Game Changer Read online

  Yes, but Jenna could afford to be brave—she had a safety net. When she’d told her parents she wanted to quit her corporate job to start her own wedding planning business, her father had offered to bankroll her until her company turned a profit, which luckily for him only took six months. That was three years ago. Jenna now had five people working for her and was considering expanding into corporate party planning too.

  I, on the other hand, had a mortgage, a car payment, six-figure student loan debt, and an unemployed-actress sister, who would no doubt be rich and famous someday but at the moment was not. When it came to money, I was risk-averse. Actually, when it came to all things, I was risk-averse. But I had good reason.

  “I will,” I replied, “when the time is right. But now is not that time.”

  “There’s never a right time, Sam. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.”

  For some reason that conversation popped into my head as I rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor. The office was already humming when I arrived, which was unusual. Normally I was the first lawyer at my desk in the morning, and often the last one to leave at night. But Whitney’s surprise engagement had wreaked havoc with my routine—a routine I hoped to return to after the hell that was helping my sister plan her wedding while simultaneously trying to prevent it, or at least postpone it, ended this weekend.

  I’d finally accepted that the wedding was taking place on Saturday whether I approved or not, but I was still holding out hope for the pre-nup. My sister had no money yet. But she was brimming with talent, and gorgeous too. I was confident her career would take off eventually. And when it did, and when this ridiculous marriage imploded, I wanted to make sure she was protected. If our mother had taken that precaution, or any precaution, all of our lives would’ve turned out much differently. I’d vowed never to repeat our mother’s mistakes, and I was not about to allow my sister to either, whether she joined me in that vow or not.

  After I’d spent ten hours on nonstop phone calls and emails while simultaneously trying to draft a settlement agreement, my assistant, Megan, hovered in my doorway as I attempted to organize the mountain of paper on my desk.

  “The Shumer custody order is ready to go,” I said, sorting files into must-be-handled-Monday-morning, can-wait-until-later-in-the-week, and someday-when-I-have-time-I’ll-look-at-this piles. Unfortunately the Monday-morning stack was the highest.

  I really didn’t have time to take a day off, let alone an entire long weekend, but I’d promised Whitney I’d accompany her to her last bridal gown fitting Friday morning. Plus, I still had to find shoes for the rehearsal dinner, dye my prematurely gray roots back to their natural dark brown, have my eyebrows waxed, my nails painted, and be home by three to let the caterers in. Jenna had offered to help with that last one, but I’d turned her down. She’d already handled almost everything else for the rehearsal dinner; I thought the least I should do was actually meet the caterers when they showed up at my doorstep. I also wanted to be sure they set up the tables on the patio and not on the lawn where Jenna preferred.

  I’d given in to Jenna when she’d insisted that we string lights through all the trees in the backyard (for an extra eight hundred dollars) and add a dancing waters fountain for “atmosphere” (for an extra twelve hundred dollars!), but I was not having my newly seeded lawn destroyed by half a dozen bistro tables, a hundred spindly chair legs, and who knew how many spiky-heeled shoes. The view from the patio would be just fine.

  “All you need to do is call the messenger service in the morning,” I continued.

  “I know,” Megan said.

  “And don’t use Barrow Brothers,” I added, stuffing one more depo transcript into my briefcase. “They’re not reliable.” I’d had to call in a favor at the courthouse last week when they’d tried to file a document ten minutes after the clerk’s office had closed. “Use A-One or—”

  “Legal Eagle,” she said before I could.

  I looked up and smiled. “Sorry. I know you know all this.” We’d been working together for nine months—a record for me.

  She read from her pad: “After I call the messenger service first thing, I’m going to file the paperwork for the continuance in the Jacobs case, push back the Rogan mediation from the eighteenth to the twentieth, call Allison Winter’s forensic accountant for an update, and reschedule your lunch with Judge Harris for sometime next month. Then I’ll get to work on the new filing system.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “I know.” She smiled at me, then pulled out her clipboard. “It looks like you returned all of your calls but one—Caroline Seevers.”

  I racked my brain but couldn’t make the connection. “I give up. Who is she?”

  “New client. Or rep for a potential new client.”

  Not someone I wanted to put off. “Call tomorrow first thing—after the messenger service but before everything else. Apologize on my behalf and tell her I would’ve called myself but I had a family emergency and—”

  “Family emergency?”

  “No one going through a divorce wants to hear about someone else’s wedding.”

  “Right.” She nodded.

  “Tell her I asked you to call for me,” I continued. “But I’ll be back in the office next week and would be happy to meet with her and her client then.”

  “The client’s leaving town on Tuesday, so I’ll schedule it for Monday,” Megan said without me having to tell her.

  I thanked my lucky stars for sending me Megan. Great assistants were hard to find.

  Chapter 4

  Jake

  “Where are we on the divorce lawyer?” Jake called out to Caroline as he reached for his suit jacket, which had spent the day draped over the arm of his couch.

  “Monday morning, breakfast meeting, eight a.m. at the Hotel Bel Air,” she read off her computer screen as he hovered next to her cubicle.

  Jake raised an eyebrow. He’d feted many clients at the Hotel Bel Air. It was one of the nicest breakfast spots in LA. Also one of the priciest. “High end.”

  “Only the best for you, Mr. Jensen,” Caroline said in an exaggerated southern drawl.

  Jake laughed as he slipped on his suit jacket. “And we’re set for tonight?”

  “Of course,” Caroline said as if she were offended that he could possibly think otherwise. “The VIP Room at Lux is reserved, and since you didn’t specify, I took the liberty of choosing the stripper. I thought a redhead might be nice for a change of pace.”

  “Now, now, Caroline, you know the correct term is exotic dancer.”

  She gave him a noncommittal shrug. Jake knew booking strippers was the part of the job Caroline liked least. But it was part of the job, and he’d been up front with her about that on her interview. At least he’d never asked her to watch, which couldn’t be said for some of his colleagues, despite the sensitivity training sessions they all had to endure once a year.

  “I’m off then. Have a nice weekend.”

  “Jake, wait,” she called out when he was only two feet away.

  He turned around. “Did I forget something?”

  “No, it’s just…”

  He was surprised to see a look of concern cross her face. “Just what?”

  She stood up so she was at his eye level. “Be careful this weekend.”

  Jake let out a laugh. “Careful? Caroline, I’m going to a wedding, not skydiving. What do you think’s going to happen to me?”

  But she wasn’t laughing. “I’m not sure. I just have this feeling … like something’s going to happen to you.”

  “Something like what?”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t get a clear picture.”

  Jake gave her his lady-killer smile. “Is this your clairvoyance acting up again? You really should have that looked at.” She’d confided in him during a late night at the office that both her mother and grandmother had “second sight” and she thought she had it too. “But not as strong a
s theirs,” she’d admitted over leftover party beers and takeout Chinese food. “My father’s a nonbeliever and his blood’s diluted my gift.” It was the only time Jake had ever questioned his decision to hire her.

  Her worried expression finally dissipated, replaced by a smirk. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Warn me? About what? Am I going to have an accident? Make a bad bet? Should I avoid black cats and open ladders?”

  “Well, you should always do that,” she said, and this time they both laughed. But then she turned serious again. “I don’t know that it’s something bad. It could be something good. Sometimes it looks bad at first but turns out to be good.”

  Jake glanced at his watch. He didn’t have time for her psychic babbling. He was meeting a client for dinner and was already running late. “Gotcha,” he said as he hurried down the hall. “Be on the lookout for something—could be good, could be bad. Have a nice weekend,” he called back to her as he leapt onto the elevator a moment before the doors closed.

  Chapter 5

  Samantha

  “How’re you holding up?” Jenna asked, joining me in the kitchen.

  I’d spent the last two and a half hours making small talk with Michael’s parents, aunts, uncles, distant cousins, and assorted out-of-town friends. I’d reached my limit of, “yes, they really are an adorable couple,” and “of course I’m thrilled,” halfway through the mushroom risotto. I’d spent the grilled salmon and filet mignon course nodding, smiling, and agreeing with whatever the other person said. When the waiters had started pouring coffee, I’d taken the opportunity to retreat into the kitchen with the excuse that I needed to check on dessert.

  “I think it went okay,” I replied. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes, everyone seems to be having a good time. But that’s not what I asked.”

  Jenna knew I hated all this forced socializing. When I had a night off, I preferred to spend it home alone or with close friends. But this was Whitney’s weekend (as both of them constantly reminded me), so I did what was expected of me—including pretending that I was as thrilled about this marriage as everyone else seemed to be.

  When Whitney and Michael had first announced their engagement, Michael’s parents had been hesitant too. Their son had just graduated from medical school; he was going to be a prominent surgeon someday, just like his father and his grandfather before him. No doubt they thought my free-spirited (aka poor) sister was a gold digger. But her vivaciousness won them over. And my suggestion of a pre-nup allayed any lingering fears they may have had about her motives. Me and my big mouth. If I’d just kept my pie hole shut, they wouldn’t have been so quick to embrace Whitney and offer up their beach house for the wedding. I’d played this one all wrong.

  “I’ve accepted the inevitable,” I said.

  Jenna grabbed two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to me. “Here’s to acceptance,” she said and clinked her glass against mine. Then she put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t think of it as losing a sister. Think of it as gaining access to a fabulous beach house only an hour’s drive from LA.” I could’ve toasted to that, but she continued. “Albeit one that will forever be filled with well-meaning yet interfering family.”

  “Thanks, that makes me feel much better.” I took another gulp of champagne.

  “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Think of all the holiday dinners. It won’t just be you and Whitney binging on junk food and DVDs anymore.”

  “We don’t always eat junk food. Sometimes I cook.” Or Whitney did.

  She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Now that you have family again, you’ll never get to spend another holiday lounging around the house in your ratty T-shirt and sweats.”

  “Whitney has a new family, not me.”

  She shook her head. “Samantha, Samantha, Samantha. You know that’s not how it works.” She nodded toward the crowd on the patio, visible from the kitchen window. “You think that bunch is going to let you hole up in your house alone on Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter Sunday? You think Whitney would?”

  “Yes,” I said, knowing it was a lie. “And the Solomons are Jewish. They don’t even celebrate Christmas and Easter.”

  “Half Jewish and they celebrate them all.”

  Whitney had explained Michael’s religious background—Catholic mother, Jewish father, was raised in both faiths and flirted with Buddhism before becoming agnostic—when she’d hired Jenna to help her plan the all-denominational wedding.

  “Face it, Sam,” she continued, “you will now spend every holiday like the rest of us—socializing with people you don’t like, who will ask you highly personal questions about your love life, then offer to fix you up with some guy they met in line at the grocery store. And that’s if you’re lucky. Sometimes they want to set you up with friends of friends they’ve never even seen.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I said even though I knew that was a lie too. It was one of the reasons I always politely refused Jenna’s mother’s holiday invitations. Work was a great excuse—and often a truthful one. And when it wasn’t, I had Whitney. Jenna’s mother always invited her too, but then I’d point out that she had three unmarried daughters of her own to worry about, she didn’t need two more.

  Besides, Whitney and I had our own rituals, which mainly involved eating lots of junk food and bingeing on movies. We’d both enjoyed it, or so I’d thought. One of the many things Whitney said she loved about Michael was his “close” (aka interfering) family, so maybe not.

  “It’s different for you,” I said. “You’re a blood relative. I’m just the sibling of an in-law. No one is going to—”

  “There you are.” Michael’s great-aunt Sylvia grabbed my free hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Why? Are we out of food?” I glanced out the kitchen window but still saw plenty of pastries on the dessert table.

  “There’s someone I want you to meet,” she said, patting my trapped hand with her free one. “Her son recently divorced,” she whispered as if he’d contracted an incurable disease, “and he’s having trouble meeting people. I told her not to worry because I knew a very prominent lady lawyer who happens to be single.”

  I had to laugh. I’d just met her two hours ago, and we hadn’t exchanged more than ten words. She must’ve gotten the lowdown on me from one of Michael’s other relatives. “That’s sweet of you to think of me, Sylvia, but I’m really not looking right now.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, releasing my hand so she could more easily link her arm through mine. “You’ll be forty before you know it.”

  “I’m only thirty-two!” I knew I should have bought that eye cream!

  She gave me a sympathetic nod. “I know, dear, but ten years can go by in the blink of an eye, and then all that’s left are the dregs. Trust me, it happened to my sister, Frances, God rest her soul. Her husband, Mort, was no prize, and he still remarried six months after she passed. Even gave his new wife all her jewelry, if you can believe it.” She sighed then pointed her wrinkled finger at me. “So if you want a good one, you need to get on the stick.”

  I glanced back at Jenna, who mouthed, “Told you so,” as Great-Aunt Sylvia led me away.

  “Oh my God,” Jenna said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You should’ve seen your sister’s face!”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t record it for me,” Whitney said as she pawed through every item hanging in my closet.

  I pretended to ignore them as I stepped out of my stained cocktail dress and into sweatpants.

  Whitney sighed and turned to me. “Do you own even one non-boring piece of clothing?”

  “No,” I said and pulled a clean T-shirt over my head. “And it doesn’t matter because I’m not going.”

  “It’s my bachelorette party,” Whitney cried. “You have to go.”

  “No, it’s not. You said you didn’t want a bachelorette party.” I’d offered to throw one for her,
and she’d refused. That’s how I’d ended up hosting the rehearsal dinner. Whether I approved or not (and for the record, I still didn’t—marriage was unnecessary at best, harmful at worst, and my sister was way too young to be tying the knot. Plus, no one should get married without a pre-nup), she was my sister and I needed to participate in her wedding.

  “I only told you that because I knew you’d plan a boring one at a spa or something.”

  I had suggested a spa day. I thought she’d want to be relaxed and well rested for her wedding, not hungover after a night of partying. “What’s wrong with a spa?”

  “The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong with a spa is why I didn’t let you plan my bachelorette party.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Whitney and she reciprocated.

  Jenna shook her head. “You two.”

  “What?” Whitney and I said simultaneously.

  Jenna pointed her finger at Whitney first. “You should’ve let your sister plan your bachelorette party. You know I would’ve kept her from ruining it. And you,” Jenna said, turning her accusing finger on me, “need to get ready. The limo will be here in half an hour.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You know you’re going, so stop pretending.”

  “I’m not pretending,” I said. “I’m tired. I just hosted a dinner for forty-five people.”

  Jenna threw her arms up. “It’s not like you cooked it!”

  “Or even cleaned up,” Whitney added.

  “So? I still had to talk to Michael’s family for hours. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.” Whitney had already vetoed everything in my closet, and the dress I’d worn to the rehearsal dinner was sporting a giant gravy stain after an unfortunate collision with Michael’s nephew’s dinner plate.

  “You can borrow something of mine,” Jenna said. “I’ll have the driver swing by my place on the way to the club.”

  “And shoes?” Jenna and I were close enough in body type that we could sometimes swap clothes, but her feet were a size larger than mine.