Pride & Precedents (The Park Brothers #2)

7. Camila

Chapter seven

Camila

Present Day

I can tell something's off with Henry. He usually replies back right away with questions on the dossiers, often calling me to confirm details and ask clarifying questions that sometimes lead to pivotal insights into the client. Today, it's been radio silence. If not for the much appreciated kudos this morning,—which I more than earned, since I was stuck at the office until almost eleven—I wouldn't know he even received the completed files. He also looks surprisingly clammy and hot for someone who goes by Sub Zero. Maybe he's coming down with something.

I reach the door to the conference room just as he and Mr. Bannister arrive, still discussing the details from the dossiers. He lifts his shoulders in a barely perceptible shrug to ease the tension in his obviously stiff shoulders (also unusual) and presses his lips into a grim line before smoothing his face into its usual placid facade. What is going on with him today?

There's a question in my eyes which Henry avoids by averting his gaze and pulling open the door to the conference room. I suppress a sigh and follow him into the room, taking my usual seat in the row of chairs along the wall. Someday I'll get a seat at the table. Just one more mid-term and then the hellacious bar prep begins.

Ms. Watanabe is seated directly across from Mr. Bannister and she is a vision. Hair as smooth and dark as ebony cascades to the middle of her back. Some uber-professional women opt to downplay their femininity, but she's emphasizing hers, showing a hint of cleavage in a fitted burgundy dress with cap sleeves that reveal her svelte form. Her eyes are captivating, like Mulan in the animated movie. Shit. That's probably racist, but it's also accurate. Her eyes are almost too big, which would be enough to make her beautiful, but her full lips in a matching burgundy shade make her striking. Looking at her makes me question whether I've been too closed off by only dating men. It also makes me wish I bought more than frozen yogurt and a cardigan on my last trip to Bloomingdale's.

Those too-big eyes widen slightly when they come to rest on Henry and I notice him shift in his chair from my seat behind him. Something is definitely up. Do they know each other? She is exactly the type of woman he tends to go for: stunning and unapproachably attractive.

After the initial awkwardness, the meeting proceeds as normal. Ms. Watanabe is as impressive as she looks, and just joined our biggest competitor in the environmental division. Maybe she can finally crack the mystery of why NYC water seems to almost bubble right out of the tap. It certainly does make a good bagel, though. In a decision that surprises no one, she signs the retainer agreement before the meeting is even done; BBS Sub Zero is now Arctic Blast. I try to ignore the strict daddy vibes he's giving off that have me tingling between my legs. I don't normally play the submissive, but I'd definitely make an exception for Henry.

"My apologies, sir. I meant no offense."

With a small nod of acceptance and a click of his mouse, I'm dismissed. I scurry out of his office, closing the door behind me. How badly did I just fuck up? Do I need to start looking at openings on LinkedIn? Rather than obsess, I drop my notepad at my desk before retreating to the kitchen for some carby comfort; there's gotta be some leftover bagels or a muffin or something .

Jonathan, my old boss, is there as well, raiding the cupcakes from a birthday celebration earlier in the day. Jackpot. He raises his red velvet in greeting.

"Hi Camila. How's Sub Zero treating you? Still making your life miserable on a daily basis?"

I hide my wince by biting into my chosen German chocolate cupcake. God, I wish he wasn't right. Ever since I left to cover Henry's desk and never came back, Jonathan has been a sore loser. We're in the same department, but instead of collaborating, Jonathan's holding a grudge for daring to advance my career. He was a fine boss, but who would pass up the opportunity (and significant pay bump) to support a partner? Of course, it doesn't help that Henry isn't afraid to keep all the best clients for himself.

"I'm doing well, Jonathan. Thank you for asking."

He grunts sullenly into his cupcake.

"I heard you got another VIP client. What's that, like the fourth this year?"

I mentally count and fight to keep the smile off my lips.

"The fifth, actually." Jonathan's mouth tightens.

"Congratulations," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If only we could all skip paying our dues and go right to the big leagues."

When I only blink in response, Jonathan stalks back to his office, looking more like a pouty toddler than an attorney. What a tool. He can be mad about my promotion all he wants, but if I couldn't hang, Henry would not have kept me.

"Does he often antagonize you in the office?"

I nearly jump out of my kitten heels at Henry's voice behind me. He must have snuck in for coffee during my standoff with Jonathan. I give a noncommittal lift of one shoulder.

"Nothing I can't handle." A true Bronx girl like myself can handle bullies (even of the corporate variety) without breaking a sweat.

He watches me intently, looking like he might say something. Instead, he turns back to add creamer to his mug. If this day could go ahead and wrap it up, that would be great.

"And that was it? He just gave you the silent treatment for the rest of the day?"

Rory downs the last of her amaretto sour and motions to the bartender for a refill. When Henry let me out before 6:00pm for the first time in literally ever , I knew drinks with my sister were in order. She recommended we check out this dive bar in Brooklyn known for their strong drinks and Southern-themed cuisine. I swirl around the ice clumping at the bottom of my pi?a colada and try not to think about my nightmare commute back home later. Not everyone lives in Williamsburg now, Rory.

"Basically. I took dictation for a brief in the afternoon, but he was in his office with the door closed otherwise."

She rolls her eyes.

"With a stick that big up his ass, how does he even shit? Like, does he need to see a doctor once a month for relief, or…"

I snort, spilling some of my drink down my blouse. My kid sis certainly has a way with words.

"Oh my God, Rory! I did not need that image in my head."

Rory's smile turns wicked.

"What image? The image of your boss, bent over his $4,000 desk, his tie flung over his shoulders and his Hugo Boss slacks around his ankles, getting the rubber glove treatment from some brawny nurse named Bruno?"

I can't help it; I spit my drink down my blouse, half laughing-half coughing as I try to recover.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Rory just takes a sip of her drink, like her comment didn't just destroy me. "I'd actually pay good money to see that. I'd pay extra if they skipped the lube."

At that, my sister raises an eyebrow. What? He's my boss, but I'm not allowed to make fun of him?

"What, pray tell, would my older sister, Patron Saint of Workaholics and Granny Panty Fan Club President, know about lube ?"

Oh, I see. I'm allowed to make fun of my boss, but, through some cosmic joke, my sister thinks I'm a prude. I haven't exactly had a ton of spare time. I hide my hurt at the jab by blotting my now damp shirt.

"Hey! I get out! I have Tinder and Bumble on my phone right now." My sister smirks, clearly not believing me. It has been a while… "And, in defense of granny panties, they are both comfortable and cheap for a girl on a budget."

"Ah yes. Affordability and comfort; the path to every man's heart."

I roll my eyes at my sister—she's sassier than Rosie Perez and Marisa Tomei combined—and stand up from our booth.

"Thanks to you, I've got about half a cup of ice sloshing around in my bra. I'll be right back. Order me another one when the waiter comes back?"

Her smile says she knows I'm dodging the topic of my sex life,—or lack thereof—but she just nods. I make my way through the crowded bar, edging between harried servers and tipsy hipsters on my way to the restroom. The crowd here is a little on the young side, mostly in their early 20s. At thirty, I feel a bit like an undercover cop from 21 Jump Street. Just when I'm almost past the overcrowded bar area, a group of women clearly out for a bachelorette party nearly knock me over. They're not going to run out of alcohol people! No need to push and shove.

I make myself as small as possible with curves like mine and continue to inch through the crowd. And that's when I see him…Or… Them ? Sitting in the booth right next to the bathrooms is Henry, Jr. and another man who looks nearly identical, minus the glasses and with a way flashier suit. Am I being punked? I knew he had brothers, but a twin? Apparently I stare a little too hard and "Flashy Suit Henry" makes eye contact with me and smiles. Busted.

"Care to join us, beautiful?"

"Flashy Suit Henry"'s smile is warm and welcoming. My eyes dart to Henry; his hair is sticking out in several directions like he's been raking his hands through it, his shirt and tie are loose,—twice in one day?!—and his eyes have a slight droop from a few too many cocktails. He doesn't seem bothered by his brother's invitation, or by my seeing him looking unkempt once again.

"Don't worry about Mr. Stuffy Pants here," he gestures to Henry, who lets out an ungentlemanly snort into his drink. "When he pointed you out, I knew I just had to meet the woman he spends practically every waking moment with."

I bite my lower lip and glance at my table. Rory is watching us closely.

"Uh…I don't want to impose…And I'm here with my sister."

"Bring her over, too," offers "Flashy Suit Henry". "I just landed a client and I need to celebrate. And you, of all people, know that Henry could use a few drinks." Another snort from Henry.

"Are you buying?"

"Flashy Suit Henry" looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Of course! We're not barbarians."

I press my lips together to hide a smile. Apparently, this twin got all the charm. I motion Rory to come over and turn towards the bathroom.

"I've got to use the facilities, but my little sister, Rory," I point to her as she makes her way through the crowd, "is on her way over. Please wait until I'm back to tell any embarrassing stories about my boss."

"Flashy Suit Henry" chuckles.

"You got it."