I’m not at Carter Spink. I’m in a housekeeper’s uniform and I have refreshments to serve.
I move round the table and pour out coffee for Martin, who is reading through the contract with not one sign of alarm. Hasn’t he seen the clause?
“Chocolate biscuit?” I offer him the plate. “Or a muffin?”
“Ah!” His fleshy face lights up. “Now … let me see … they all look so good.…” His hand hovers over the plate.
I don’t believe this. He’s paying more attention to the muffins than he is to the contract. What kind of lawyer is this guy?
“So. Enough talk. The adventure begins.” Mr. Chiseled is unscrewing the lid of a smart pen. “Ready?” He hands it to Eddie.
He’s about to sign? Now?
“Everything OK by you?” says Eddie to Martin, whose mouth is now stuffed full of muffin.
“Take your time,” Mr. Chiseled adds with a perfect-toothed smile. “If you’d like to read it through again …”
I feel a surge of sudden fury at these guys, with their flash cars and sharp suits and smooth voices. They are not going to rip off my boss. I’m not going to let it happen.
“Mr. Geiger,” I say urgently. “Could I see you for a minute please? In private?”
Eddie looks up in annoyance.
“Samantha,” he says with heavy humor. “I’m in the middle of rather important business here. Important to me, at any rate!” He glances round the table, and the three men laugh sycophantically.
“It’s very urgent,” I say. “It won’t take long.”
“Samantha—”
“Please, Mr. Geiger. I need to speak to you.”
At last Eddie exhales in exasperation and puts down the pen.
“All right.” He gets up and ushers me out of the room. “What is it?” he demands.
I stare back at him dumbly. Now I’ve got him out here I have no idea how to bring up the subject. What can I say?
Mr. Geiger, I would recommend reviewing clause 14.
Mr. Geiger, your liabilities are not sufficiently protected.
It’s impossible. Who takes legal advice from their housekeeper?
His hand is on the doorknob. This is my last chance.
“Do you take sugar?” I blurt out.
“What?”
“I couldn’t remember,” I mumble. “And I didn’t want to draw attention to your sugar consumption in public.”
“Yes, I take one lump,” says Eddie testily. “Is that all?”
“Well … yes, there was something else. It looks like you’re signing some papers in there.”
“The contracts!” shouts Mr. Chiseled in annoyance. “You stupid woman!”
“I’m really sorry,” I say in my most flustered voice. “I’m really, really sorry. The coffeepot just … slipped.” I start mopping the coffee with a tissue, making sure to spread it over all the remaining paperwork.
“Do we have any copies?” asks the red-haired man, and I look up, alert.
“They were all on the bloody table,” says Mr. Chiseled in exasperation. “We’ll have to get them printed out again.” He looks at Eddie. “Can you make tomorrow?”
“Actually …” Eddie clears his throat. “Not tomorrow. I think I want a little more time. Just want to make sure it’s all shipshape. Might even get another opinion, to be on the safe side. No offense, Martin!”