The Gratitude Guarantee (Boyfriend in the Bargain #4)

6. Brenna

6

brENNA

I t’s finally Wednesday, and quitting time cannot come fast enough. I’ve been fuming for the last two days—ever since I realized that Robert Springfield III had no intention of letting me present the legal memo I painstakingly prepared after many tedious hours of discovery. In fact, he had me print off copies of it and then asked me to take notes again while he presented my conclusions as his own.

I’m sure if I’d walked past a mirror after that meeting, I would have seen what looked like a cartoon character with a beet-red face and steam coming out of my ears. It was all I could do to hold my tongue, knowing that making a scene would only make matters worse. At best, it would give Mr. Springfield the satisfaction of knowing he got to me. At worst, I could lose my job. I wouldn’t put it past him to terminate me for a completely ridiculous reason.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose, deliberately relaxing the aching muscles in my shoulders. I just need to make it one more hour. The firm closes at noon for the holiday, not reopening until Monday. That will give me four and a half days to talk myself down and let this very intentional slight go. I refuse to let that slimeball get the best of me.

Finally, after doing a minuscule amount of actual work and killing at least half of the remaining hour cleaning out my top desk drawer, it’s time to leave. I scoop up my bag and stand, preparing to get the heck out of this place. The startling thump of something dropping onto my desk stops me.

Robert Springfield III lays a hand on my arm and levels me with a smile that I assume is meant to be charming. “Brenna, I need you to take care of one more thing before you go.”

I grind my teeth so hard that the receptionist by the front door can probably hear it. With great effort, I pull my lips into a thin smile. “What do you need, Mr. Springfield?”

“One of our clients has brought it to my attention that the name of their main supplier has changed due to a merger.” He gestures to the thick binder he unceremoniously dumped on my desk that contains at least a thousand pieces of paper. “I need you to go through this contract and mark the change where appropriate, as well as note any provisions that indicate the new company will not be able to provide the same level of service. I need this done by Monday morning so one of our more experienced attorneys can review it.”

He gives me another over-the-top smile and leans in closer. “I would ask one of the newer associates to do it, but they’ve already left for the day. I’m sure you understand.”

Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly.

I understand that this is going to take hours and also that I can’t refuse, so I give him a tight nod. “I’ll get it done.”

His smile doesn’t fade as he nods. “See that you do.”

I glare at his blazer-clad back as he walks away, imagining two smoldering spots between his shoulder blades bursting into flames where my eyes bore into him like laser beams. Unfortunately, he exits the building unscathed.

Frustrated tears prick my eyes as I glance at my watch and then turn my death glare to the box of papers. I allow myself to wallow in my frustration and self-pity for about one whole minute, then I square my shoulders and grab the binder. He said this needs to be done by Monday, but he didn’t specify when or where it should happen. In the interest of not letting that loathsome man ruin my holiday, I am taking control of this situation, to the extent that I can. If I have to stay up late every night marking out account numbers then I will, but I will not let it pull me away from even one moment of my plans.

And right now, my plan is to drive home and change before picking up Zach and heading to Knoxville.

Wishing the receptionist a happy Thanksgiving, I march to my car and stow the binder in my trunk, slamming it shut in a way that makes me feel immature but also slightly better. When I get home, Amanda is in the living room with her feet up on the coffee table watching reruns of Gilmore Girls . The smell of cinnamon wraps me in a sweet embrace as I swing the door closed behind me.

“I made pumpkin bread,” she says, twisting to look up at me as I drop my coat over the back of the couch beside her head. “It’s soooo good. Please don’t make me eat it all by myself, which I could totally do, but probably shouldn’t.”

I pat her on top of her head. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you out?” It’s certainly no hardship to eat anything Amanda makes. Her talent in the kitchen is undeniable.

I’m gratified to see that she has a pot of coffee brewed as well, so I slice a generous piece of pumpkin bread and pour a steaming cup of coffee to go with it, doubling down on the seasonal flavors with a hefty splash of pumpkin spice creamer. Am I one of those basic girls who is endlessly delighted by PSLs and sweater weather? Yes, and I make no apologies.

“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in at least a week,” I tell her, sighing as the moist, fall-flavored treat practically melts in my mouth. “I should have had you make me a pie for tomorrow.” A pie-baking contest is just one of several items on the list of challenges Mom emailed over a few days ago.

She swings her feet down and pads into the kitchen to join me, serving herself another slice as well. “You know you would never do that. As much as you love to win, it would eat you up inside if you cheated.”

Amanda knows me well. But the good news is that I’m no slouch in the kitchen myself. I think I have a decent shot at baking a winning pie, even if I have to do it on my own. It’s on my list to discuss it with Zach on the trip down so that I can figure out if he has any kitchen experience or if it will be up to me to pull most of the weight on that task. Fingers crossed he surprises me with a pastry chef certification that he decided not to use because he likes yardwork better.

While that would be pretty much the best surprise ever, I’m very prepared to just be grateful that he volunteered as tribute for this weird holiday competition. Because he definitely didn’t have to do that. When I explained the whole arrangement to Amanda the day after he and I made our agreement at the gym, she didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“So…he’s going to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“No. Well, kind of. He’s going to pretend to be my date. Except I didn’t really correct my mom when she said boyfriend, so…”

I wince again as I recall the look of bewilderment on her face.

“Why do you look sick? Is it the bread?” Amanda’s concerned voice brings me back to the present.

“No, the bread’s great,” I say honestly, taking another big bite to prove it. “I was just thinking about everything I’ve got on my plate right now. Springfield gave me a busy work assignment about two minutes before quitting time today that needs to be done by Monday.”

Her eyes narrow and her mouth drops open in outrage. “He’s messing with you on a holiday? Seriously, Bren, when are you going to quit and go somewhere that won’t treat you like a second-class citizen?”

My throat tightens around the bite I just swallowed, and I shrug one shoulder as I take a sip of coffee to help wash it down. “It’s not that easy. You know how hard I worked to get this position. I was chosen out of two hundred very qualified applicants, and if I can just stick it out a few more years, I’ll have the experience I need to go anywhere.”

Hopefully. So far, Springfield has meticulously kept me from doing anything meaningful on the cases I’m assigned to. But it can’t last, right? Eventually, he’ll have to let me do something more exciting than making copies and taking notes. It defies logic that he would waste the abilities of a fully licensed and capable associate forever, woman or not. I just have to be persistent.

“You’re already a qualified candidate. That’s why you got your current job.” While she doesn’t say duh it’s implied in her tone.

“Let’s not talk about this right now.” I give her a wide, distracting smile. “It’s practically Thanksgiving, and now that I’m stuffed full of this fabulous pumpkin bread I need to hit the road. Zach is waiting for me to pick him up.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t harass you about your ability to do better than Springfield & Springfield anymore…for now.” She deepens her voice to a comically obvious level on the last two words and I can’t help a genuine grin. She takes my empty plate from my hand. “Go get changed.”

I hurry away to do just that, swapping my black slacks and pumps for my favorite pair of purple skinny jeans and a pair of low-heeled tan booties. I straighten my cream-colored turtleneck sweater and pull my hair back in a loose ponytail, surveying my reflection with satisfaction. I look cute but will still be comfy for the three-hour car ride.

Grabbing the overnight bag I packed before I left this morning, I head back out to tell Amanda goodbye. Before Zach agreed to come with me, the thought had crossed my mind that I could bring her to be my partner but I knew she wouldn’t be able to get off on such short notice, and I wasn’t sure I could get away with it, anyway. My mother might not have explicitly specified that the couples must be of the romantic variety, but I didn’t want to risk her deeming my partner unacceptable for her purposes—obviously matchmaking—and bring good old Vincent back into the picture.

That would not be acceptable.

“’Bye, girl. Have a good time. Try not to fall in love with your handsome hero.” Amanda shoots me a wink before pulling me in for a quick hug.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I reassure her. “The last thing I have time for is a boyfriend. Plus, he’s not dating right now, remember?”

“I remember. But who knows what could happen?” She waggles her eyebrows. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you two hit it off, maybe snuck a kiss or two.”

I roll my eyes and move toward the door. “Time for me to be going now.”

“Drive safe!” she calls after me. “Think of me when you’re eating a full turkey dinner tomorrow.”

I pause with my hand on the knob. “I will. And I’ll try to bring you some leftovers.”

“That’d better be a promise.”

I make a crossing motion with one finger over my heart.

“Good.” She gives me a satisfied nod. “Now get out of here before the traffic gets bad.”

“This is Nashville. The traffic’s always bad.”

Her laugh follows me out the door.