Page 11 of Not That Guy
Unwilling to be at a disadvantage and have him loom over me, I got to my feet, coming nose to nose with him.
“I thought I spoke pretty clearly and simply with no big words to confuse you.” A muscle in his jaw ticked.
“Everything you’ve accomplished in life, you got handed to you because of your father. ”
Sparks flew from those furious eyes before they narrowed to slits. His nostrils flared. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
It was fun to poke the bear, and obviously mentioning his senator father got under his skin. “Don’t I? Daddy must’ve paid a lot to help you get where you are.”
Weston paled. “Go to hell,” he snarled and stalked away.
A twinge of regret twisted in my chest. Had I gone too far? Or was I too close to the truth? Weston was extremely bright, of course—he’d beaten me in class rank at almost every turn in the three years we spent at school—but I’d heard mutterings from other students about his family connections.
It was probably best to leave for the day. I had an office to pack up at Roman and White, plus a million little things to work on, such as acquiring a new paralegal. When I passed by Weston’s office, he slammed the door in my face.
So much for mutual goodwill.
**
“We’re here by the beautiful Long Island Sound to work on team building.
” The speaker, Mitch Carlson, a midfifties man dressed in a polo and khakis, stood at the lectern in the front of the ballroom.
About forty people filled the space. Most knew each other, but there were about five or six of us—the new partners I’d met earlier in the month at orientation—who, like me, sat alone without anyone to chat with.
Carlson continued. “All of you will meet tonight at dinner and fill out strengths quizzes, and then tomorrow morning, right after breakfast, we’ll match you up with another person we’ve deemed your opposite and start to work. The purpose will be to gain trust and learn from each other.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Weston slipping in the back and taking a seat in the last row. Grady Allen walked past him and chose the chair next to mine.
“Did I miss anything?”
“Just opening remarks. We fill out a questionnaire at dinner, and tomorrow they pair us up with our opposite to begin trust-building exercises.”
A groan escaped him. “Damn. Now I remember why I had no desire to be part of a firm.” Laughing eyes met mine. “All this stuff gives me hives. I’m better working alone. But I do like the benefits.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll put us together. We’re pretty opposite.”
A knowing smile tugged at the corner of Grady’s lips. “You think so?”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that remark, but I had no time to ask questions or speculate further as we were called in to dinner and I was seated by another new partner from Contracts.
We talked about our first jobs out of school and interesting cases we’d handled.
I was feeling better about the move to the firm, and Weston and I had each managed to keep out of the other’s way—I’d barely seen him all evening.
He and Grady had found a way to sit together, and as I hadn’t seen Weston fill out his test, I would lay bets he’d manage to get out of doing the exercises.
From his reaction when I mentioned his father, I concluded that I’d hit a nerve and maybe the truth.
People who grew up like Weston Lively were used to having a smooth path with no cracks, causing them to stumble and fall.
I filled out the test and handed it in. After the dinner was finished, most people headed to the hotel bar, but recalling what had happened last time, I chose to turn in early. On my way out, Grady waved me over, but as Weston stood by his side, I shook my head and walked toward the elevator.
The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
At nine the next morning, I found my way to the room where breakfast was being served, but all I needed was coffee and lots of it.
I finished my second cup and felt a hand on my shoulder.
“How come you didn’t want to join us last night?” Eyes slightly red-rimmed, Grady held his own mug.
My lips twitched. “Maybe because of how you look. What time did you fall asleep?”
His eyes danced. “Who said I slept?” He knocked my shoulder. “Just kidding. But you know how it goes. These weekends away are for people to let their hair down.”
“Not me. I fell asleep at ten and woke up at eight. Best night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks.
” I glanced around. “Do you know when we’re going to get the test results and see whom we’re paired up with?
” I didn’t see Weston approach and couldn’t spare a dig.
“Is your partner in crime here, or did he sneak away already?”
“I don’t sneak, Fleming. I have nothing to be ashamed of.” Scorn dripped from his eyes. “Or hide.”
My stomach dove into free fall, and I turned away, pretending to be interested in the display of breakfast foods and pastries. My third cup of coffee in hand, I ignored Weston’s smirking face and addressed Grady directly. “I’m going to go wait for the test results. I’ll see you later.”
Seats were filling up, and I took a chair on the aisle. Mitch, the facilitator, iPad in hand, waited until everyone was seated. “All right, everyone. We’ve got our results. I’ll read them in no particular order, and then the two partners will meet up here and be given your materials.”
Minutes passed, and I watched people pair off, including Grady, who gave me a salute as he sauntered past to join Maryann Evens, an older woman of about sixty, wearing a strict, conservative suit.
Large round glasses perched on her nose, and her silver hair was pulled into a tight bun.
I’d seen her in orientation, studying every pamphlet and resource guide they’d given out.
She was a real-estate attorney, and I didn’t think I’d heard her utter anything other than hello.
They’d definitely chosen their partnership correctly, as the contrast between her and the tattooed, jeans-and-T-shirt-wearing Grady Allen was striking.
The two of them began chatting like old friends, but that shouldn’t surprise me—Grady had that enviable quality of making people feel comfortable.
Maryann took their packet, and the two of them walked away.
A swift appraisal of the room showed about ten of us left, including Weston, who sat with his legs stretched out and—unsurprisingly—was on his phone.
I doubted Weston took anything seriously.
“Weston Lively.” At the sound of his name, Weston slipped the phone into his suit pocket and strolled to the front.
“Jerk,” I muttered to myself. He behaved as though he were accepting an Academy Award.
“Who’s the lucky person who gets to spend the whole day with me?”
Mitch squinted at the screen. “Brenner Fleming.”
Well, shit.