Law, Lies, and Love Affairs

All Bets Are Off

Mike leaned back in the chair in what used to be Burt's office. Now that the clutter and ridiculous furnishings had all been cleared out and replaced with clean simple lines, he was finding it easier to focus.

What he wasn't finding easy was the way Stevie kept creeping into his thoughts. Of course the reports she had done were clear, insightful, and, damn it, brilliant. It was no more or less than he would have expected from her, and made him wonder for about the hundredth time what she was doing here. And the idea she'd outlined for redirecting and expanding the fledgling wine import venture in Italy was intriguing to say the least.

He stopped by her office and found that she was already packing up her things to leave for the day.

"What happened to the Stevie who used to work all night in the law journal office?"

She turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes, holding a stack of files in one arm, while he dropped casually into the visitor's chair in her office. Stevie shoved the files into her monogramed leather briefcase then dropped it with a thud onto her desk.

"Do you have a problem with my work?"

"Not at all."

"Look, Burt and I had a deal when I accepted this position."

"Burt isn't here anymore, so I'd say all deals are off."

"If you look at my employment agreement, you'll see-"

"Ah, bringing up the employment agreement again. The one with the "no cut" terms, right?"

"That's right," she said. "And it also provides very clearly that I can work from home a minimum of two days per week, and that I can flex time in the evenings, and-"

"You don't have to recite the terms of your contract to me, Stevie. I've read it." He leaned back in his chair and studied her, wondering why she suddenly seemed so nervous. "What I want to know is why?"

When she only set her jaw more stubbornly, he decided to soften his approach.

"Look, I know you made partner at Westhouser Crane earlier this year. You had the dream career in international law you always wanted. And you gave it up for this?" He gestured widely. "What happened, Stevie? You talked to me in Paris. Why won't you talk to me now?"

For one awful moment he thought she was going to burst into tears. The Stevie he remembered didn't know the meaning of the word cry. Although he had to admit that the time he'd spent with her in Paris that summer after law school had revealed a softer, gentler if equally determined side of her personality.

Then she gave him a level look and he thought he must have imagined the sheen of unshed tears he thought he'd seen in her eyes.

"My sister Samantha died a few months ago."

"Stevie. I'm sorry." He remembered that Thanksgiving weekend they spent together how Stevie had talked about the plans she and her sister had to spend time in New York together over Christmas. He'd been on the verge of offering her the use of his parents' rarely used condo in the Upper East Side, with a view of Central Park. 

But then he'd realized she'd probably be offended rather than pleased. Stevie was big on making her own way, and seemed proud of the modestly priced room she'd found in SoHo through Airbnb. With Times Square and Broadway, she'd informed him, only 18 minutes away by subway.

"What happened?"

"It was a stupid car accident. In the middle of the afternoon. Something you think is never going to happen to you, to someone you love." Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "Until it does."