Mikalo's Flame (5 page)

“I know, I know.”

“I don’t know that you do know. Just trust
it, for Christ’s sake.”

She was right. Again.

“Now you know what to do, it couldn’t be more
clear, so get off your butt and do it,” she finished. “Moving
on.”

Oh, that was quick.

I sighed, surprised, but relieved to be out
of the frying pan. At least for the moment.

She took a generous swallow of her Bloody
Mary.

“I’m having dinner with Jacob,” she then
said.

“Jacob?” I asked. “You mean your Jacob?”

She nodded.

Ah, the earlier “peachy” was starting to make
sense.

“Yep, the one and only,” she answered, her
eyes scanning the crowded room. “We coordinated our calendars,
settled on Thursday and, well, there you go.”

“And you’re off to California.”

“Of course not,” she said with a shake of her
head. “I don’t
do
California. He’s in New
York. At the Pierre.”

“So, he’s not staying --”

A brief shake of blonde curls.

“No.”

I was speechless. None of this sounded
good.

“You don’t think he ... I mean, the two of
you, you’re okay --” I began.

“Not really.”

“Is it serious?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, but you don’t actually think it’ll
lead to the two of you, oh, I don’t know, you know, actually
--”

“Almost definitely,” she quickly said.

“See how lucky you are now?” she then added
with a shrug.

I waited, not sure what to say, but aware I
needed to say something. Anything.

That my Deni would no longer be Deni
Dollisandro Goldin, but just Deni Dollisandro? On her own?
Alone?

It was almost too much to fathom.

“How do you feel?” I finally stammered.

“Like I need another one of these,” she said
before knocking back the rest of her Bloody Mary.

Deni’s words haunted me, my mind reeling with
the possibility of her and Jacob divorcing. It didn’t need to be
said that, with the fortune at stake and the fame of those
involved, it could easily be considered the Divorce of the Decade
in New York society. Unfortunately.

And the possibility of Mikalo knowing Mara
Byzan? Of possibly even flirting with her or dating her or, oh god,
“being” with her at some point possibly in the past?

No. Just no.

The thought alone made me want to hurl.

With all of that on my emotional plate, the
last thing I wanted to deal with was the smiling sycophant sitting
in my office.

Marcus Marunder. Abigail White’s soon-to-be
son-in-law.

Yeah, her horse-toothed daughter and this
ambitious cretin still weren’t married, the two of them continuing
their torturous drag down the aisle to the altar. Both of them
desperately hoping to find someone better, no doubt.

Smooth, polished, insincere, he sat opposite
me, flashing his pearly whites while doing his best to stab me in
the back.

“I still don’t see what M&A has to do
with what I do for the Byzans,” I said for the millionth time,
fully aware that Mergers & Acquisitions had nothing to do with
anything I was doing for the Byzans.

Another smile as he nodded, obviously
ignoring every word I just said.

“I know, I know,” he almost cooed. “But
Partner White --”

Partner White? Since when has anyone ever
called Abigail “Partner White”?

“-- believes it’d be best,” he continued,
“I’ll just watch over you, make sure everything’s okay. That the
clients are happy and, of course, that my department agrees with
the decisions you make.”

A quick flash of pearly whites.

His department. He hasn’t even been here two
months and now Mergers & Acquisitions is “his department”?

Bet Bill Blazen will be happy to hear
that.

“Are the Byzans planning on acquiring
anything of importance?” I asked. “I’m just not sure what I do and
what you do in Bill’s department makes it necessary for us to be
joined at the hip.”

A nod, a smile, the grin never reaching his
cold, dark, calculating eyes.

“Of course, of course,” he agreed. “Still,
it’s best I be a sounding board for the Byzans when it comes to
their work with the Firm. And the work my department does with
you.”

Damn, he was really desperate to claim
M&A as his.

“I’m sure you understand,” he said, standing
to go.

“I don’t,” I answered, standing as well.
“And, frankly, it’s ridiculous for you to watch over my shoulder,
so that’s simply not going to happen.

“The Byzans will be fine,” I said,
finishing.

No smile this time as his eyes slightly
narrowed while his mind raced.

This had been building for weeks. And I
wasn’t sure what, exactly, this “this” was. Wasn’t sure what was
happening beneath the surface. What had changed. But there was
definitely a sense of Abigail rallying her troops for ... well, who
knows what?

I was Partner, so firing me was a complicated
process. And my work, despite the recent distraction of Mikalo, was
as strong as ever. No complaints that I knew of. And, believe me,
if there were, Partner White would no doubt race her skinny ass
down the hall to tell me.

But something was happening here.

And I was finally realizing that being
brilliant and working hard was no longer enough. If I was going to
remain at Macfarlane, Schaal, I was going to have to fight.

And I wasn’t necessarily sure I wanted
to.

He spoke.

“I’ll speak with Partner White.”

“No,” I said, the red rising to my cheeks.
“Have Abigail --”

“Partner --”

“Abigail,” I interrupted. “Have Abigail speak
with me.”

Taking my eyes from him, I sat.

“I have work to do,” I finally said.

Reluctantly, he left, the door closing a
little too hard behind him.

Whatever. Thank god he was gone.

I put my head in my hands, my fingers
massaging my temples as I steadied myself, willing the beginnings
of this headache to go away.

A small knock, knock, knock.

“Yes,” I called out.

Janey, my fantastic secretary, slipped in,
closing the door behind her.

Despite the petite figure, bouncy blonde
hair, and quick smile, the girl had a spine of steel. I knew she’d
go on to great things. I was just lucky to have her now. I knew
that and I made sure she knew that.

“What did he want?” she asked.

“To walk with me hip-to-hip, looking over my
shoulder, making sure my work was good enough for the Byzans.”

She laughed.

“That fucking dick,” she said.

I smiled.

Couldn’t agree more.

“As if he,” she continued, “this kid out of
law school, what, two, three years would have the gall to look over
your shoulder and correct you or something?”

“Well, Partner White --”

She rolled her eyes.

“Oh Jesus --”

“-- Partner White thinks it’d be better if
Marcus’ M&A department --”

Janey hooted with laughter.

“Oh, Bill is going to love that.”

“I know, right?” I said. “Anyway, Abby thinks
it’d be better if Marcus makes sure I make the Byzans happy.”

“Oh, I get it,” she said.

“Get what?”

“The Byzans. Abigail is desperately trying to
pole vault into what she sees as the Winner’s Circle. You know, she
has another daughter and the Byzans have a son.”

“Oh please,” I interrupted. “As if the
daughter of a law firm partner would ever be considered marriage
material for the Byzans.”

“Well, Mikalo has you and word is the two of
you are headed down the aisle.”

“What?” I said, trying not to laugh. “No, no,
no, no, no, we haven’t even .. I mean, it’s a bit too early to even
consider something like ... it’s just ... I don’t know ... really?
That’s what people think?”

She nodded.

“That’s what Abigail thinks,” she said. “And
the thought of you marrying a billionaire and living that life
--”

“What life?”

“You know,” she continued, “Caviar and
private jets and shopping in Paris and all that stuff.”

I laughed, long and loud.

“Mikalo is so not caviar and private jets and
shopping,” I finally said. “And I doubt very much I’d live that
kind of life even if Mikalo and I ever married.

“And, I mean, c’mon! It’s way, way too early
to even be thinking about the M word with Mikalo.

“This is what Abigail is really
thinking?”

Another nod.

“It’s fucking killing her, Ronan.”

“So, linking one of hers up with a Byzan is
some great plan to compete with Mikalo and me?”

“She thinks so.”

“As if I care? As if anyone cares? Jesus,
she’s stupid and pathetic and insane.”

“And desperate to get near the Byzans.”

“Ergo,” I said, “She sends her flying monkey
Marcus to look over my shoulder --”

“Sit in all the meetings --”

“Mention Abigail and her single daughter in
glowing terms any chance he gets --”

“Maybe go to dinner with them --”

“Parties --”

“Anything to work their way into the Byzan’s
lives.”

“Yep,” Janey agreed. “That’s her plan.”

“Unbelievable.”

Janey turned to go.

“Well, it’s either that or find a way to
force you out,” she said. “Either way, Abigail is one busy woman
with a lot on her plate.”

One, two, three, and then four.

Four bites.

And like that, Mikalo’s cheeseburger was
finished.

He started on the fries, dunking each one in
ketchup before inhaling it with a single bite.

He chugged down the last of his beer and then
finally paused, looking at me.

I looked down at my dinner, the bun of my
burger barely nibbled on.

He laughed.

“My appetite,” he said. “It was hungry.”

Smiling, I grabbed a nearby knife and sawed
my burger in two, offering him the second half.

“Ah,” he said as I placed it on his plate.
“Yes?”

Yes, I nodded with a small smile as I turned
my plate, placing my own pile of fries near him.

We both knew he’d finish those eventually,
too.

Besides, my own appetite was almost
non-existent tonight.

I wanted to tell him about my day. Tell him
of Deni and her potential news. Tell him of Marcus and Abigail.
About their jealousy and their plans and their hopes that somehow
in someway she would upend me in this ludicrous Marry a Billionaire
sweepstakes. As if that was even a contest.

Stupid.

Or, failing at that, that they’d somehow get
me fired or I would leave or ... ?

Oh, who the hell knows.

I wanted to just open my mouth, open my
heart, and tell him everything.

But to do any of that, I’d have to mention
the Byzans. And mentioning the Byzans might lead to Mara. And this
mention of Mara could lead to my learning about the two of them
doing, well, whatever it was they did. If they did anything.
Maybe.

I don’t know.

Or it could lead to nothing.

Frankly, I just didn’t have the strength
tonight. I wanted to stumble my way to the library, let the plush
couch cushions swallow me whole, and watch stupid, senseless
TV.

I didn’t want to think anymore. I’d decided,
for tonight, anyway, that thinking was stupid and idiotic and
ridiculous and led to more trouble than it was worth.

No, tonight was me and a remote and Mikalo
... somewhere.

Odd.

Usually I’d want his arm around me or to be
near him or, I don’t know, something.

But right now I just wanted to be alone.

Of course, I loved him, I thought as I
watched him dig into my fries, each one dripping red with ketchup
before disappearing into his mouth, his fingers quickly sucked
clean before grabbing the next one. And I could most definitely see
myself with him for years and years and years.

Perhaps even forever.

Ah, I got it.

It was the “M” word that was throwing me. The
realization that people were expecting -- or at least Abigail White
was expecting -- Mikalo and I to get married.

The thought was ridiculous, though.
Seriously. Check us in six months. Or a year. Two years. Five
years, maybe. See if we’re still strong. See if we’re still madly
in love. See if we were still even together.

But to talk of marriage just a few months
into a relationship? That was crazy. Even I knew that. And,
frankly, I just wasn’t ready. Being in a relationship as intense
and crazy and consuming as this was enough. But to add the “M” word
into the mix?

No, thank you.

He was watching me now.

“You are thinking, yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Just, I don’t know, nothing
big. Random stuff.”

“You would like to speak?”

I shook my head.

“No, not really,” I said with a small smile.
“Thank you, though.”

“I do not know what worry you have, my
Grace,” he said, his hand reaching to cover mine. “But together we
will win.

“This is my promise from me to you.”

I nodded.

But I also knew that the only way we’d win
would be if we were together. And to be together, I needed to ask
these questions, get some answers, and settle these doubts. Not
everything, of course.

But the big things? Like Mara?

Yes. Absolutely.

I needed to find a way to speak with him
about that. Find the time. Find the courage.

“Tomorrow, I will come and we will have
another small bite, no?” he suddenly said.

I smiled, thinking of the dinner he just
inhaled, his mammoth cheeseburger disappearing in four big
mouthfuls.

Small bite indeed.

“I’d like that,” I said.

He nodded and then ate my last fry.

I’d speak with him about “the Byzan” then.
Tomorrow. Over lunch. Or walking to lunch. Or walking from lunch.
Or ... whatever. I’ll figure it out.