The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Four
WILLOW
It’s been nearly a week in the office, and nothing has caused me to fret about work. Not yet, anyway. Nina isn’t helping. I’m shadowing rather than doing anything past scheduling and making the coffee. Although the coffee comes with a list of instructions. His particular brand, no milk, but a small jug of milk for him to pour. Nobody can make his coffee to his exact specification. I mean, who the hell is this guy? And every time I try to do anything remotely efficient, she steps in and takes over. At this rate, I won’t know all of the duties I’m supposed to be doing when she does leave.
Maybe it’s a control thing. Or Mr Broderick’s nature has rubbed off on her. Each time I’ve been in the office with him, his frown seems to be etched deeper into his brow. And past our first introduction—if you can call it that—he’s given me nothing more than a casual glance, his eyes washing past me towards his intended target. It would be less infuriating if he wasn’t so handsome.
This morning I’ve been more productive than the rest of the week combined, but that’s partly because Nina is out of the office at a midwife appointment. Thank God she felt me capable of holding down the fort in her absence. I mean, she did hire me for this job. If she’d just let me get on and do it.
She forwarded the brief set out by Mr Broderick late last night to identify and source several potential properties for him to view. He set out his budget, which was obscene, and the distance from the office, and that’s about all. The rest is up to Nina, or now, me.
I got into the office early to work on the apartment options. It would have been nice to discuss them with Mr Broderick himself, but he isn’t in the office in time for our morning briefing.
I look around at the empty space, looking for inspiration to strike in the way of interior design or preference, but there’s nothing unique or original in the place. He’s like a closed book. And no matter that the man is always impeccably dressed in the whole fifty shades of dark attire and brooding, I have no idea what he’d want in an apartment.
Settling back at my desk with a mug of coffee, I scan through the listings from the firm Nina recommended. Perusing the floor plans and gallery layouts for some exclusive properties, all in postcodes I could only dream about living in, is quite fun. As I have no idea what Mr Broderick will like, I pick a range of options based on the sales info. Of course, I can’t help but imagine what I’d choose for myself if I won the lottery all of a sudden: open-plan rooms, sleek kitchen, big windows with lots of light. There’s one that would be perfect—if I was choosing. And because there’s nothing to stop me, I add it to the list.
Two hours later, I have a shortlist of three to view.
Protocol at Broderick Media is that all executives, especially the CEO, have a car to take them to any appointments, so I book that and confirm the destination addresses. I send Mr Broderick an email with the links to all the properties and add the schedule to his calendar, making sure I copy my emails to Nina. She might have an opinion, but right now, I don’t care. It’s done.
“Hello, Miss Anders, yes, this is Willow Etherington from Broderick Media. I just wanted to confirm the appointment times I’ve emailed.” There’s no chance I’ll go to all this trouble and find we can’t view the places.
“Yes, yes, it’s all fine. I’ll see you at two at the Albert property.”
“See you then.” I can’t keep the smile from my face. A day out of the office, and it will be me getting to accompany Mr Broderick. Surely, he can’t ignore me for the whole afternoon?
For the rest of the morning, I go over the schedule and list of files and reports I need to pull and ensure the minutes are all ready from the executive meetings in his schedule for Monday.
By half twelve, I’ve had no confirmation that Mr Broderick is even in his office or received the appointments, so I knock on the door and wait. With no answer, I push down on the handle and enter.
He’s sequestered behind his desk, with a stack of files around him. Even with my entrance, he doesn’t stop.
“Where’s Nina?” His focus remains on the paperwork in front of him.
“Nina is out today at a midwife appointment.”
“And that’s going to take all day?”
“I’m not sure, Sir, but she’s not in today.” I wait for him to say anything further, but he doesn’t. Just as I turn to go back, I stop, and regardless of the warning from Nina, I run down what I’d say to any other boss. “The car is booked for one-thirty. I’ve emailed the schedule. If there’s anything you’d rather not visit, then I’m happy to keep searching and rearrange.” And for good measure, “can I get you anything else?”
“No.”
“Very well. I’ll see you at one-thirty.” I leave as calmly as my legs will allow, even though I’m ready to scream at him. As soon as the door is closed behind me, I do a little stomp on the spot. How can he be such an arsehole? He shouldn’t intimidate me, but I can’t help that he does. His indifference and minimal use of words are unnerving me. I’ve never worked for someone who is so … taciturn.
As the appointments will likely last the rest of the day, I close down my computer and grab my tablet and the folder with the property details. A message pings on my phone, and I see that the car is waiting outside. My first instinct is to tell Mr Broderick the car is waiting and accompany him downstairs. But maybe he doesn’t need me to walk him to the car?
I pace outside of our offices, sure I’ll be able to catch him if he comes out of his, but the time continues to pass and no sign. Rolling my eyes, I march to his door, knock and enter. But he’s not behind his desk.
“Shit.”
I scurry to the lift and curse we’re so high up.
After what feels like an eternity, I reach the lobby, and I dash, heels be damned, across to the waiting car at the curb. My feet slow to a brisk walk as I arrive at the door, held open by the chauffeur.
With a tiny dip, I nod my head and then climb into the back.
“Late is not a good look on anyone.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” I leave off the point that I was waiting for him. And that if he actually said more than one or two words to me, I’d be much better prepared to be the efficient assistant I am.
We travel through London traffic to the first apartment. It’s my least favourite of the ones we’re viewing, but the closest to the office. The car ride is in silence as Mr Broderick stares out of the window. My phone vibrates in my hand with various messages, but the tension is so stiff I can’t bring myself to move and read them.
“Can I call you Landon? If we’re going to be working together for the next year, it may help break the ice, so to speak?”
His brow furrows deeper, eyes still cast away from me. “If you must, Miss Etherington.”
Shit! Why? Why did I have to do that?
We pull up outside the converted Georgian building. I greet the sales assistant in the lobby, and she kindly escorts us up in the lift. Landon looks less than impressed at the entrance, and I hope that the apartment fairs better.
“Let’s take a look around shall we,” says the preppy little woman. She beckons us into the room as if she’s showing off the Crown Jewels. The photographs online gave the impression of ample space and modern interiors, which is why I shortlisted it. The reality is far from that. It’s dull, and despite the price tag, even I can see before going further into the apartment that this isn’t the space for Landon.
He takes maybe thirty seconds to view the main rooms before he’s marching back towards me. “Why is this even on the list?” he hisses, as he passes me and leaves. I roll my eyes and turn to follow after him, hoping I haven’t blown any chance of making a good impression with him.
Although, I’m sure that ship has already sailed.
“Excuse me, excuse me," calls the sales assistant after us. I hear Landon on the stairs as I pause in front of the lift and turn to deal with Miss Preppy.
“I’m afraid it’s a no. Thank you for your time here. We’ll meet your colleague at the next property.”
After gambling with taking the lift, I exit into the lobby and see Landon already heading to the car. His entire aura makes me take a deep breath and square my shoulders as if going into battle. I attempt to catch up with him, take the car door and slip in next to him.
“I’m sorry, Mr Broderick. If you’d like to review the folder for the next two properties before we arrive?” Now isn’t the time to be calling him his first name.
“That won’t be necessary.”
He casts his gaze towards the window as if he holds the weight of the world on his shoulders. I’d have expected to see his phone or tablet glued to his hand during these downtimes—he’s busy all the time—but he seems content, at least, to be quiet.
Of course, the quiet isn’t something I can cope with, and words bubble up in my throat if only to break the oppressive silence.
“The next viewing is a more modern option. Large master bedroom. Spacious.”
“I’ve seen the files, Miss Etherington.”
“Well, that’s good to know. However, if you didn’t like the Georgian one, we could have swapped that out and saved the visit,” I counter.
He doesn’t provide an answer, so, with the thaw that’s set in, I set about checking my emails as we wind our way to the next address.
Much like the first, a smartly dressed, overly smiley girl meets us in the lobby. This time, it’s in a more modern building, all glass and black frames. She leads us up the stairs to the third floor and opens the door to apartment option number two.
“This property already has a lot of interest. Three beds, three baths, well-appointed, top of the range …” she trails off as Landon heads in and looks around the entryway that leads to the living and dining area.
I follow tentatively, ready for another quick decision and part unable to take my gaze off his frame. It’s almost as captivating as the scenery outside, in all honesty, which makes me check my irrational behaviour and look outside instead.
My heels echo on the gleaming wood floor as I take in the views across the Thames. It’s all glossy in here and brand new, or at least looks that way. The muted tones of the furnishings are set off by striking vivid colours designed to provide contrast. Pretty. Sort of. And as the minutes tick on, my initial sense of dread coming in here starts to shift more positively.
“No.” He glides right past me, one hand in his pocket and his gaze directed at the door and nowhere else.
“Have you seen the master bedroom?” I call after him.
The sales rep looks mortified, and I offer a tight smile in condolence.
“You have a lot of interest, right?” I say in parting.
Seems the viewing is done.
My fists tighten, another long breath held in, and once again, I hurry down the flights of stairs to meet Landon in the car. Frustrating isn't the word for this man.
“Could you enlighten me as to what was wrong with this property?" I ask as the car pulls away.
“Enlighten you?” he questions, that brow of his drawn down low over his eyes.
“Yes, help me to understand what was wrong so that if the last property is still not to your liking, I’m able to review the criteria to your satisfaction.” I finish and keep all the emotion from flitting over my face. It’s harder than I thought.
“I don’t have a criteria, Miss Etherington. But I know what I’ll be satisfied with when I see it. That wasn't it."
Oh my God, he’s impossible. I sit back in the seat and allow the soft leather to provide some semblance of comfort.
Despite our efficient use of time at each property, we're creeping closer to rush hour from all the zig-zagging across the city. The car crawls most of the way there, and by the time we start inching closer, I feel myself getting even more hopeful for the last one. It's my personal favourite, but it's also the only other option for today, and I don’t relish the idea of a repeat performance on Monday. Frankly, it's exhausting just being in his presence, regardless of the good looks. He's oppressive. Demeaning somehow.
A lanky man greets us at the final apartment. The building is a tall, imposing tower that reminds me of Landon himself, and I can already anticipate the views.
“This way.” He leads us to the bank of lifts. “Twenty-four-hour concierge. State of the art security. Key card access for residents.” The three of us enter the lift as the man rattles on about all the complex features, and we arrive on the twentieth floor and to the only apartment on this level.
The sales guy stops listing the perks as he opens the door, and I know why. He’s letting the space speak for itself. Gleaming honey wood floors spill out to the glazing of the main room, the furniture set up and arranged to focus on the views over London. You can even see the Parliament buildings from here.
A glass spiral staircase takes you up to the second floor and the master bedroom. I’d want to start there, but this isn’t my viewing. It’s Landon’s, so I amble around the downstairs area and tell myself not to fall in love with the space. One, it’s not for me. And two, even if Landon takes it, I’ll never visit again. It will just hold a short space in my memory before it’s pushed aside by some other minutia of my day.
It’s not quite as big as the previous apartment. But then again, I can’t understand how anyone can drop five million on an apartment either. Presumably, it's not just about size. Who knows?
I’m so lost in thought, trying not to imagine what I’d do with the space if this were all mine when Landon comes up behind me. “If this is the best on offer, I suppose I better take it.”
“Really?” The excitement is apparent in my voice, but he looks at me. My calm, grey eyes seem to lock with his pale blue ones. And for that second, I don’t see the man who’s driven me mad.
“Excellent choice, Sir. Shall I go over the paperwork?”
“Miss Etherington will deal with it.” Landon dismisses the sales assistant, but no matter his tone, a smile creeps at the corner of my lip. He’s happy enough to spend five million on the apartment that was my favourite.
I must have done something right.
~
The start of rush hour hits hard as we creep our way back towards the office.
“Shall we celebrate? A drink, perhaps, to toast your new abode?” I ask, pleased with myself.
“A drink? With you?”
“Why not? Or if you’d rather not, can I at least grab a coffee?” I must be drunk on my one-time success from the apartment because I have no idea what I’m saying. “Actually, it’s fine. You can just drop me off at a Costa, and I’ll see you on Monday.” I turn away and look out the window, adopting Landon’s usual stance. He can be as tense as he likes. I, however, have done a good job today.
“If you want coffee, I refuse to drop you at a Costa.” The disapproval in his tone is evident, and I think back to the ritual that is his morning coffee. “Tony, drop us at The Bombay,” he instructs.
The Bombay doesn’t sound like a coffee house. My phone’s in my hand, and my fingers set to work googling the venue. Sure enough, it’s a member’s bar and restaurant. I keep my mouth closed and let the car deliver us, the small flame of excitement igniting within me.
Just around the corner from the office we eventually pull up outside of a sandstone-coloured building that looks more like a hotel. Landon leads the way with barely a backward glance to me. The gold plaque set into the stone by the revolving doors does indeed say The Bombay.
A man in a top hat raises it in greeting at Landon and throws me a quizzical glance as I keep up with his six-foot three-inch tall strides. The room is filled with wing-backed chairs, tables, and decorated in midnight blues and gilded paintings—very ‘old gentleman’s club’, with a touch of flare.
He takes a seat at a small round table, and I join him. Before I’ve set my bag on the ground, an impeccably dressed waiter is at our side. He doesn’t greet us or ask if we’d like to order.
“I’ll have a glass of the La Rioja Alta Gran Reserva 890.” The waiter nods and turns to me.
“Um, can I see the menu?”
“There’s no menu here, Miss Etherington. Just order what you want,” Landon clarifies.
“I’ll have a Costa latte, large. And a glass of tap water.” I can’t help myself, and even though it’s childish, I’m sick of his superior attitude.
A laugh titters out of me as I stifle a grin and cross my legs.
“She’ll have a decent coffee, Malcolm. And a bottle of Perrier.”
“Landon I …” but the waiter has already left.
“I believe I told you that I wouldn’t drop you at Costa. I’d certainly never order you one. This was your suggestion. If you aren’t happy about the venue, I suggest you leave. As you said, I'll see you on Monday.”
My breath hitches at his directness. It’s the most he’s spoken to me in the last week put together.
“I apologise. Thank you for the offer of a drink.” My heartbeat is thrumming in my chest. Hell, all I wanted was for a smoother, more relaxed working environment. Now, the tension between us is like a physical wall, and all I’ve done is add more bricks to reinforce it.
We sit in silence. The room around us is nearly empty, but the darkness of the décor gives it a personal vibe, almost sensual. I knock that word right out of my head and smooth my skirt over my knees.
Landon is busy on his phone, the frown still in place. Multiple lines run through my mind to break the deadlock, but the waiter relieves the situation with our drinks.
I pick up the mug of coffee and take in the aroma. It’s a little late for coffee, but the caffeine hit shouldn’t stop me sleeping. When I'm tired, I crash and sleep for ten hours straight, no problem.
I watch as Landon swirls his wine before taking a sip.
“Do you come here often? I hadn’t seen this on your schedule.” I try for some work-related conversation, which hilariously started out like some pickup line.
“I don’t schedule all of my activities, Miss Etherington.”
“Please call me Willow,” I interject.
He sighs a little. “Miss Etherington.”
“Landon.” I lock my gaze, and once again, our eyes seem to storm at each other, grey clouds and icy sky.
“Very well.”
“Here’s to a successful week. And to your new home.” I raise my glass of water to signal a toast, but he pops my cheerfulness with a raised brow as if he’s too good for simple pleasantries.
Right. That’s it. I’m trying too hard. He’s a jerk. I just need to accept it and learn to work within that without quitting. After all, Ash doesn’t seem able to support himself and has grown accustomed to our income. My income. Regardless of him being old enough to stand on his own two feet, I can’t quite bring myself to issue that ultimatum.
The coffee is delicious, and I curse that I now know what proper coffee tastes like, while Landon drains his wine.
“We have a busy week next week,” I comment.
“Yes, I do. Arrange for all my belongings to be shipped to the new apartment. The paperwork needs to be complete, and I expect to be in on Monday. Nina has all the details.” With that, he drains his wine and stands to leave. “I suggest you make sure you’re up to speed.”
Looks like I’ll be working this weekend, as well.