The Matchmaker's Gift(29)
“Nicole wants this to be a collaborative process. She doesn’t want our lawyers to create more conflict.”
“I respect Nicole’s concern, but please ask her to relay it to her attorney. His term sheet was the most aggressive I’ve ever seen. Allow me to give you an example—for the sake of comparison. Liz Taylor’s latest prenup says that if she and her husband stay married for five years, he gets one million dollars from her. That’s it. A million. Not a penny more. Nicole asked for one million for every year. Plus, ten percent of your company. Plus, whatever multimillion-dollar apartment you buy. There’s no way I’m letting her lawyer trap you into all that.”
“I don’t like that phrase—trap me. I don’t like what it implies about Nicole’s character.”
Abby watched as Diane grimaced again, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples. When she spoke, the edge in her voice was gone.
“Victor, I assure you I’m not implying anything. Nicole seems like a lovely person, and I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together. But I am your lawyer, and because of that, I can’t let you sign off on what she’s proposing.”
When Victor responded, it was as if he hadn’t heard a single word Diane had said. “I would like you to join us for dinner,” he announced. Abby sensed that the statement was less of an invitation and more, much more, of an ultimatum.
“Excuse me?”
“Dinner, Diane. I would like you to come to dinner. No legal talk, only good food and good wine. I want you to spend some time with Nicole. I am certain that once you know her better, you will change your mind about her. I’ll have my assistant call to set up a date. And please bring your associate as well.”
“Victor, I really don’t—”
“Diane,” Victor said, his voice unwavering. “I cannot stress enough how important this is to me. Nicole is going to be my partner.”
Diane paused a moment before she answered. “Okay, Victor. Of course. Yes. Abby and I would be delighted to come. Just let us know when and where.” She opened her mouth to say something more, but Victor had already hung up the phone.
Diane stabbed her legal pad with her pen. “Is it just me, or have all of our clients gone off the deep end?”
Abby wasn’t sure how to respond. She tried to think of a joke to diffuse the tension, but she couldn’t manage to come up with anything. “Was that true about Liz Taylor’s prenup, by the way?”
“Of course it’s true,” Diane snapped. “Just don’t ask me how I know. In the meantime, I’m giving you a new assignment. Remember when I told you to be nice to Nicole?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I want you to try to bond with her at dinner. You’re both young women, you’re both ambitious. Try to figure out what she really wants. Is she truly interested in having a role in the company? Is there anything else that will satisfy her? If you can get a sense of where she’ll compromise, it will really help us nail this down.”
“I’ll try,” Abby said. “But I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
Diane narrowed her eyes and frowned. “What do you mean it isn’t worth it?”
Abby shrugged. “I know Victor is infatuated with Nicole, but maybe it’s better if they don’t get married. I’m not convinced that they’re the right match. I just don’t see the two of them together.”
Diane’s expression turned from mild annoyance to unadulterated fury.
“We are attorneys, Abby,” Diane hissed, glaring at her from across her desk. “I don’t pay you eighty thousand dollars a year to go around playing Cupid for my clients. I don’t pay you to ruminate about whether they should get married or whether you think their divorces are a good idea.”
“I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I wasn’t trying—”
“I’m not finished. Maybe your grandmother managed to convince you that she had some special intuition for this stuff. Maybe you think your great ‘sensitivity’ makes you uniquely qualified to judge. But I didn’t hire you to quote poetry to my clients, and I sure as hell didn’t hire you to sabotage my client’s wedding. If Victor étoile thinks he’s in love and wants to marry a model half his age, your job is to make sure that wedding happens without letting him lose the shirt off his back.”
Abby swallowed loudly and nodded in agreement.
“And if Evelyn Morgan wants to divorce her husband—no matter how sweet and adoring he may be—your job is to make absolutely certain that she never has to look at his face again.”
Abby nodded a second time.
“Do. Your. Job,” Diane said. “Now, do we understand each other?”
“Yes. Of course. Absolutely.” Abby’s cheeks were flushed with embarrassment—blotchy and hot and pink with shame. A stream of sweat poured down her back, and she wished, more than anything, that she had someplace to hide. Diane’s reaction was inordinately harsh, but Abby knew that her boss was not wrong. It was time for Abby to stop analyzing, to stop looking for cryptic clues and signs. It was time for her to stop worrying about whether Diane’s clients were “in love.” Hadn’t she already learned from her parents how much damage love could do? Hadn’t she specifically chosen her career as an antidote to love’s toxicity?