“I almost forgot!” shouts Arvin over the noise, and my breath holds. “Debbie, start cutting that cake! It’s not going to eat itself.”
I want to throw a fist into the middle of that fucking cake. I want to climb on the table and scream about what an absolute farce this is.
My legs tremble and my jaw aches with the effort it takes to hold it together. People offer me embarrassed smiles, wincing a little as they congratulate me on the case someone else has gotten all the credit for. I catch Terri’s eye and her expression mirrors my own. Shock, anger, disbelief. I push past the crowd, out the door, walking blindly down the hall.
Someone runs out behind me, and I want it to be Ben. I want him to tell me it’s a misunderstanding and that he really thought I was making partner, but I turn to find Terri instead, still looking as shellshocked as I am.
“Gemma,” she gasps, “this is bullshit.”
It is. I cannot believe I just won one of the biggest gender discrimination settlements in the country, and did nearly all the work, and I'm not going to get any fucking credit for it. Ben and FMG will get the credit. Ben—who just screwed over a female colleague—and FMG—which doesn't have even one female partner—are now positioned as champions of women in the workplace.
But the worst part is what Terri doesn’t know: that Ben was in on it. That I’d convinced myself he was everything, but in the end, he was every bit as cutthroat and Machiavellian as Kyle or my father. He made me believe I was being paranoid, thinking the worst of him. That I was damaged—and maybe I am damaged, but if so, then he just made it a thousand times worse. I don’t even care about making partner right now. I just want to make sure I never lay eyes on Ben again.
I turn to Terri, blinking away tears. “That's it,” I tell her softly. “I'm done. I'm out.”
“Gemma, don't do anything rash,” she says. “You were still part of something amazing. You'll be able to write your own ticket anywhere.”
I nod, numbly. I want to have a tantrum, but isn’t that exactly what they will expect of me? And then behind my back they will make jokes about how it must be “that time of the month” and how much it would suck to “be married to that.” No way am I giving them the satisfaction.
I’ll wait until I’m calm to resign, but I can’t stay here in the meantime. I need to be back home with the one person I know I can trust.
I go to my office and grab my laptop and purse. From the elevator I look toward the conference room, where a bunch of men in suits celebrate, alongside a bunch of women who won’t ever make partner.
Six fucking years. And my life hasn’t changed a bit.
46
The first time Ben Tate walked into FMG, my breath caught.
I’d been curious about him, before that first meeting—no one really understood why he’d come to us when he’d already made partner at a more successful firm—but that’s all it was: curiosity, easily satisfied.
And then I saw him—younger than I’d expected, and taller, and lovelier—and he was already looking at me when I entered the room as if I was exactly what he’d been waiting for.
When our eyes locked, his smile was sheepish. A moment later, I was the one sneaking a glance. He caught me; I blushed to my roots. I’d sworn off men like him, but in five minutes’ time, I was already trying to make an exception.
We all introduced ourselves to him after the initial meeting. When it was my turn, I started to tell him my name and he stopped me with an embarrassed smile. “I know who you are,” he said. “I saw you in court decimating a partner at my last firm.”
He said it as if impressed, and I blushed again. “A few of us are going to the bar across the street tomorrow night,” he told me. “If you’re free.” He held my eye. It felt like he was asking something more.
I was terrified—of how badly I wanted to go, of how much I wanted to see his uneven smile again, and as soon as possible. I opened my mouth to reply, but Fields was there, dragging him off. I’m still not sure what I was going to say.
When I found out, the very next morning, that he’d stolen Brewer Campbell from me, the first emotion I felt, even before rage, was relief. As if I’d been spared a much worse fate, as if being able to hate him would make my life easier.
If only I could have kept hating him, because I’m never, ever going to recover from Ben Tate. I think I knew I wouldn’t, even that first day we met.
47
I do not sleep a wink on the red-eye to DC. I want to cry, but I’m too stunned. Where do I go from here? The last six years of my life have been spent working toward one goal I didn’t achieve, and the only thing I actually loved about my job was the man who just made sure I didn’t achieve it.
My mother hovers over me from the moment I arrive home. I summed up what happened, but she’s struggling to believe Ben is a man like Kyle, like my father. Little surprise, that. Her picker has proven, historically, to be every bit as bad as mine.
“Here,” she says, sliding a glass of something bright green, flecked with brown. “It’s a kale and spirulina smoothie. Just try it. You’re probably low on Vitamin D, which causes depression.”
“Everyone is low on Vitamin D,” I argue, glancing at the kitchen counter. Since when does my mom shell out for spirulina? You can’t even walk into Whole Foods without spending more than she makes in a day. That’s when I notice the five-hundred-dollar blender sitting on her counter.
“You bought a Vitamix?” I ask. This is my mom, who thinks she’s okay with nothing but three chipped plates, after all.
She bites her lip. “I’ve always wanted one,” she begins. “And I’ve been meaning to discuss it with you, once you weren’t so busy. Your father called out of nowhere and said he wants to make things right. He sent me a very, very large check.”
“He did? And what did he demand in exchange?”
She smiles. “Nothing, hon. He said you spoke to him and he realized he’d been wrong.”
I push a hand through my hair. “Mom, he doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart. Did he make you sign something? Was there any kind of verbal agreement?”
Her laugh is quiet and unhappy, as if it’s sad that I’m so suspicious when what’s actually sad is that she isn’t, after everything he’s done. “No, Gemma. Nothing. Isn’t it possible that he wanted to do the right thing? Or maybe just wanted to earn your respect?”
“It would take a lot more than that,” I reply, and my voice cracks. He didn’t even tell me he was doing it and he didn’t try to force my hand at all. Maybe he finally heard me when I exploded at him on Christmas, or maybe this is just a ploy to get me to come to his firm. “Why are you still working two jobs, then?”
She shrugs. “I like my jobs, and Ed says—”
“Who the hell is Ed?” I’m instantly suspicious. My mother is fragile, and she’s got very little experience with men. A child could take advantage of her.
“Language, Gemma,” she scolds. “He owns the bar. You know that. He—” She blushes. “I told him about Ben coming here to shovel and he was so upset. He’s been coming over ever since to take care of things and I guess we’ve sort of begun—”