menstrual needs, and I saunter to the bathroom to reapply
my favorite red lipstick and make kissy faces at myself
in the mirror. When I emerge, I head straight for the
nearly empty bar.
“One white wine spritzer, please. And a double of
High West Bourye on the rocks.”
The bartender looks gray and tired despite the fact
that he’s only about forty. If I had to guess, I’d say he
has a little pill problem and he’d rather be anywhere but
here on a Thursday afternoon. He doesn’t even raise an
eyebrow at my twenty-five-dollar order of whiskey; he
just pours it out and slides it over, along with my spritzer.
“Put a couple of cherries in the spritzer,” I suggest, which finally prompts a reaction, a disgusted wince as he drops
two cherries into my glass. He throws in an orange slice
too, so I add an extra dollar to the tip. My drink is practically health food now.
“Cheers!” I exclaim as I slide into the booth Rob has
chosen at the front window.
6
Problem Child
“Whoa.” His mouth crooks down a little when he
sees the drinks in my hands, but I slide his toward him
and pretend not to notice.
“The High West,” I drawl, and the downturn of his
mouth turns up.
“Wow, that’s quite a treat!”
“I remembered that you like it.”
Rob has never looked at me as a sexual conquest be-
fore. I’m assertive and nearly plain, and as far as I can tell, he likes his girls superhot and pliable. But my admission
that I’ve paid attention to his wants and needs softens his face a little. His eyelids dip in a lazy blink. “Thank you
very much, Jane. I didn’t expect this.”
I clink my ostentatiously girly drink against his glass
and we each take a sip. I hum with pleasure as the bubbles
touch my tongue. Wine spritzers are fucking delicious,
and I have no idea why they ever fell out of fashion. I
fish a cherry out of the glass and beam. “Let’s order. I’m
starving!”
We place our orders with a cheerful young man with
an Ethiopian accent, and when the bread arrives, I’m ec-
static. “Another round!” I insist, gesturing at our drinks.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Rob protests, but when his
twenty-five-dollar drink arrives, he can’t just let it sit
there, can he? Eyes slightly wide, he gamely finishes the
last sip from his first tumbler and slides it toward the edge of the table.
“This is really nice,” I say.
He cocks his head as if he’s trying to puzzle something
out. “Yeah, it is nice, isn’t it?” Do I want to get in his pants? Have I wanted that all along and that’s why I’ve
been so prickly and difficult? I can see him reasoning it
7
Victoria Helen Stone
out and relaxing into the explanation. It’s really the only thing that makes sense, after all. He’s Rob. Everyone loves Rob, and a plain Jane like me must be more susceptible
to his charms than most would be.
Cheeks flushed, he lounges back into the high cush-
ions of the leather booth, a knowing smile on his face as
the waiter delivers our meals. Rob has ordered a sensible
lunch of baked sole and steamed veggies. I ordered the
dinner portion of lobster ravioli, and it’s even bigger than I remember.
“Oh God,” I sigh as I take my first bite. “That’s so
good.” I groan as the taste sinks in.
Rob chuckles. “Looks like it’s very exciting.”
“Oh, it is. Have you ever had this?”
He shakes his head, and I lean into the table in ex-
citement. “You have to taste it. It’s better than sex.” I
cut a ravioli in half—no way am I losing a whole ravioli
to Rob—and spear it. As I hold it toward his mouth,
I imitate what I’ve seen other people do, parting my
lips and darting out my tongue as if I’m reaching for a
bite too.
He doesn’t really care about sex with me. I’m not his
type. But he understands this interaction. I can see his
confidence grow as he chews, his eyes warming with the
knowledge that he can finally get me in line. He grins
and nods. He is in his element and he’s no longer think-
ing that he really shouldn’t have this much whiskey at a
pre-meeting lunch.
“Isn’t it amazing?” I whisper.
“It’s very, very nice,” he concedes, smiling indulgently
“Me too.” I leave the rest of my spritzer until half my
dish is gone, but Rob is tipsy enough that he’s forgetting
8
Problem Child
how to pace himself, and the man hasn’t ordered nearly
enough fat and calories.
By the time I order one last round of drinks for dessert,
he’s drunk and he’s lost all sight of vulnerability and any hint of wisdom. Why shouldn’t he have another drink?
He’s a goddamn successful lawyer on his way to making
partner, and he’s a man, damn it. A big man with a wife
at home and a piece on the side, and one more ballbuster
making eyes at him over lunch too. He’s a king among
men, and he’s never lost at anything.
He accepts the final drink and raises it high. “To
another great deal.”
“Thank you,” I respond, taking full credit. I deserve it.
Rob is a showboat, and he reflects the light of better
lawyers off his shiny facade, recycling their knowledge
and taking all the praise. The first few times we worked
together, I kept my mouth shut, because I was still learning the delicate intricacies that make up the web of politics
in this office. But I know them now. It will take me a
couple of years to even be considered for partner, but
they won’t notice me at all with Rob glinting into their
eyes all the damn time.
“I’ve got this,” I say when the bill comes. I’ve spent
almost eighty bucks on whiskey this afternoon and I don’t
regret one penny. “I owe you for everything you’ve taught
me this year, Robert. What a ride it’s been.”
“Anything you need, Jane,” he drawls with a wink.
“Your work is really coming along.”
I worked on the legal team of an international con-
glomerate in Kuala Lumpur for five years. Rob worked
for a furniture manufacturing group in St. Paul before
he started here. He can kiss my ass and thank me for the
privilege as far as I’m concerned.
9
Victoria Helen Stone
“I’ve got those notes you asked for on the North
Unlimited proposal,” I say, reminding him of the meet-
ing we’re heading into.
“Good. Good job. I’ll stop by and grab them when
we get back.”
“Yeah. That’ll give you half an hour to learn what I
know so you can steal the show.”
His flushed face crumples for a brief moment. “What?”
I giggle as if I’ve just made a silly joke. “I get so ner-
vous before these big client meetings.”
His lizard brain prompts a slow blink, sensing the
danger of what I said a moment ago, but his
ego wins
out and he grins at my tipsy giggling. I dare to reach
out and touch his hand as if I’m feeling naughty after
the spritzers.
I am feeling naughty, but it’s not the spritzers. It’s the power. His defenses are down and his confidence is up,
and I could make anything happen right now. I could tell
him my condo is right around the corner, confess that
I’ve thought about him while I touch myself in bed at
night. That idea is practically lesbian porn for this future business leader of America. I could get him back to my
place and compromised within a few minutes.
Or I could hit record on my phone as we walk and
ask him whether the mournful receptionist is a good lay
and whether her breasts are as nice as they look under
sweaters. He’s drunk enough to brag about it, and then
I’d have him under my thumb, his job andhis marriage
in danger.
Really, I don’t understand why people don’t record
more conversations in life. Is there any downside?
But I don’t need to work that hard this time around,
risking animosity and accusation. And I don’t need to
10
Problem Child
risk my current long-term relationship by letting this boy
wonder touch me. He deserves a much lazier approach.
Rob doesn’t sway or stumble as we walk back toward
the office, but he looks confused whenever he stops talk-
talking about his wife, of all things. How great she is. How beautiful. The trip she took to India to learn advanced
yoga and meditation. How much she loves cooking. He
brags about the blog she hosts on positivity.
She sounds like a goddamn nightmare, but she does
have a great ass, I’ll give her that. I’ve been to her positivity blog, and she’s definitely positive about how she looks in pink Lululemon pants.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Rob practically shouts.
“Oh, please do,” I prompt.
“Savannah might be pregnant. She’s taking a test to-
night. She’s been taking the vitamins for months, laying
off wine. Just in case.”
“Wow. That’s cool. But you have to get sperm involved
too. The vitamins alone won’t do it.”
“Yeah,” he answers, his eyes bright with some far-off
vision. Then he shakes off his joy and frowns. “What?”
“Nothing. Congrats. Sounds like everything is really
lining up for you. And you definitely deserve it all.”
“Thanks, Jane.”
“My pleasure, Robert.”
“It’s Rob,” he corrects absentmindedly for about the
fiftieth time this year.
“I know.”
When we reach our building, he pushes the glass
doors open with way too much force, and one of them
clangs against the discreet rubber stopper with a gong that echoes through the atrium. Faces turn. He doesn’t notice.
11
Victoria Helen Stone
“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I say as he moves
toward the elevators. “I need to piss like crazy.”
He wrinkles his nose at the crude words. Savannah
would never say anything that gross. She’ll make such a
great mom.
I give Rob a little wave and head toward the lobby
bathrooms. “See you in a few!”
I take my time. I pee and wash my hands. Check my
teeth for lunch remnants. Reapply the crimson lipstick.
Smooth down my dark brown bob. Then I dab a little
moisturizer on my hands and slowly rub it in. The meet-
ing starts in thirty minutes, but I’ve already prepared, so there’s no rush. In fact, I pop back outside to grab a coffee.
I’ve worn my power suit today, not that Rob noticed.
It’s dark charcoal gray, nearly black, with a subtle red pin-stripe that matches my mouth. The skirt is knee length
and tight, hugging my hips and pointing the eye down
to my scarlet heels. I feel like the queen of the world as
I ride the elevator back up with my mocha latte and all
the notes I memorized last night so I wouldn’t need to
write them down.
The meeting starts in five minutes. I log into Google
Docs using Rob’s name and password. All that teamwork
we put in together means I know all of his passwords.
Well. There’s only one. He uses the same one to access
his laptop and unlock documents and log into Google.
It’s Rob#1in2017.
I’m not kidding. He could at least update the year
every once in a while.
“Jane.” Rob is leaning against the doorjamb of my
office, a coffee cup in hand, his eyes bleary. “Did you get those last numbers on district budgets?”
12
Problem Child
“Yeah, I’ll chime in when you get to that part, no
problem.”
“Great.”
He dips back into his office to grab his laptop. I leave
the first page of notes for the meeting intact so everything will look normal for Rob when he opens the document;
then I handwrite a few critical details on my notepad
before deleting pages two to four of the shared document.
Rob is heading down the hall when I log him off Google
and stand up to join the fun.
Here we go!
We met the client before, but this time there’s a whole
team of people in attendance, faces open with possibil-
ity. I shine as bright as I can, shaking hands all around
as I’m introduced as one of the lawyers helping with this
project. I glow with helpful friendliness.
Rob, on the other hand, is glowing with whiskey
fumes. It’s not a subtle alcohol, and I can see eyes dart
toward him as he weaves in and out of the gathering.
Jesus Christ, Rob, it’s 2:00 p.m. on a Thursday! Control
yourself!
He shakes every hand in the room before taking a
seat near the two partners in attendance. I fade into the
background at a far corner of the conference table. I’m
dressed to impress, sure, but no one likes a woman who
shows off. So I become modesty incarnate, zipping my lips
and smiling benignly at everyone and no one. I fade the
way I used to watch my best friend fade, making myself
smaller and easier to swallow.
But Rob’s glow intensifies, blooming from his pink,
flushed cheeks. “I guess I’ll start things off,” he booms, his too-loud words shaking my eardrums as they settle over
13
Victoria Helen Stone
the table. “It’s great to finally meet everyone in person
after all those email exchanges.”
The two partners glance at each other before turning
to stare at Rob. Why is he taking control of the meeting?
One of them clears his throat. “Yes, welcome, every-
one,” he says, his words half the volume of Rob’s as he
steps in. “Let’s get down to business. As you know, you
asked us to put out some feelers about additional buyers
for your imported supply of premium chicken products
after your success with the state prison system. What
we’ve found is that the contract possibilities are incred-
ibly promising…”
The partner continues his spiel, but I’m focused on
Rob. He dabs a drop of sweat from his temple as he stares
at his open laptop. Frowning, his eyes creased with con-
centration, he keeps trying to scroll down on something
on his screen, but it doesn’t seem to work.
I watch him click a couple of things and then click
and click again. Another sweat drop forms and a wave of
shivery pleasure laps at my gut, easing higher until my
nipples tighten.
“Rob?” I hear someone say, and he and I both real-
ize at the same moment that he’s been asked a question.
“Uh,” he replies. “Yes?”
“Rob, the numbers.” It’s no longer a question but a
demand. The partner nearest Rob, Jeremy Browning,
who’s distinguishable from the other silverbacks by his
retro black-rimmed glasses, is turning nearly as pink
as Rob now. He must be breathing in Rob’s whiskey
fumes. A vein in his temple begins to throb, slowly but
surely. Approachable glasses aside, Jeremy is known for
his quick temper.
14
Problem Child
“Right,” Rob finally says. “The numbers. As you
know…” That’s all he says , As you know…, instinctively repeating a phrase used moments before by one of his
bosses. That’s his whole shtick. Mirror the partners and
make junior associates do the real work.
It’s not hard for him to fit in with the senior guys.
He’s so easy to get along with, and there’s none of the
tiptoeing you have to do with the female or minority
employees. God, they’re all so prickly. But not good old
Rob. He’s just more … comfortable to be around.
“As you know,” he repeats; then he clears his throat
and tries to get it together with a fierce glance in my
direction. I smile.
“As you know, our calculations show there are a shit-
ton of fantastic opportunities for you right now.”
Jeremy Browning blinks. Several times.
“Quite a few of the entities we approached were very
interested in the high value and low cost that you’re of-
fering.” He frowns again. “All three of the largest school
systems in the state…”
The client clears his throat.
“Sorry,” Rob says, “I do have the numbers right here.”
Others in the room are beginning to shift and squirm.
The whole client team looks toward the partners. They
look toward each other. I wait a few more seconds. Then