Mr. Pratt nods, and I wonder if this is Larry The Creeper she’s told me about. Most likely she has a couple of bosses at the firm, but a gut feeling tells me this is the head honcho.
“Emery’s doing phenomenal work. It’s a pleasure having her, as I’m sure you know,” he says, giving me a sly wink that makes my stomach turn.
Doesn’t this guy realize he’s old enough to be Emery’s father? Ick. No wonder she’s sworn off men. Then again, now that I’ve met Emery’s mother, there’s no way she’d stand for a douche-nozzle like this guy. I’ve discovered where Emery gets her no-nonsense attitude.
“By the way, call me Larry,” The Creeper says, leaning in toward me. His breath is a mix of rancid mayonnaise and week-old bologna. Gag.
Taking a step closer to Emery, I tug her away from his grabby hands and closer to me. Her eyes widen and meet mine.
I lean down to whisper near her ear, letting my lips touch her neck just slightly. “I’ll behave. I just don’t want him touching you.”
She gives me a tight nod, her eyes darting between mine and his. It’s clear she doesn’t want to get in the middle of the standoff happening between me and her boss. But I sense she’s grateful to be away from him just the same.
I guide Emery over toward the bar. “Something to drink?” I ask, my voice calmer once we’re away from her foul boss.
“Please.” Her eyes plead with mine, and I can sense that whatever happened today, it was a hell of a day. “Something strong. But not too strong,” she adds.
I scan the drink menu and motion the bartender over. “A red sangria, please.” It’s made with a nice cabernet and a splash of orange liqueur, so it’ll be a little stronger than plain wine, but not strong enough that she’ll be tempted to act undignified in front of her colleagues. And with the sliced oranges and cherries as a garnish, it’s fun and girly without being obnoxious.
When I turn to hand her the drink, she beams at me.
“Thank you. That’s perfect.”
I place my hand at the small of her back, the strange need to be close to her flashing through me.
Once Emery has her drink and she’s taken a few sips, I can see her begin to relax. Her shoulders drop by about two inches and her mouth relaxes into a welcoming grin. I bet there are knots in her back and neck that I could work out later . . . but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Finally, we sit down for dinner. I pull out a chair for Emery, only to watch Asshat Larry slide into the seat next to hers. I have to lean down and ask one of her colleagues if he minds trading seats with me so that I can sit beside her. Many of the associate attorneys have brought their wives. In fact, the only person riding solo is Larry.
I seriously want to kick her creepy-ass boss in the nut sack. I don’t like the way he’s been looking at her in her cocktail dress all evening, and weaseling his way in to sit next to her is just weird.
At least everyone at our table is in a celebratory mood. They won a settlement today that’s been two years in the making. Tomorrow will be about tying up loose ends, signing the contracts, and working out the small details. Emery contributed, despite being new and young, and her boss is impressed with her. So that’s a silver lining.
We make small talk, the conversation often turning toward technical minutiae and office politics that Emery navigates with ease. I love watching her in action, sparring with these men twice her age. It’s pretty incredible. Finally, the waitstaff scurries out with steaming silver trays, ready to serve dinner.
“What the hell is this?” Larry looks down at Emery’s plate, which contains grilled veggies and pasta in wine sauce—exactly what I ordered for her when I came to the restaurant earlier and learned the menu for our dinner party had already been selected, without taking her preferences into consideration. “Someone get this girl a steak,” he demands, glaring at the waitstaff.
“No, Mr. Pratt . . . I mean Larry,” Emery says. “It’s fine.”
I lean in toward him. “She’s a vegetarian. I made sure she’d be taken care of tonight.”
Her gaze darts over to mine and a grateful look crosses her features. Something tells me if I hadn’t intervened tonight, she’d be stuck eating a few spears of broccoli for dinner, and I’m not okay with that. I get that she wants to make a good impression with the senior partners, but damn, she should be able to eat what she likes.
“A vegetarian?” Larry scoffs.
I’m not sure how he didn’t know that information. Emery’s been working with him for a month. I distinctly recall her setting me straight about that when we first met. Then again, maybe she’s just more comfortable with me.