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Authors: Beth Orsoff
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minutes to get from my office in Century City to the Chinese restaurant four blocks from the beach. I could’ve chosen somewhere closer, but I wanted to get far enough away that there would be no chance of me running into anyone from the firm. I didn’t want an audience for my date.
At exactly 12:38 (yes, exactly) I set down my pad and retrieved my suit jacket from its hanger on the back of my door. When I reopened it, Rosenthal was standing in the doorway. Shit, not now!
He looked at his watch. He knew I normally left for lunch at one o’clock. If I was leaving early, it probably meant I was taking longer than an hour. Rosenthal believed no one needed more than an hour for lunch. According to him, my time was his money.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“Lunch,” I said. “I’m meeting someone so I really need to go. Can this wait?”
“Who are you meeting? A client?”
The only exception to the one hour lunch rule was if you were meeting a client—that was billable time. “Potential client.” Not a lie. You never know.
I slid past Rosenthal and out to the hallway. He sniffed the air. “Are you wearing perfume?”
“I always do.” What could be the harm in one more inoffensive little lie?
“I don’t think so,” he said as he followed me down the corridor toward the elevators.
Why did he have to be so goddamn nosy? “Bruce, I’m running late. Can we talk when I get back?”
“No, we have a new case. It’s for Rosebud Productions. Do you have time to take on a new matter?”
“Sure,” I said, pushing the elevator call button. Now go away!
“You must’ve really impressed Mark Parsons. He specifically requested that you work on this.”
“That was nice of him.” I barely remembered meeting him. Although I did remember his wife. She must’ve had a hand in this. I’d have to remember to call and thank her.
“I’ve set up a conference call with him at three.”
I stepped into the elevator and turned to face Rosenthal. “Then how about I come down to your office at two-thirty and you can bring me up to speed.”
He frowned but said, “I guess it can wait until then.”
“Good,” I said as the elevator door began to close.
“And Julia.”
What now? I pushed the DOOR OPEN button.
“Have fun on your date.” He gave me a wide grin.
“Goodbye, Bruce.” I hit the DOOR CLOSE button and looked at my watch. 12:46. Now I really was going to be late. I raced down to the car and out to Olympic Boulevard. The traffic wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I only had to run two yellow lights to make it to the restaurant close to on time.
I fluffed my hair and reapplied lipstick while waiting for the lights I didn’t run. My stomach was doing flip-flops. I hadn’t felt this nervous before my other dates. The last time I remembered feeling this way with a guy was with Scumbag. I didn’t know if that was a good omen or a bad one.
Joe was waiting for me at the entrance. God he looked good. He was wearing black jeans and a slate gray button down shirt. Those blue eyes glowed even more in the daytime. I stared at him for half a minute before I even noticed he was carrying a shopping bag.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting, I was hung up at work.”
“No problem,” he said. “I just got here.”
I gave the host my name and he brought us to a booth in the back of the restaurant. When the waitress came by, Joe ordered a beer and I ordered an iced tea.
“No cranberry martini?”
“I have to go back to work. But I’m impressed that you remember.”
“I’m a bartender. It’s my job to remember.”
I wanted to follow-up on that with some career-related questions, but I had more pressing concerns. “What’s in the bag? Is it the mystery item you wanted to return to me, but only in person?”
“Yup,” he said, but didn’t make a move towards the black paper bag sitting next to him.
“Well? Aren’t you going to give it to me?”
“I thought I’d save it for
At exactly 12:38 (yes, exactly) I set down my pad and retrieved my suit jacket from its hanger on the back of my door. When I reopened it, Rosenthal was standing in the doorway. Shit, not now!
He looked at his watch. He knew I normally left for lunch at one o’clock. If I was leaving early, it probably meant I was taking longer than an hour. Rosenthal believed no one needed more than an hour for lunch. According to him, my time was his money.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“Lunch,” I said. “I’m meeting someone so I really need to go. Can this wait?”
“Who are you meeting? A client?”
The only exception to the one hour lunch rule was if you were meeting a client—that was billable time. “Potential client.” Not a lie. You never know.
I slid past Rosenthal and out to the hallway. He sniffed the air. “Are you wearing perfume?”
“I always do.” What could be the harm in one more inoffensive little lie?
“I don’t think so,” he said as he followed me down the corridor toward the elevators.
Why did he have to be so goddamn nosy? “Bruce, I’m running late. Can we talk when I get back?”
“No, we have a new case. It’s for Rosebud Productions. Do you have time to take on a new matter?”
“Sure,” I said, pushing the elevator call button. Now go away!
“You must’ve really impressed Mark Parsons. He specifically requested that you work on this.”
“That was nice of him.” I barely remembered meeting him. Although I did remember his wife. She must’ve had a hand in this. I’d have to remember to call and thank her.
“I’ve set up a conference call with him at three.”
I stepped into the elevator and turned to face Rosenthal. “Then how about I come down to your office at two-thirty and you can bring me up to speed.”
He frowned but said, “I guess it can wait until then.”
“Good,” I said as the elevator door began to close.
“And Julia.”
What now? I pushed the DOOR OPEN button.
“Have fun on your date.” He gave me a wide grin.
“Goodbye, Bruce.” I hit the DOOR CLOSE button and looked at my watch. 12:46. Now I really was going to be late. I raced down to the car and out to Olympic Boulevard. The traffic wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I only had to run two yellow lights to make it to the restaurant close to on time.
I fluffed my hair and reapplied lipstick while waiting for the lights I didn’t run. My stomach was doing flip-flops. I hadn’t felt this nervous before my other dates. The last time I remembered feeling this way with a guy was with Scumbag. I didn’t know if that was a good omen or a bad one.
Joe was waiting for me at the entrance. God he looked good. He was wearing black jeans and a slate gray button down shirt. Those blue eyes glowed even more in the daytime. I stared at him for half a minute before I even noticed he was carrying a shopping bag.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting, I was hung up at work.”
“No problem,” he said. “I just got here.”
I gave the host my name and he brought us to a booth in the back of the restaurant. When the waitress came by, Joe ordered a beer and I ordered an iced tea.
“No cranberry martini?”
“I have to go back to work. But I’m impressed that you remember.”
“I’m a bartender. It’s my job to remember.”
I wanted to follow-up on that with some career-related questions, but I had more pressing concerns. “What’s in the bag? Is it the mystery item you wanted to return to me, but only in person?”
“Yup,” he said, but didn’t make a move towards the black paper bag sitting next to him.
“Well? Aren’t you going to give it to me?”
“I thought I’d save it for
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