Mr. Big Shot

  Copyright © 2023 R.S. Grey

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  * * *

  This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  * * *

  Published: R.S. Grey 2023

  authorrsgrey@gmail.com

  Editing: Editing by C. Marie

  Proofreading: Red Leaf Proofing, Julia Griffis

  Cover Design: R.S. Grey

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Mr. Big Shot

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Epilogue to the Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Anything You Can Do

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Stay Connected

  Author’s Note

  * * *

  Mr. Big Shot is a full-length standalone novel. At the end, I’ve included an excerpt from my bestselling romantic comedy Anything You Can Do.

  * * *

  Mr. Big Shot concludes at around 90% on your device.

  * * *

  Happy Reading!

  XO, RS Grey

  Chapter One

  Scarlett

  Big law is a phrase used to describe the country’s largest and most prestigious law firms.

  Here’s how to use it in a sentence:

  All the top graduates from law school accept offers from big law.

  Big law routinely dishes out the best salaries and bonuses across the industry.

  Now, this is how you’ll use it when talking to your therapist:

  I cried every day I worked in big law.

  Big law ruined my life.

  If not for big law, I’d be [married, happy, well-adjusted, sober].

  And here’s how I’ll use it starting today:

  Oh, my first year at big law? It was a total breeze.

  I made big law my big bitch.

  My alarm buzzes on my nightstand, blaring for the half-second it takes me to lean over and turn it off. The alarm wasn’t necessary. I’m already awake; I have been for two hours. I’m standing beside my bed in an outfit chosen with care and deliberation. The sales associate at Barneys was popping Advil for a tension headache and rethinking her career path by the time I made it to the register.

  I’ve gone with cool ankle-length slim-fitting black trousers paired with a belted cream blouse and the ever-popular Aquazzura bow suede pumps, though I’ll stick with flats until I get to the office. For accessories, I have my hand-me-down Cartier watch; clean, manicured nails; and diamond studs in my ears—nothing else.

  This must be what Batman felt like his first day on the job. I’ll bet he took the time to run his Batmobile through a Mr. Suds the day before to get the wheels squeaky clean. Tearing the tags off those brand-new combat boots and stretchy nylon pants before clicking all those safety gadgets and gizmos into place must have been quite the rush.

  I feel the same flutter of butterflies as I gather my work bag, already packed with everything I need and more. I walk outside, ready and raring to tackle the day…just in time for a bird to poop on me.

  I freeze and look down, suspended in shock. It takes me a moment to register the white sludge dripping down the front of my blouse, headed straight toward my trousers. Panic sets in with a great big belated rush. NO. I was stalling at my apartment on purpose so I wouldn’t feel silly about my extremely early arrival at the office, but now, NOW, I’m kicking myself for not camping out in front of Elwood Hoyt overnight. I should have slept under my desk. A little crick in my neck would have been nothing compared to this.

  It’s fine, I tell myself, trying to regain control of my heart rate; it’s hovering somewhere near 190 bpm. I’ve careened right past cardiac arrest range and I’m creeping ever closer to spontaneous combustion. I walk-run my way back into the lobby of my apartment building and try not to cry as the elevator seems to have newly gone on strike.

  Fortunately, I had my entire week’s worth of outfits already chosen. A quick change of my top to a black silk version and then I’m skipping down the stairs, leaving the elevator for all the people who aren’t about to start the first day of the rest of their lives.

  This time when I exit my building, I have that bird locked in my line of sight. I swear it looks smug from its perch atop a spindly branch. No doubt it’s stretching and flexing its sphincter muscles on the off chance I creep too close again.

  I flip it off (secretly), hiding my finger behind my other hand so I don’t look absolutely insane to everyone passing me by on the sidewalk. Then I turn in the direction I was originally headed and begin.

  I’ve only lost ten minutes with my wardrobe change, but it feels like ten minutes too many. It’s the first week of October, and the everlasting heat of summer has finally gone. I’m grateful for the crisp autumn air as I race down the city blocks.

  I’m in the heart of Chicago’s downtown, the River North district, surrounded by luxe shops, quaint eateries, and sprawling skyscrapers. There’s history on every corner, places I usually love strolling past at a leisurely pace rather than careening by at breakneck speeds. But alas, this morning, there’s no time for a latte at my favorite coffee shop or a bagel from that place on the corner.

  Thank god my apartment is walking distance to Elwood Hoyt’s office. I make the quarter-mile trek in no time, only stopping once when a delivery truck nearly sideswipes me as I dart across the street. The metal bumper comes within an inch of my thigh as the gruff man behind the wheel shouts at me through the open window. “You got a death wish, lady?!”

  No! The exact opposite—I have a dream!

  I turn the final corner and see it.

  In a city like Chicago, every skyscraper is aiming to outcompete its neighbor. Corporations want to house themselves inside massive and formidable fortresses, and Elwood Hoyt is exactly that. Nestled along the Chicago River, it’s one of the tallest buildings in the city. Its heavy stone-and-steel facade seems to stretch up into the sky forever, especially from where I stand, a speck at its feet.

  Just outside the pristine glass entrance, I pause to swap my flats for my heels. I adjust my bag, smooth my hair, and make sure my name badge is hanging just so from the little clip at my hip. Then I confidently hold my head high as I walk through the sliding doors.

  Barrett’s there waiting for me, standing before the turnstiles and security checkpoint. His charming smile is a welcome surprise this morning. Of all my brothers (and I have plenty of them), Barrett and I look the most alike. We share the same slim face, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and olive skin. His chestnut brown hair is much, much shorter than mine, though I love that he’s allowed the strands to retain some of their natural wave. I likely have Nyles to thank for that—he always protests when Barrett tries to go in for a trim.

  Barrett is holding a coffee cup in his right hand, and when I reach him, I steal it away without a second thought. His wink tells me it was meant for me all along.

  “Cutting it kind of close there, sis.”

  “I made it,” I say, sounding affronted that he’d ever lose faith in me. He knows I’d never be late today of all days.

  “You’re sweating.”

  “I’m not.” I aim a harsh glare at him before taking a sip of the drink. He did good; it’s my usual cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. In a few minutes, I’ll be buzzing, especially considering I didn’t have the stomach for my usual breakfast this morning.

  “Slight sheen aside, you certainly look the part.” He takes me in from head to toe, smiling with pride. “The outfit’s great.”

  “You think? This wasn’t my first option.”

  I decide it’s best not to bring up the bird. I don’t want to reignite my annoyance all over again.

  “Yes. It’s perfect.”

  “Grandma’s watch,” I say, lifting my wrist so he can see it.

  He smiles. “Nice.”

  If there’s anyone I’d accept fashion critiques from, it’s Barrett. Today, on a random Tuesday, he’s wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit with a coordinating striped handkerchief folded neatly in his left breast pocket. His tie is the same shade as his suit jacket, and his shirt is a few shades lighter than everything, a bright hydrangea blue. He’s an eye-popping splash of color in an otherwise neutral backdrop.

  While most every other profession seems well on their way to embracing casu
al workplace attire with blue jeans and sneakers, law is not one of them. A firm like Elwood Hoyt is especially concerned with appearances. We offer comprehensive legal services in all corporate law areas. Our clients are large companies, investment vehicles, family officers, and they appreciate the clout and reputation that comes with a firm like ours. They don’t want a schmuck in flip-flops; they want a well-groomed lawyer in a fitted suit, someone who looks and acts like they have their shit together.

  Hopefully, that’s me.

  Barrett nods toward the elevators. “Let’s go. I’m going to escort you up.”

  I let him take the lead as he waves us past security with a flick of his hand as if he owns the place.

  “Have you seen Dad this morning?”

  “Oh yes. He’s here.”

  I swallow down my nerves. “And?”

  “And I’m sure you’ll see him before the day is through. Gird your loins.”

  I sigh and wait alongside him for one of the dozen elevators to reach the ground floor. A ping sounds behind us, and we turn just as the gleaming doors sweep open.

  Once we step in, a young blond guy sporting a freshly minted Elwood Hoyt badge of his own is about to step on board after us when Barrett holds up his hand. “No. Take the next one.”

  The man is so stunned he blinks there at the threshold, stupefied as the doors slide shut in front of his face.

  “Well that was rude,” I say with a laugh once we’re alone.

  “It was necessary.” Barrett turns to me with a determined brow. “I only have a few seconds to talk with you. I’ve been meaning to pull you aside for weeks, but I’ve been busy, per usual. Listen, you don’t have to go through with this.”

  I frown. He pauses for a breath, and when he begins again, his words are more earnest than ever.

  “No one will think less of you. I swear. You’re the star of our family, the whip-smart baby sister we all love to bits, but this? Taking this role at Elwood Hoyt is completely unnecessary. I mean, look at Mom—where is she right now?”

  I frown, unclear where this is going. “In the South of France on a buying trip…”

  We spoke just yesterday. She gave me a speech eerily similar to the one Barrett is currently delivering. Have they teamed up on this?

  “You could be there with her. You should be,” he says, sounding desperate. Any moment now he’ll start to shake me. “This place is going to eat you alive, Scarlett.”

  I fold my arms over my chest, growing angrier by the second. “Did you give this same speech to Wyatt and Conrad when they took their positions with the company?”

  He sighs with impatience. “Of course not. Conrad is more cutthroat than any of us. He had to work in law; no other profession would have him. And Wyatt…well, you know Wyatt—there’s no getting through to him once his mind is made up.”

  I lift my chin. “Right. So pretend I’m no different than them. Drop it. It’s done. I’ve already signed my contract.”

  He rolls his eyes, less than convinced by this minor detail. “Oh, like Dad couldn’t just rip that thing up right now.”

  I’m about ready to lose my temper. I shake my head, my brows furrowed, my free hand clenched into a tight fist. If he doesn’t watch it, I’m about to clock him—for real. Not like when we were kids.

  “Why are you so against this?”

  “Because I love you. Because I want a better life for you.” He says it so emphatically that I almost start to soften in response to the kindness in his tone, those big brown eyes pleading with me to see reason. I almost give in, but no.

  I aim daggers at him then turn suddenly and face the front of the elevator. I’ll tune him out if he keeps this up for much longer. His words really rankle me. He sounds so much like Mom and Dad, so much like Jasper. I swear they’re all against me pursuing the profession I’ve dreamed about since I was a little girl and begged my mom to buy me a child-sized pantsuit. When we were really young and my dad would drag us up to this very office, my brothers would run around like absolute maniacs, tearing plants out of pots and writing on the walls, but not me. I’d sit behind his desk, pick up his phone, and mimic words I’d heard him say a million times.

  “Judge, buyout, contract, bid. No! We won’t compromise!” Then I’d slam the phone down and swivel around and around in his chair, all that fictitious power going straight to my head as my feet dangled two feet off the floor.

  Sure, Wyatt, Conrad, and Barrett are good lawyers, some of the best, no doubt. But I feel like I have what it takes to surpass them all, and if not, then at least to stand beside them, carrying my own weight in the company our father helped found. I don’t need to be coddled.

  Barrett’s speech doesn’t dissuade me from my goal in the least. It was a waste of his breath.

  “If that’s all you wanted to tell me, we can just ride the rest of the way in silence.”

  He groans and shakes his head as our elevator flies ever higher toward our end goal: the 70th floor, aka mergers and acquisitions, aka my home away from home for the foreseeable future. A little ripple of excitement rolls through me.

  “Fine. We’ll pick up the discussion another time. For now, if you’re really about to go through with this, I have some advice.”

  I turn toward him with a curious brow. Now this I want to know. I’ve been hounding my brothers for insight for weeks.

  Barrett starts talking fast. “Find a buddy and stick with them. There’s no way I would have survived my stub year—or my first year, for that matter—without a good team around me.

  “Billable hours. Keep fucking track of them. Get in the habit of loading them into the system every night. If you let that get away from you, you’ll regret it.

  “Oh, and whatever goal they give you, add five hundred hours, easy.”

  “Five hundred more?”

  He shrugs, unfazed by my shock. “And that’s on the low end of what some of these associates will do.”

  “Christ.” I hiss the word under my breath.

  The elevator comes to a sudden stop, and Barrett’s eyes widen in alarm. Just as the doors sweep open, he comes closer, grabbing my arm, pulling me toward him as he lowers his voice. “Most importantly, whatever you do, avoid Hudson Rhodes at all costs. Do you hear me? He and I went to law school together, and the guy is heartless. There are four partners in mergers and acquisitions—any of them would be fine except for Hudson. Got it?”

  Sheesh. “Got it.”

  Hudson Rhodes is the devil, pick anyone else—understood.

  Now…time to kick some lawyer butt.

  Chapter Two

  Hudson

  I know I’m the villain around here and I’m perfectly okay with it. I’ve got that kind of self-satisfied grumbly attitude the Grinch enjoyed at the beginning of his story, only I have the pleasure of knowing I’ll never have to let my heart grow three sizes in the end. Projecting darkness has a lot of perks. Having people scatter like cockroaches when I walk into the break room means more donuts and a quicker queue at the coffee pot for me. Evading endless small talk in the halls makes my work day that much more efficient. I probably save hundreds of billable hours a year just by blowing right past people as they quake in their boots, trembling from my mere presence.

  Not to brag, but I once made a first-year associate call his mommy from the bathroom like he was an eight-year-old off at sleepaway camp for the first time. “Hey, Mom, yeah, I hate it here. My boss sucks. Can you come pick me up?”