Chapter Three
Mr. Weingarten tugged his reading glasses from his face and dropped them on the table in front of him. “You want what?” he asked.
“I want to take a leave of absence,” I repeated.
“I...I...” he stammered, his face creasing quizzically as if I’d just told him I’d been abducted by aliens. “But you...” he muttered, his thumb hooking into one strap of his red suspenders. “Listen,” he sighed slowly, seeming to find a cohesive train of thought upon which to jump. “I know that your friend dying has been tough on you, but do you really want to throw everything away?”
“Throw what away?” I huffed, crossing one leg over the other as I adjusted the jacket of my gray suit. “I’m not talking about leaving permanently; I just want to take some time off.”
“How long?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at the thinning hair at his temple.
Exhaling thoughtfully, I shook my head. “I don’t know; a month, maybe two,” I shrugged.
“You realize a lot can happen here in that time,” he stated. “Maybe Harris will get partner.”
Catching my tongue between my teeth, I fought the urge to provide a knee-jerk reaction to his thinly veiled threat. Surely, it was an idle one. After the years I’d spent slogging away for the firm, he wouldn’t really offer the partnership to Harris: a man who had only been working with us for seven months and got the job simply because he was Ressler’s son-in-law. Quickly, however, I realized my anger was fading.
“Brooke?” Mr. Weingarten said. “You’ve done some amazing work for us, won some tough cases and shown how dedicated you are, we appreciate that.”
“But?” I muttered, sensing the compliment was far from all he had to say.
Sitting forward, he placed elbows on the desk and pressed his hands together. “I know how much you want to become a partner,” he continued. “And, let me tell you, you’re close. But if you take a career break now, it’s going to set you back at least a year.”
“I don’t care,” I sighed, finding the words flowing from my mouth much more easily than I would have expected. And I meant them. “Ever since my freshman year of college, I’ve been focused on one thing,” I told him casually. “Life is far too short for that.”
“Why don’t you take a week’s vacation?” he offered as it became increasingly apparent that Mr. Weingarten was reluctant to comply with my request.
“Thank you,” I nodded courteously. “But I need longer than that. There are things I want to do; things I need to do.” Silently, I added, ‘to honor Helena’.
With a weary huff that blew out his cheeks, Weingarten let his hands flop listlessly and loudly onto his desk. “Well, if that’s really what you want,” he muttered.
“Thank you,” I repeated more sincerely than the first time. Pushing myself from the seat opposite him, I brushed at the legs of my pantsuit. “I’ll finish the week,” I told him.
“What about the Jewkes trial?” he asked, his head snapping up.
“Everything’s ready,” I offered with a small smile. “The defense is all set, it just needs someone to deliver it. A well-trained parakeet could manage, so Harris should be fine.”
A wry smile tweaked his mouth and one eyebrow crept upward.
“I’ll bring you the files this afternoon,” I continued, nodding before turning toward the door.
Just as my fingers grasped the brass handle, Weingarten’s voice halted my movement.
“Give this some more thought Brooke, I don’t want to see you making a mistake.”
Twisting my head over my shoulder, I studied his face, wondering for a moment whether his concern was genuinely for me, or just for his business. “I don’t need to think about it,” I eventually said. “I know I’m not making a mistake.”
Ironically, every night over the following days I was stuck in my office later than usual, tying up the loose ends of the cases I was working to ensure they were complete enough, that if a moron like Harris took over where I left off, he couldn’t do too much damage.
For the rest of that week, neither Weingarten or Ressler mentioned the subject of my career hiatus. In fact, both men seemed intent on avoiding me. I had a feeling Ressler in particular was angry about my decision, and, although I knew that spelled the end of my partnership hopes (at least in the near future), I couldn’t find it within myself to be distressed by that fact. Instead, I was invigorated with a new spirit. There were more important things than a job title and a big fat bonus. I wanted to live, even if just for a month or two, as Helena had lived. I wanted to embrace opportunity, experience new things and throw myself into life with the joy and passion she’d had. It was my tribute to her. Perhaps, upon reflection, it was a naïve way of trying to feel closer to her. But, whatever it was, I was determined to do it.
That Friday evening, I found myself staring at the clock, watching the second hand and wondering how I would put all of my big plans into action. I had secured my sabbatical. Work was done, I could have got up that instant and begun living. But how does someone start living?
“You know what we should do?” Helena’s voice reverberated in my head as I recalled a night we’d spent drinking wine on her sofa. “We should travel.”
“Now?” I’d asked, laughing.
“No,” she’d responded. “We should take a long vacation, see some of the beautiful places in the world.”
The memory sparked something within me. Shaking myself from my zombie-like state, I lunged for my computer’s mouse, and jerked it to enliven the darkened screen. Hurriedly, I searched for available flights for the next day. Scanning the list of destinations, one leaped out at me: Paris. With a few more taps of the keyboard, I discovered there were seats available. It seemed like a sign. Without hesitation or thought, I bought a ticket and leaned back in my seat with a smile. Life was about to start.
“Am I really going to do this?” I whispered, grinning.
“Do what, Brooke?”
Face jolting from my computer screen, I swiveled to find Randy Gregoire’s figure in the doorway.
“Nothing to concern you,” I sighed, aware that even his presence wasn’t quite enough to put a dampener on my excitement. Sitting up, I turned the computer off, before reaching to my bottom desk drawer and yanking it open.
“You know,” he crooned, “I heard a filthy lie about you today.”
“Did you?” I muttered disinterestedly, not looking around as I picked my laptop bag from the drawer and got to my feet.
“Someone told me that you’re taking a sabbatical,” he continued, the smirk evident in his voice.
“Hmm,” I huffed, slinging the bag onto my shoulder and kicking the drawer closed with my black, three-inch pumps. “Well, that’s none of your concern, either,” I stated smartly. Pushing my chair under my desk, I gave the room a brief scan, ensuring I’d forgotten nothing, before striding to the door.
Randy did not move. “Why don’t you let me take you to dinner?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing one foot over the other.
“I assume you came here with some purpose beyond irritating me,” I replied calmly, stilling my feet just a pace from the door.
“C’mon, Brooke,” he chuckled. “You’ve gotta give in to this sexual tension sooner or later.”
Both eyebrows snapping up, I cocked my head to the right. “Sexual tension?” I muttered.
“Sure,” he nodded. “All this sarcasm and scorn you lay on to mask how you feel. I know you want me, don’t pretend you don’t.”
“I think you’re confusing antipathy for attraction,” I informed him tartly. “Easily done, I’m sure.” As it became clear that he still had no intention of budging, I reached out to push him away from my path.
His hand quickly darted from his pocket, and his fingers clamped around my wrist. “What’s your problem, Brooke? I’m trying to be nice.”
“No,” I stated, twisting my arm free of him, “you’re trying to use me for sex.”
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“Same thing,” he offered, with a shrug of one shoulder.
“Just get out of the way before I call the police, Randy,” I demanded through gritted teeth. Lifting both hands, I shoved at his chest, forcing him back a pace. Able to get through the small gap I’d made in the doorway, I quickly crossed the threshold and strode down the hallway.
Thankfully, he didn’t attempt to follow me, but his voice drifted down the corridor. “You know, it’s gonna happen one day Brooke, you’re going to be begging me to take you.”
Not dignifying him with a response, I kept walking, until I had rounded the corner and reached the elevators. “Asshole,” I mumbled, as the doors swished open and my route from the building was finally secured. Breathing deeply, I tried to force all thoughts of Randy from my mind. After all, I reminded myself, tomorrow was a whole new day.
Tomorrow, I’d be in Paris.