Maybe Later(16)

Fitzhenry Everhart

Everhart & Everhart Law Firm



P. S. “It’s Friday… any plan regarding being a productive member of society is officially out the window.”





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To: F. Everhart

Subject: Friday equals Hell

Friday, April 15th, 8:31 a.m.



I don’t think you realize it, but today is Tax Day and Friday. We are super busy. I hope you don’t mind that I delegated a couple of those depositions. Everything will be completed before five o’clock EST, your original time zone. You always need new clients. I appreciate you taking on the case. His former lawyer knew less about law than I do. Enjoy the waves.



E.



P. S. “Welcome to Friday. In preparation for takeoff, please ensure all negative attitudes are properly stowed. On behalf of your captain, Jack Daniels and myself, welcome aboard. I expect sunshine and good attitudes today for our trip. Enjoy the ride.”

Unknown





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Friday, April 15th, 9:14 a.m.



JSpear84: Ed Sheeran, seriously?

AWalk90: But of course, it’s Happier! A great tune for a Friday. What are you doing after dinner?

JSpear84: Work? And the song isn’t happy, it’s about this poor bastard’s break up, and how his girl is with another man.

AWalk90: Yeah, but it’s not a bitter tune, it’s a: I wish you luck. I hope that one day I can be as happy as you. Since it’s Friday, your mood should let you wish everyone happiness.

JSpear84: Now you’re defining my moods.

AWalk90: Just trying to challenge your current one. Also, there are plenty of other songs on that playlist. Friday I’m In Love—an oldie but goody. Shut up and Dance by Walk the Moon is perfect right now … think about it. I have work to do, and you are interrupting me. Got it, buddy?

JSpear84: Have a nice day, Amy.





Chapter Eight





Friday, April 15th, 11:18 a.m.



Today’s workload is heavier than usual. Between Tax Day and last-minute projects, my plate is full, and I won’t have enough time. I’m going to have to push a few things to tomorrow. Not Sunday, I’m taking that day off even if I don’t sleep for the next forty-eight hours. Life doesn’t give you exactly what you want. Today, I wanted to get out and enjoy the warm weather. Apparently, the only out I might be able to pull off is to pack my things and work at the bookstore.

It’s around eleven thirty when I decide to take a break and prepare some lunch, but right before I decide what to cook, my phone starts ringing.

“Damn it,” I curse because I can’t get anything done today.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Everhart?”

“So formal,” he says with a mocking voice. “I need you to make a reservation for tonight.”

He is one of my oldest and most favorite clients. He barely asks for personal favors.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“That I might get laid,” he chuckles. “So, make it fancy, special, and blow my date’s mind.”

“You’ll blow the rest?”

“No one knows me as well as you do,” he says with a chuckle. “That’s why you’re my favorite assistant.”

“I’m your only assistant,” I remind him.

“Yet, you can’t be faithful to me,” he says dramatically.

“Ha, you’re funny. I’ll have everything set for tonight at seven.”

“Sounds good, what are you up to today?” he asks with a smooth voice.

He makes me want to stay and chat with him for the rest of the evening.

“You’re not going out today?” he questions curiously. “Do you finally have a hot date?”

As I search for a good restaurant in San Francisco, I continue the conversation with him.

“I might head to the bookstore after I grab dinner,” I respond.

“Buy yourself some dinner, charge it to my account.”

“Aren’t you the best boss?” I comment. “I’ll take the dinner, but I’m still not quitting my other accounts.”

“You can’t blame me for trying,” he insists.

“Maybe it’s time you got a real assistant,” I suggest.

“You know what happened with the last one. I can’t afford to have women throwing themselves at my brother’s feet. My sisters-in-law won’t be happy.”

“I’ll get a male assistant,” I offer.

“Then, I won’t be able to get anything done. Stop trying to fix me up with someone else. You and I are forever, sweetheart.”

“Fine, be that way.” I stop, or I’ll never be able to get off the phone. “I’ll send you the information for your reservation once I have it.”

Around noon, my stomach grumbles and I finally rise from the seat and go to the kitchen to prepare myself a salad. Instead of working, I text my friend Laura to see if she’s available to chat.



Laura: Skype me?



I set my laptop on top of the coffee table, next to my food and call her. When she comes up on the screen, I see her sitting back, feeding Simone, her three-month-old daughter.