Jack with a Twist Read Online Free PDF Page A

seldom worked together—it was usually just Jack and me. Jack was the senior associate on all of our cases, with me as the junior associate for five years running, but nothing ever happened between us during that time. Okay, okay, a few things happened during that time—a massive flirtation and a handful of unbelievable, monumental kisses (the kind they write love songs about)—but in an effort to keep our jobs, we didn’t really pursue things.
    The story of how we finally got together is really terribly romantic—after being the best of friends for years, he came with me as a fake date to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding and we fell completely, madly, desperately in love right that very evening! Well, actually, it wasn’t quite that simple, since that evening ended with us getting into a huge fight and not speaking for three weeks afterwards, but after those three weeks, we fell completely, madly, desperately in love. But it just sounds more romantic to make it seem like it all happened that same night.
    (Note to self: must read and approve all wedding speeches and make sure there is no mention of any fighting and only a focus on falling completely, madly, desperately in love….)
    What? Any good bride worth her taffeta maintains creative control of the wedding speeches.

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    B ack when I was single, I would do crazy things like bring fake dates to my ex’s weddings and obsess endlessly about shopping and how much I hated work. But, in my new incarnation as a mature engaged woman, I find myself acting like a mentor to some of the younger women in my new law firm, Smith, Goldberg and Reede. I offer them sage advice about love, relationships and making the time for a career while having a life. We talk about the serious issues facing young women in the world today and we, like, totally love our jobs.
    “Ohmigod, I cannot believe you are having Monique deVouvray design your wedding dress for you,” Esther Rhee, my favorite second-year associate says to me. “ The Monique deVouvray!”
    “I know, right?” I say, leaning back in my office chair. The offices at SGR are all equipped with enormous, ergonomically correct chairs that have the ability to lean back almost a foot. Which, ironically, is probably not so good for your back.
    “Did you get to meet her husband?” Esther asks. “They’re in the gossip pages all the time together and he is almost as gorgeous as she is.”
    “I didn’t get to meet him,” I say.
    “Actually,” Esther reconsiders, “he’s more gorgeous than she is. Did you see them at the premiere for the new Robert DeNiro film? He was so dreamy.”
    “Jean Luc does sort of have that Clive Owen thing going on, doesn’t he?” I say.
    “No,” she corrects, “Clive Owen sort of has that Jean Luc Renault thing going on.”
    “True,” I say, doing a quick Google search on Monique and her husband, resulting in approximately one million hits. I find the picture of them at the DeNiro premiere and turn my computer screen around to show Esther.
    “They are so fabulous. You can only eat salad with balsamic vinegar, grilled chicken and grilled salmon until the wedding,” Esther says, leaning onto my desk.
    “I know,” I say gravely, turning my computer screen back to center and then flipping my chair back to a seated position.
    “Because you wouldn’t want to offend Monique—can I call her Monique?—by getting fat and then not fitting into the dress she made especially for you,” she says. Has Esther been talking to my mother? If she calls my arms fleshy, I’m kicking her out of my office right now. “Maybe if everything goes well with Monique—I can call her that, now, right?—designing your dress for you, maybe there’s a chance that she’ll design mine for me!”
    “You’re not even engaged yet, Esther.”
    “I know, but I like to plan ahead,” she says. “ And I had a very promising blind date last week.”
    “Has he called yet?” I ask, eyes widening. I love a good blind