight, it’s not —” His eyes shifted from his sister to me. His breath hitched, my name escaping his lips on an exhale. His hands clenched around his paperwork.
Panic rose in my chest, palms aching from squeezing the chair, the press of wood into Ruby’s mother’s ring pushing against the pulse in my finger.
He snapped at his sister. “You weren’t supposed to bring her here.”
“You said to come over after I finished class.”
“You. Not her.” He scrubbed his hand over his flustered face, then his expression turned apologetic. “I had a plan, Grace, I didn’t expect you to —”
The front door flew open. Victoria stepped inside confidently, sloughing off a stylish pea coat. Her heel click stomped over my blossoming hope.
“Hey, Victoria,” Mallory said without surprise, reaching for a one-armed hug which Victoria returned stiffly. “Didn’t expect you to fly out.”
“I was in New York meeting with head hunters,” Victoria said, distracted by her bag vibrating. She pulled her phone out, made a disgusted sound, shot off a quick reply, then lifted her head, assessing me head-to-toe before reaching out her hand. “Victoria Blackstone.”
Alex blew out a hard exhale. From his look of horror, I wondered if my hand would burst into flames when our fingers touched.
I plastered on a smile, reminding myself that you catch more flies with honey, and shook her hand firmly. “Grace Alvarez.”
Mallory wrapped a hand around my bicep and stepped backward towards the door. “Well, I fucked up the timing so we’ll go grab a drink and —”
“No, don’t go. I’ll just …” Alex brought a hand to the bridge of his nose, then gestured magnanimously towards the conference table.
Mallory sprawled in her chair, while I sat beside her with ankles crossed, twisting Ruby’s ring under the table and trying to slow down my rapid heartbeat and process what was happening.
Alex was supposed to call me in two hours. I thought he’d call from San Francisco, but he was here. He didn’t want me here now, that was clear … but he didn’t want me to leave, either. He tapped his fingers twice on a spiral-bound document, looked at me, and closed his eyes to brace himself.
Victoria perched on the edge of her chair while announcing to Alex, “Let’s get started, shall we? My driver will be back in an hour.”
His eyes snapped ope. “You’re going back to New York tonight?”
“Somehow my father discovered I was in the city and demanded a meeting before I fly home.” Her lips tightened. "Hopefully I can dodge his inevitable expectation to return to real estate."
"I might be able to help you with that conversation," he said with a fond smile that made my stomach feel like it dropped to my knees. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about since we went to dinner. Sometime between the sea bass and the creme brulee … I had a revelation.”
She crossed her arms defiantly. “The whiskey convinced you that you were brilliant.”
His lip curled and jealousy pooled in my stomach, wanting that familiar grin to be aimed at me. “Once they told me you weren’t getting promoted, I knew you’d leave. You’re the only thing that made that job bearable and my entire life in San Francisco tolerable … and I’m losing you.” When he smiled at her softly, my heart twisted in my chest. “So it’s been a long time coming,” he said as he reached into his pocket, “but I finally have a proposal for you.”
My vision tunneled. Did he invite me here to propose to her?
No, he didn’t invite me, did he have his sister drag me here for —
No, I wasn’t supposed to be here for this. Neither was Mallory.
I reconstructed his timeline: Victoria at 7, Mallory at 8, me at 9. Last place.
He would propose to Victoria. His family would arrive to celebrate and probably his parents would come too. Then he’d call to let me down easy.
His hand fumbled, and Mallory placed her fingertips on my forearm, grounding me in reality. Wait for it, her touch said. Breathe.
“Be my partner,” he said. “My work wife.”
Wait, his what?
“Your work wife?” she said, sounding just as confused as I felt.
“Mallory used it to describe how she loves working with Grace.” His voice softened on my name, and his hands trembled slightly as he lifted a post-it note. “A platonic friendship with a work colleague characterized by mutual trust, loyalty, and respect.”
He lifted a remote control and said, “I propose we stop waiting to be promoted and instead, we start our own law firm. Make our own partnership.”
A law firm? With her?
What the frick was happening?
The screen behind him lit up with a professional logo in bold text: “Blackstone & Clarke, Attorneys at Law.”
Her lips parted in surprise.
