Contract said no feelings. His lips broke the rules. novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Counselor, Lie
A tabloid photo of Weston's hand under another woman's dress puts his deal at risk, and in front of the visiting chairwoman Delaney says she is his girlfriend; Weston answers: Then draft it.
The black helicopter touched down on our forty-seventh-floor terrace, and half the legal department pressed against the glass to watch.
I stayed outside with my folder, holding my hair down with one hand.
Weston Stratton climbed out in a dark suit and sunglasses, already talking over the blades.
"Counselor! You look like the wind is winning."
"I look like a lawyer, Weston. The delegation is here at eleven."
"Later, later."
He walked past me into the corner office and dropped his jacket on the sofa.
Before the helicopter landed, I had found his assistant's desk empty. She had texted me that she had a fever and would die at home.
Leland Stratton had been standing there with two paper cups, smiling at me.
"She's out, so I'm the delivery service," he said. "Oat milk, one sugar. I do pay attention."
Leland was Weston's uncle and the vice chairman. He was the one person on the floor who ever brought anyone coffee.
"Thank you, Leland. You didn't have to."
"I wanted to. I put your name forward for general counsel, Delaney. The board votes soon."
My mouth opened and nothing came out.
"You've earned it. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He tapped the lid of my cup and walked off whistling.
I had been counsel in this building for four years, and nobody had ever said that to me out loud.
Now I stood in Weston's office with Leland's coffee in my hand and Weston's phone in my face.
"Look at this," Weston said. "The Post ran it at six this morning."
It was a photograph from a charity night. His hand was under the hem of a blonde woman's cream dress, and her laugh was wide open.
"Wow," I said. "You're not shy with those hands, big guy."
He took the phone back in one fast move. "Tell me it's not that bad."
"It's on page six in English. The chairwoman reads English."
"She's flying in from Shanghai to sign. She won't care about a photo."
"Two point four billion dollars says she'll care."
He sat on the edge of his desk and put his elbows on his knees. For a second he looked tired.
Then he looked at my coffee.
"Counselor. Grab me one of those? Hannah's out sick."
"I'm not your secretary, Weston. I already have one coffee, and it's mine."
"Sure." He reached out, took the cup out of my hand and drank half of it. "Oat milk. Ugh. Keep going with the briefing."
I took five minutes to walk him through the delegation, the terms and the three places where her lawyers would push.
He nodded at every point. He didn't write anything down.
At eleven the chairwoman came into the conference room with her interpreter and four people in dark suits.
She was sixty-seven and no taller than my shoulder. She sat across from Weston without taking off her coat.
The interpreter set a folded newspaper page on the table. It was the photograph.
"Madam would like to say something before the numbers," the interpreter said.
The chairwoman spoke for a while in a quiet, level voice.
"Madam says her family has done business for sixty years," the interpreter said. "She has never put her name next to a man who cannot keep his hands to himself. She asks whether Mr. Stratton is a man who stays."
Weston smiled at her. It was the smile from the magazine covers.
"Madam, a photograph is one second of a night. I'm a man of very steady habits."
The interpreter translated.
The chairwoman looked at the photograph, then at Weston, then at the door.
One of her people was already gathering the folders.
I knew that smile. I had watched it close a hundred deals, and it was not closing this one.
Two point four billion dollars was about to walk out of that room because he had a loose hand and I had a gap in my briefing.
So I stood up.
"Mr. Stratton isn't single," I said. "He has been seeing someone for months."
The interpreter stopped with his mouth open.
"Say it to her," I said. "He's with me."
The room did not move. Weston turned his head and looked at me, and I could not read him at all.
The interpreter translated.
The chairwoman studied me for a long moment. Then she asked one question.
"She says, how long?" the interpreter said.
"Long enough that I read his contracts for him," I said.
The chairwoman said something short. Her people sat down again.
"Dinner tonight," the interpreter said. "Both of you. Madam will decide then."
She left in a line of dark suits. The door closed behind them.
Weston stood very still, and then he locked the door with a click.
He put both hands in his pockets and looked at me for the first time all morning, and he did not smile.
"You just lied to a billion-dollar partner."
"I know."
"In front of her whole delegation."
"I know. Fire me."
"No." His eyes didn't leave my face. "Draft it."
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