Dream On(79)

Overhear? More like eavesdrop. “Nothing. Just a little side project. It’s personal.”

“Oh, because for a second there I thought it had something to do with Szymanski Enterprises and their proposal to the city council for a new community college at West Twenty-Eighth and Providence.”

All the color drains from my face. Did Roger ask Frank to do additional work on that? He must have, and Frank must have assigned it to Mercedes. Shit. I force my eyes to widen in what I hope passes for innocence. “Nope. Totally unrelated.”

“Oh. Okay.” Studying her reflection in the mirror, she finger-combs her hair, fluffing it at the roots. “Good luck with your… what was it? ‘Flower Festival’? I’m surprised you have time to volunteer for a planning committee with your workload. Andréa must be impressed.”

“What I do in my personal time is my business, Mercedes.”

“You’re not on personal time right now, are you? But here you are… making personal calls.” Her eyes glint with something that looks suspiciously like victory.

Something inside me snaps, and all the frustration and anger she’s elicited this entire summer boils to the surface. I can’t believe I ever thought extending an olive branch to Mercedes was a good idea. Narrowing my eyes, I square up to face her. “What is your problem? You’ve been horrible to me since the first day we started here. What did I ever do to you?”

Her lips part and for a moment she actually looks startled. She closes her mouth, her usual frosty expression sliding back into place. “Don’t be so dramatic. I just don’t want to be besties with the competition. I can’t afford to sit around and braid your hair or whatever and lose sight of why we’re both here: to land a permanent job. The likelihood that both of us will be chosen to stay on as first-year associates is slim. I need it to be me. I don’t even think you want it that badly anymore.”

Her words hit me like a slap and I stumble back a step.

Do I still want to work for Smith & Boone? Of course I do.

Sure, I’ve found myself thinking more and more about Perry’s festival—jotting down ideas and reminders when I should be researching case law, sketching sign designs in the margins of my notepads, daydreaming during meetings about the impact the festival is poised to have. But securing a job at a top law firm is what I’ve worked for my whole life. The past three weeks have only been a blip—a summer project before the real career grind begins in the fall.

But if my actions at work have made Mercedes think I don’t want a permanent offer anymore, what does Andréa think? Or Glenn Boone? Am I blowing my chance for a successful career right when it matters most?

Mercedes flips her hair, bringing me back to the present. “Anyways, don’t worry. I won’t tell Andréa about your little extracurriculars.” She waves vaguely at my phone, which I’m still clutching in my bloodless fist. “I don’t need to.” She smirks.

What the hell does that mean? Does she know something I don’t, or is she bluffing?

With a final imperious glare, she marches out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with a feeling of unshakable foreboding. Now more than ever, I’ll have to watch my back. And step up my hours if I don’t want Mercedes to swoop in and snatch a job offer right out from under me. I just hope at this point my efforts will be enough… and Mercedes will stay far, far out of my way.





The following Thursday, I burst into Blooms & Baubles, legs aching from jogging almost the entire way from my office. I can’t believe I’m over two hours late, but Andréa needed help prepping for a cross-examination so of course I stayed. I just hope my tardiness hasn’t put Perry too far behind on all the flower arranging that needs to be done by this weekend’s festival.

The door to the shop is unlocked, but the store is as dark and empty as the street outside. Maybe Perry’s holding the meeting in the back. Hiking my bag higher on my shoulder, I cross the shop to the Employees Only room. Bright lights momentarily blind me when I open the door, and I squint. “Hey guys, sorry I’m late. What’d I miss—oh!” My voice catches when I walk straight into a mountain of pure muscle.

I look up into the looming, craggy face of an unfamiliar middle-aged man, and immediately jump back. His head is closely shaved and he has a snake the size of a fist tattooed on his neck, directly above the collar of his gray Script Ohio T-shirt. My breath abandons me and I freeze.

“Hey, Cass, you made it!” Perry calls from behind the boulder of a man standing in front of me, and my heart starts beating again. “Meet Chuck.”

Chuck? Oh right, Chuck. “You’re Perry’s delivery driver.” I nearly laugh in relief. I knew Chuck was an ex-con, but I wasn’t expecting him to look like, well, someone off Dateline. But then again, if Perry hired him, I can trust him. Looks are only skin deep, after all. “Hi. I’m Cass.”

“Nice to meet you.” His voice is gruff, but his smile is kind, if a bit hesitant.

An older woman with short, black-streaked gray hair and copious wrinkles around her soft brown eyes sidles up next to Chuck. “This must be the famous Cass. At last we meet.” She thrusts a tanned hand at me, and we shake. “Alma Fernandes. I’ve known Perry here since he was in diapers.”

“Alma.” He groans.