Jack with a Twist Read Online Free PDF Page B

with my computer on the left. For a lawyer’s office, it looks pretty darn elegant and refined.
    I could have sworn that I had also had a half-finished cup of coffee on my desk, but when I open the drawer where Esther’s thrown my things, I can’t find it. There’s just a huge pile of junk.
    “I’d better go get her,” I say as Esther shakes her head furiously, clutching her documents to her chest. I know that she is thinking the same thing that I am: I am so lucky to have a wedding dress designer who is so dedicated to creating the perfect wedding dress for me that she even visits me at work!
    I guess this is why her dresses are so expensive.
    “Well, this is a surprise!” I say with a smile as I approach the set of couches where Monique is sitting. SGR’s offices are very understated and I hoped that to Monique, they seem elegant and refined, and not boring.
    “Ah, bon jour, Brooke,” Monique says as she kisses me on both cheeks.
    We settle in to my office and I notice that Monique has in her hands an antique handkerchief with subtle embroidery. See, now this is the sort of accessory I should be adding to my wardrobe. Now that I am a newly engaged mature woman, I, too, should be running around midtown holding antique hankies like a socialite. Although I guess socialites don’t work in law offices in midtown. But, nevertheless, I must remember to check with my mother to see if my grandmother has any old handkerchiefs lying around from her childhood. Before she fled Poland, that is.
    “I suppose you are wondering why I am here,” Monique says, raising the handkerchief to her left eye and dabbing lightly.
    “Well, yes,” I say, “I know that you wanted to get to know me a bit better, but—”
    “It’s Jean Luc,” Monique says, cutting me off, her eyes welling up with tears. I wonder why the mention of her fabulous husband would make her cry. Those don’t exactly look like tears of joy…. I reach for a tissue, but then remember that Esther’s dumped the entire contents of my desk into a drawer, so I grab a deli napkin out of my purse instead. “Things are not working out,” Monique blurts out.
    And with this, she begins to cry. Delicately. Lightly. Like a lady, barely making a sound. I’m marveling at the fact that she can cry in such a feminine manner. When I cry, it sounds like a foghorn and my nose begins running like a sieve. It must be because she’s French.
    “Oh, Monique,” I say, as I open the drawer to look for some real tissues to offer the poor woman—clearly, deli napkins are not going to cut it here. As I open the drawer, I feel something extremely hot drip onto my legs.
    “I don’t really handle divorce,” I explain, “I’m more of a commercial litigator, but I can certainly help you find someone great who can help you.”
    “I’m sorry, Brooke,” Monique says as I locate the tissues and pass a few to her. “It’s not that I want a divorce…. It’s not the marriage. Yes, the marriage isn’t going too well, either, but I think that the problem is that we work together, live together, do everything together. That’s why I’m here. I’m looking to dissolve the business partnership I have with my husband.”
    “Monique, I’m so sorry,” I say, as the coffee continues to drip onto my leg. I subtly try to find the offending cup, but can’t figure out how to do so without appearing like I’m not listening to Monique.
    “You did say that you specialize in commercial litigation, yes?” she says.
    “Yes,” I say, taking a few tissues from the drawer and draping them over my legs, which are beginning to sting.
    “I thought that maybe by coming to you we could keep this out of the press?” she says, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “That’s why I thought it would be wise to come here.” I wonder why she hasn’t gone to Vanessa at Gilson, Hecht, seeing as she is friends with her mother, but I decide not to press my luck. Especially since the piping-hot