Page 115 of Bound To Be Mine

With new phone in hand, it was off to my appointment with a new couple that was very nice. Very easygoing. They said they wanted small and elegant and unlike other couples that thought small meant two-hundred guests, they were keeping their guest list to under fifty.

I drove to the venue, trying to focus on work. But my mind kept wandering back to Briggs. To New York. To the impossible logistics of making this work. I couldn’t wait to talk to him about it. It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have via email or text. When he made the trip out to LA, I would talk to him then.

The venue walkthrough was for their wedding scheduled for next spring. The couple was sweet and enthusiastic, pointing out all the details they loved about the space. I made notes and suggestions, falling into the familiar rhythm of my job.

But underneath it all, I was thinking about him. And what it would mean to go to bed with him every night and wake up with him every morning. Lazy Sundays. Dinners with his mom. Getting to hold sweet baby Bucky.

“Mandy?” the bride said. I realized I’d completely zoned out.

“Sorry, yes. You were saying?”

She gave me a concerned look. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about all the possibilities for your big day.”

The walkthrough took another hour, and by the time I got back to my car, I was exhausted. Not physically tired. Emotionally drained.

I had to make a change before my longing for my husband negatively impacted my work.

35

BRIGGS

Isat at the conference table with four of our junior associates. It was easier to work in the conference room where we could spread out. They each had a stack of files that used to live exclusively on my desk. I’d been at this for three hours now, walking them through cases, explaining my process, making sure they understood not just what needed to be done but why it needed to be done that way.

“So the Sullivan contract,” I said, sliding the file across to Jennifer, one of our sharpest associates. “The renewal terms need to be negotiated by the end of next month. I’ve made notes in the margins about their pain points from last year. Start there.”

She nodded, flipping through the pages. “Got it. What’s our ceiling on concessions?”

“No more than five percent on the licensing fees. They’ll push for ten but hold firm. If they threaten to walk, call me. Don’t cave.”

“Understood.”

I moved on to the next file, then the next. Contract reviews. Trademark disputes. A licensing agreement that needed drafting. Standard stuff, nothing that required my specific expertise, but things I’d been holding on to anyway because that’s what I did. I held on to everything. I was Type A to the extreme. I had convinced myself I was the only one that could handle any of this stuff.

I realized now that had been arrogant of me. I wasn’t God’s gift to law. There were hundreds of us that could do this job. I wasn’t that special. And seeing all the work was a huge wakeup.

It was exhausting just cataloguing it all.

By the time I dismissed them, my head was pounding. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, trying to process how much work I’d been shouldering. No wonder I had no life. This explained why every day had bled into the next in an endless cycle of contracts and depositions and negotiations.

I’d built a prison for myself and called it responsibility.

My phone buzzed. A text from Mandy.

Mandy: New phone, who dis?

I smiled despite my headache. She had gotten the phone a couple days ago, but we still had yet to catch up. I decided I would have to wait to hear her voice until I was standing directly in front of her.

Me: Your sexy husband. How’s the new phone treating you?

Mandy: Better than the old one. No frosting residue. I’m calling that a win.

Me: Easy to please.

Mandy: Miss you.

Me: Miss you too. Working on something. I’ll call you tonight.