The following Monday, Michael occupied himself following up on business that he hadn’t had time to do, having spent four days in court the previous week. There were no court appearances slated for the week and he was just as glad to spend his days in the office returning phone calls and meeting with clients. There were some initial depositions scheduled for upcoming cases but anymore, Michael left that kind of thing to associates like Ellen and John. His real passion was litigation; he left the legwork to a few trusted others. There were perks to being a founding partner.
He was at his desk attending to some pressing e-mail correspondence but his thoughts drifted. He’d seen Maggie briefly at the morning meeting. After she’d set up coffee, she sat and took notes as everyone discussed the upcoming week. She’d greeted him as usual, contributed during the meeting, laughed and joked with the others. As soon as the meeting was over, she’d scooted off to take care of her responsibilities. He knew she had briefs to go over and documents to copy and file, in addition to taking care of the library and lunch. Just like any other normal day.
Yet there was something nagging at him, a leftover qualm from Friday night. When he and Kimberley had left Doc Watson’s, he’d gone out of his way to once again tell Maggie that she’d done a great job. He’d wanted to make sure she knew he valued her thorough work. She’d smiled and thanked him, wished him a good weekend even. But he hadn’t missed the hurt glint in her eyes. He was reasonably sure he knew the cause. Reading people was what he did.
As far as he was concerned, he’d enjoyed spending time with her at the music fundraiser. Maggie was a great girl. But he’d felt a little relieved when she’d met Kimberley.
Wouldn’t want Maggie to get the wrong idea, he thought. Because there’s no way she could have gotten the wrong idea when your tongue was halfway down her throat.
He wasn’t sure where the hell that thought had come from. He frowned. Lately, there were times he was unsure of the difference between the wrong idea and the right idea when it came to Maggie.
He just knew he couldn’t fuck up a good thing, and Maggie on the 50th floor was a good thing. She was sharp, took her job seriously no matter the task. And he liked her as a person, too, and God knows there were precious few he could say that about. Maggie was interesting to talk to, fun to be around.
He thought about the way she’d seemed to be going along as usual today. Maybe he’d mistaken her mood on Friday night. Stranger things had been known to happen. She certainly wasn’t behaving differently, there’d been no awkward conversations about his intentions. Michael shook his head. All this introspection was giving him a headache. I’m over-thinking it, he decided.
There was a light knock on his office door and Maggie walked in carrying his lunch from Atlantic Grill, her choice for the day. “Hey there, the lunch lady’s here,” she joked. “You had the vegan special, right?”
Michael laughed and set his glasses on the desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that’s me, bring on the tofu,” he teased.
Maggie laughed, too. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Yours is the sole.” She placed the container beside him on the desk and gave him a napkin and set of utensils. Rather than leaving, however, she stood uncertainly for a moment, hands clasped in front of her, a shopping bag dangling from her elbow.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked.
And here we go, he thought. Nothing good ever followed those words. He felt his jaw tighten as images from the past couple of weeks ashed through his mind. Undaunted however, Michael pasted on his best charming smile and said, “Sure. Have a seat. What’s up?”
“I thought about it all weekend,” she said, her expression earnest.
His heart sank. She wants to talk about the kiss. I am some kind of stupid... “Here’s the thing,” she continued, “I know I gave you all the files on the Larson case, I absolutely know I did. I mean, how could I have them but you didn’t?”
She stood and began pacing in front of his desk, gesturing with both hands. “I made all the copies at the same time. I put one in Ellen’s box and one in John’s, and I put yours in your box on Karen’s desk. So what happened? How did you not get it?” She stopped and faced him, wide-eyed.
Michael couldn’t have stopped the relieved look on his face for anything. He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know, Mags. I mean, it’s not that big of a deal, really. It all worked out.”
“I don’t like it, Michael. I don’t like feeling like I fucked up. So I have a possible solution if it’s alright with you.”
He nodded. “Okay, shoot.”
“I want to put your copies directly on your desk. And I know what you’re thinking,” she held up a finger, “you don’t want the clutter, so...” She reached into the shopping bag she’d set on the floor and pulled out a large bronze box embossed Hermes and tied with brown ribbon, and she handed it to Michael.
He removed the top to reveal a large black leather letter tray. The aroma of rich cowhide surrounded him as he took it from the box and gently slid his fingers across the slate grey suede lining. His initials, SMR, were embossed in silver on the front of the tray.
She was watching him closely. “If you don’t like it, or you don’t like the idea period, I can take it back.”
“It’s monogrammed, Mags. I don’t think you can return it now.” He smiled playfully.
“Oh, I can and I will if you don’t like it,” she said confidently. “I would just feel so much better knowing that documents get directly to you.”
Michael placed the tray on the front left corner of his desk. “I love it,” he said grinning. “And once again, you’ve come up with a great idea for improving the way we do things around here. I especially like the idea that you will feel better about the whole situation, which, once again, all worked out anyway.” He gave his most genuine smile. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. This must have been expensive.”
“Don’t worry. You paid for it,” she said, winking as she closed the door behind her.