Do You Take This Man
Denise Williams
For the ones who think they’re hard to love
Chapter 1
RJ
I DIDN’T BLAME Maddie Anderson for scowling at her soon-to-be ex-husband.
He appeared calm and collected in a somber Italian suit, remaining quiet and deferent, and seeming reasonable. He almost looked bored by the proceedings and the minutiae of his marriage ending. I made note of the gray at his temples and supposed it was easy to look dignified as a fifty-seven-year-old sitting next to one’s twenty-three-year-old wife, and probably easy to look bored when you’d done this a time or two before.
Behind the makeup, Maddie’s eyes were puffy, and the cuticle on her thumb looked shredded, like she’d been nervously scratching it. Since walking in on her husband with not one but two women during their son’s first birthday party, she’d been through a lot. The hurt and embarrassment were clear in the woman’s mannerisms, but Mr. Anderson didn’t seem to care.
I’d never been in Ms. Anderson’s shoes—today, a pair of crystal-encrusted pink stilettos. I’d learned young that people were rarely worth trusting, and baring your teeth was easier than baring your soul only to be shown you weren’t worth someone’s time. It didn’t make me bitter, but it made me careful. It also made me enjoy these little moments when I could help someone else bare their teeth.
Granted, my client huffed anytime opposing counsel spoke. I glanced at the clock on the far side of the wall and estimated how long this would take. Despite the eye-rolling, gum popping, and faint smell of a perfume probably marketed to teenagers, Maddie Anderson was going to leave this office a very rich woman.
Twenty-five minutes later and before rushing back to my desk, I smiled at Maddie, whose philandering ex-husband was not as covert in his affairs as he’d hoped, and who’d chosen the wrong woman to underestimate.
“Everything should be finalized by the end of the month.” I shook Maddie’s hand to interrupt the hug coming my way and shared her smile. One point for the wronged woman and one more win for me. I rushed down the hall, trying not to look like I was in a hurry even though it was five fifteen and there was no way I was going to be on time.
“RJ.” The smoky voice of one of the senior partners left me cursing in my head as I turned to greet her. Gretchen Vanderkin-Shaw would have scared the crap out of me if I didn’t admire her so much. Really, she still scared the crap out of me, but as a named partner before forty with a success rate through the roof, she was a force to be reckoned with, and she liked me. Gretchen was the lawyer I wanted to be, and I was gathering my courage to ask her to be my mentor.
She nodded toward the conference room. “The Anderson case?”
“We were able to come to a resolution that worked in our favor.” That was code for crushing them like tiny little bugs and then doing a victory dance that might involve some light professional twerking.
She nodded, a faint smile on her lips because I’d learned the victory dance from her. “Excellent. Eric mentioned you wanting to talk to me. I have a free hour now.”
I stole a quick glance at my watch, because nine times out of ten, if Gretchen asked to meet, we did. Hell, if she’d asked me to hop, I’d have gone full Cha Cha Slide.
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
I could have lied and said a conference call or a client meeting, but what was the point? Everything I was doing was happening because the firm wanted to keep a client happy. Well, mostly. “I have to be downtown at six.”
Her mouth formed into a thin line, and I knew she’d decoded my reason for needing to be downtown. She nodded. “Well, you’d better go. You know how I feel about this, though, RJ. You’re better than some publicity stunt.”
I fumbled for a response, biting my lower lip. That wasn’t characteristic of me—I held my shoulders back and chin up on the regular, and I never backed down from anything. I made powerful people want to cower, and I was good at it. She was right, and I was better than a publicity stunt, but I had to admit, I enjoyed this particular stunt. “Thank you for checking in. I’ll talk to your assistant and make an appointment.”
I hurried into the back of a waiting Uber, with plans to change clothes modestly in the back seat. Was I telling myself I would be modest, knowing that I was about to give anyone looking a bit of a show? Absolutely.
Penny: Where are you?
RJ: On my way. There’s traffic.
Penny: You’re killing me.
I sent her the knife emoji. Top of my class in law school and this is my life now. Event planners harassing me as I strip down in the back of an Uber. My phone buzzed again from the seat as I brushed powder onto my cheeks and checked my edges in a compact.
Penny: But I love you.
RJ: I know.
RJ: You have the mic set up how I like?
Penny: Yes, but if you’re late, you’re getting a handheld with a tangled cord.
I pulled out the binder where I’d prepared my script. All the pages were in plastic covers with labeled tabs just in case, a copy of all pertinent information in the back folder and a Post-it Note reminding me of everyone’s names and pronouns tucked in the front. I climbed from the car and repeated the opening phrase to myself as I hurried toward the stairs of the venue. I spoke part of the line to myself. “. . . the promise of hope between two people who love each other sincerely, who—”