I Was Told It Would Get Easier(48)

“Interesting. My mother is more of the ‘get a good one that will last a long time’ shopper.” I made a face. “Not really applicable to condoms.”

We’d reached a gallery where many Mary Cassatt paintings were hanging, and paused before a sketch of a mother and child.

“It’s hard to imagine my mother being young like that,” I said, nodding my head at the picture. “I mean, I can only remember because I see the photos, right?” I wondered whether to tell him about my mom’s ex-boyfriend the night before, but decided it was too weird. But looking at the picture, I realized the guy still saw my mom like that—not a drawing, obviously, but a young woman. He couldn’t see her any other way, any more than I could see her as anything other than my mom.

My phone buzzed. “Speak of the devil, my mom’s bugging me to come eat.”

“Gotta eat. It’s not like you’ve got a lot of reserve, you’re like a bird.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you making an uninvited comment on my physical appearance?”

Will shrugged, unconcerned. “Yeah, if comparing you to a hollow-boned but beautiful creature is unwelcome.”

I stuffed my phone back in my pocket. “I’ll have to think about it.”

He grinned and looped his arm through mine. “Well, let’s eat while you think.”





JESSICA


Emily disappeared off into the museum, muttering about something she wanted to see, and I trailed to the Museum Café with the other parents. Valentina had needed help while I was on the bus, but there were no more texts from her. It was time to check email again.

I scrolled past the usual school communications, invitations to donate to worthy causes, and reminders of meetings I’m not physically available to attend, and came to rest on one from Arthur Ostergren. Jesus, I’m not even on his account. I just happened to be handy.

“Dear Ms. Burnstein,” it read, which was a reasonable start. “Please contact me privately at your earliest convenience.”

I sighed. He’s not an idiot; he must understand that asking for privacy over corporate email is dumb. I started to write back, then looked at the time and decided to call. Hopefully he’d be at lunch; then I could leave a message and ignore his call back, and we could go back and forth like that until I returned to Los Angeles and could actually focus on work. Look at me, devious corporate superstar.

He picked up immediately. Damn him.

“Ah, Ms. Burnstein, how good of you to call.”

I realized it’s not so much Bond villain as it is Mr. Burns from The Simpsons.

“No problem, Mr. Ostergren. How can I help you?”

Around me the other parents and kids were getting lunch, and now I was hungry. There were a few mothers with young kids, too, and I found myself watching them enviously. The days when a trip to a museum would fill the space before a nap or dinner, when simply being in such a big place would keep Emily amused for ages, those days were dreamy and, now, long gone.

Mr. Ostergren cleared his throat. “Well, it’s rather a delicate matter.”

Oh crap, he was being sued for sexual harassment.

“Well, perhaps one of your own lawyers would be . . .”

He interrupted me. “No, that’s the point. I wanted to ask if you would be at all interested in leaving Lexington to take a position as our corporate counsel.”

I watched a toddler throwing a tantrum on the other side of the café. His mother was simply sitting there, watching him sympathetically, giving him space. I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat.

“Uh, well, that’s a surprising question, Mr. Ostergren. You know very little about me.” I thought of something else. “Are you unhappy with our services? I’m sure John would be happy to . . .”

“No, I’m not unhappy, per se, but I’m trying to acquire a competitor, and for the amount I pay in fees, I could have someone in house.” He huffed. “It turns out the competitor has an in-house counsel, and she’s been making my life pretty difficult during the acquisition process.”

“Well, if you make the acquisition, presumably she’ll become your in-house counsel. Problem solved.”

He said firmly, “No, I want one of my own.”

I’m sure he didn’t realize how childish he sounded. I chewed my lip. This was a problem. I didn’t want to offend him and potentially lose a client, but of course I might be leaving the firm, in which case I could use the job, but then on the third hand, stealing a client isn’t a good way to start a new firm, although on the fourth hand, if I were just his in-house counsel then it was less . . . I stopped thinking; it was all a bit too much.

He had continued. “After we met, I googled you. You have a very impressive résumé.”

“I do?”

“Yes. Graduated near the top of your class at Columbia Law, a year or two in Washington as an associate at a very good firm, then out to Los Angeles, youngest partner at Lexington, several landmark cases and state precedents. For a single woman, it’s all very impressive.”

I took a breath. Why was there always that qualification? What if every time I commented on a man’s success I said, for someone whose genitalia is dangerously housed outside of their bodies, it’s a reasonable effort. I chose to deflect.