Hello, people!
Happy Saturday!
Usual housekeeping:
- I still don't own any of it.
- Team Momo wouldn't exist without Midnight Cougar and Alice's White Rabbit with their red pens, or without AGoodWitch, Maplestyle, Mel, and Eternally Addicted who pre-read and tell me if I'm off my rocker or not.
- Thank you for all the reviews and alerts. I read all of them, but I'm trying really hard to finish writing my upcoming story, so time for replies is at a premium. Be assured that I treasure all of them.
Also, the Golden Onion Awards nominations are up and I want to take a minute to thank YOU all for the nominations for my work and for Team Momo at large.
My other story Behind The Ivories was nominated as Best Je t'aime Fic, Best Nail-Biting Fic, Favorite Fic of the Year, and Masterpiece of the Year.
Shape The Narrative is nominated as WIP of the Year, and yours truly is nominated as Author of the Year.
I posted a voting link and details on nominees in my FB Group (LaMomo's Lair). Voting opened yesterday and you can vote daily until August 20.
Remember to go and leave some love to your faves!
We're back with LawyerWard today, and it's TRASH day!
Chapter 44 – EPOV
Uneasy, tense silence permeated the boardroom when I entered.
We'd agreed to meet half an hour prior to the scheduled meeting time—the one we'd communicated to Rebecca. We could use a dry run of what we'd decided to tell her.
I took my usual seat at my father's side with a curt nod in his direction, then let my gaze roam the room. A few more strained, nervous faces sat around the table—James, Emmett, and Alistair.
"Are we clear on strategy?" Alistair asked without preamble.
A series of nods ensued with Emmett's grumbling as counterpoint.
"Anything to share with the class, Emmett?" my father pushed. His icy voice barely contained the underlying tension that transpired in his white-knuckled fists and twitching jaw muscle.
"This whole clusterfuck is driving me nuts, Dad. Nothing but putting out fires for the past three months. Sleep's been hard to come by. That's all."
My brief stint in academia had shielded me from all the crap they'd had to deal with at the office since Rebecca's arrival; it was one more reason for me to question the soundness of my choices when I decided to run away from Atlanta last December.
"Let's get to this," Alistair said, trying to rein in the discussion. "As we agreed, I'll start the meeting, then—"
"I'll take the floor and present our standard partnership track markers. Then it's up to Jamie to deliver the blow," my father replied.
Jamie acknowledged him with a silent nod and a steely expression on his face.
A knock came on the door a minute later, and Alistair replied.
"Enter, Rebecca."
Game on.
&&&StN&&&
"This is what we expect from our partner prospects, Rebecca," Carlisle explained twenty minutes later.
Those words wrapped up the introduction to our meeting with Rebecca, which we'd set up as a performance evaluation. It stood to reason that we'd explain the evaluation standards first, then explain how much she'd not met any of those in her short tenure at CCM.
So far, Rebecca cut a lonely figure at the far end of the boardroom table, sitting there in another outfit that wanted to be professional but, like many things about her, came across as over the top and forced. She'd had a smile plastered on her face since she walked into the room and had politely nodded here and there or supplied one-word confirmations that she was keeping up with the conversation.
Then Jamie cleared his throat, and she sat up, as if sensing that the atmosphere around her had shifted. However, her unfaltering smile remained. She had no idea what would happen in the next ten minutes.
"It's our belief that you've not met these expectations, Rebecca," Jamie said, his voice unflinchingly neutral.
"You're not offering me a partnership?" she asked. Surprise didn't even begin to cover it. This was a cold shower raining down on Miss Black-Whiteley and her overinflated sense of self.
"No, Rebecca," Carlisle replied. "We've gone through every single one of those metrics. Do you think your job is consistent with them?"
"It shouldn't matter. I deserve a partnership."
My father and uncle exchanged a furious look, then Jamie nodded.
"No. You deserve to be fired. And you're lucky we're not suing you or filing charges. Emmett? Please show her the evidence."
Emmett cracked his knuckles and pushed a file folder toward Rebecca. "With pleasure, Uncle Jamie."
"What on earth is this?" Rebecca asked in a disgruntled screech.
"The evidence that you rigged an auction by acting for a competitor of our client. We got you with your hands in the digital cookie jar, Rebecca. Stop pretending. We have hard evidence of repeated violations of ethical rules, firm policies, and other pesky shit that will, at a minimum, get you into serious trouble with the Georgia Bar Association. It probably would look bad if the daughter of a federal judge was disbarred for ethics violations, but what do I know?"
At that point, Rebecca had the decency to blanch. She leafed through the folder, and at every page, her eyes widened, and her face turned ashen. She'd barely gotten through half of it when she pushed the folder away, as if it had bitten her.
"I don't understand … how …" She trailed off.
With his rage in danger of bubbling over, Emmett replied and miraculously kept his cool. "Because, as things turn out, you're not good at hiding your tracks. We have a ridiculously talented IT department, and they followed the digital breadcrumbs you left. All there in the open for someone to find them. I can't tell if that speaks more to your arrogance or ignorance. Maybe both."
"But I …"
"You're fired, Rebecca."
Jamie's words resonated in the face of Rebecca's astonishment. She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her, raising one lone finger in the air. "Don't think about causing a stink with your father. I happened to play nine holes of golf with him this morning before coming here. He knows."
That was news to me. Not that Jamie played golf, but that he'd gone in for a pre-emptive strike with Judge Black-Whiteley. Instantly, I wondered how the old man had received the bad news about his wayward offspring.
"Can I …"
Carlisle replied, cutting her off. "No, you can't. If you don't want to be reported to the Bar, or worse, sued by the firm and by our client for malpractice, you'll go quietly. And you'll go within the hour. Someone will be with you the entire time since we've established you have sticky fingers."
"But … what about Edward?"
And that caused my uncle to explode. "What the fuck does Edward have to do with it? He's not your supervisor."
"Wasn't I hired for him? To be with him?"
At this point, I didn't know what kind of alternate universe Rebecca lived in, and I didn't care. But I had to speak up for myself.
"There's no 'with me' of any kind, Rebecca. We don't even work together. Get the fuck over yourself."
That seemed to finally deflate her. She shook the file folder back into a neat pile, then set it on the table, pushing it farther away. In halting, insecure movements, she stood.
"I'll go."
"Stop right there," Alistair ordered. "Rosalie will meet you outside the room and accompany you to get your personal effects together and sign some paperwork. One hour, then you'll be escorted off the premises."
When the door closed behind her, we all heaved a collective sigh of relief.
"So that's the trash taken care of, I guess."
"Yeah, brother. We're done," I replied to Emmett's words of wisdom.
"Emphasis on done," Jamie groused.
"Good to know, Uncle Jamie. Because I think I'll take the rest of the week as I'd planned," I quipped.
Suddenly, I had a very enticing idea to work on.
With the trash taken care of, LawyerWard turns his mind to more delightful pursuits.
Was the waste disposal as satisfying as you hoped? I know some of you rightfully thought she wouldn't go quietly, and your concerns had merit ... but people like her are afraid of exposure and bad publicity. Threatening her with that and Jamie warning her father did the trick. Is this the last we'll hear of her? For now, yes. But stick a pin in it.
We'll be back on Wednesday.
Meanwhile, the 13th anniversary group re-read for Business Class Girl is still on in my FB group (LaMomo's Lair), so feel free to join us for that, and teasers and news about upcoming stories.
Have a great weekend!