Page 2 of Rescue
Chapter 1
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Penelope
“Reservation for Adams,” I say to the host. I can’t believe Spencer was able to get a last-minute reservation here. Then again, I guess it makes sense when you consider the heavy influence his firm has.
“Right this way, madam,” he says in a bored tone.
As we walk through the dimly lit five-star restaurant I can’t help but let my eyes wander over the extravagant decor and even more extravagant clientele. After almost 4 years together, I'm still not used to the lavish lifestyle Spencer lives and works so hard to maintain. His family comes from old money; he’s never known any different. I didn't grow up in poverty by any means, Mama owns her own accounting firm that does very well, but we never knew luxury like this.
“Your companion hasn’t arrived yet. Is there anything I can get you while you wait?” he asks.
“No, thanks, I’ll just wait,” I say and turn my attention to my phone as he walks away. Spencer likes to order for us. Something about both of our meals matching the wine? I'm not entirely sure, but at this point in our relationship I just go along with it. I’m not a very picky eater anyway, so it’s not worth the argument we’re sure to have. I’m no wine expert, either. Spencer likes to think he is, so I just let him handle it. I hate to admit, I’m almost always happy with whatever he chooses.
I’m not surprised that he’s running late. If this dinner reservation concerned his firm, he’d have been 20 minutes early. He’s never been as considerate of my time -- a fact that drives me crazy. I guess he assumes I’ll just always be here. In his defense, I’ve never given him reason to believe otherwise. I check my texts to see if he mentioned being late. No notifications, but then that's not really too surprising, either. He stopped apologizing for anything a long time ago. I stopped caring enough to argue with him a long time ago, as well.
I wait another 20 minutes and am just getting ready to leave when I see the waiter leading him my way. He’s looking at his phone but stops long enough to return a wave to someone from across the room. As he takes his seat, he grabs the menu off the table, peruses it briefly, then orders a bottle of wine and our dinners. Before I know it, the waiter is rushing off.
“Meeting ran late,” he says, finally addressing me. He gives me his classic ‘forgive me’ eyes. I raise one eyebrow, give him a tight smile, and choose, for the sake of the evening, to say nothing.
“How was your day?” I ask, knowing he’ll dominate the conversation for the rest of the meal. And he does just that. His big yearly evaluation is coming up in a few weeks, and it’s all he can talk about. He rattles on and on about how much better he is than all the other attorneys at the firm, and all I really have to do to keep the conversation going is nod along. It’s not exactly an exciting evening, but the food ends up being amazing. Just as we’re finishing the last of our plates, Spencer finally steers the conversation away from himself and his firm.
“So, how is work going?” he asks me with a smirk.
I inwardly cringe. I work at a commercial catering company, and it's not the job that's the issue -- it’s the owner, Brenda. She’s shrill, overly demanding, and borderlinetoocomfortable with serving questionable food. She caters all the events for Spencer’s firm. He pulled some strings to get me this job, though he continues to insist that I quit. Honestly, if it wasn't so hard to get a decent pastry chef job in this city, I would have quit the day I started. But a girl’s got to work. So I’ve stayed and ‘paid my dues’, applying to every single job ad that I’m even remotely qualified for, but to no avail. “Brenda went on a huge tirade today about summer sausage,” I respond. “It was so bizarre.” I think about the new guy who just stood there like a deer in headlights. I wonder if he’ll come back tomorrow.
“I keep telling you to quit, baby. You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of work environment,” he says, as if he actually cares what my work environment is like.
“I need a job, Spencer. I’ve applied to hundreds of jobs with not one interview. I can’t just quit. What will that look like on my resume?”
“Once we’re married you aren’t going to work anyway. Who cares what your resume looks like? I’m the breadwinner of our family. What do you think it would look to our clients? They expect their lawyers to have a certain type of lifestyle and we have to reflect that.”
“I don’t really consider your clients when I’m thinking about how I make a living, Spencer,” I say with gritted teeth, trying to keep my composure. This is the main reason I can’t bring myself to set a date for the wedding. We’ve had this discussion more times than I can count, but I guess we’re going to have it again. “Baking for other people makes me happy. It’s been a passion of mine ever since I was a little girl in Nana’s kitchen. I’m not going to give that up just because your clients might not like your ‘little woman’ having a job,” I say. I’ve gotten a little louder than I intended and look around to make sure we aren’t drawing attention to ourselves. Fortunately, all the other diners are blissfully unaware.
From nowhere, the waiter appears with the check. Spencer quickly pulls out his credit card and offers it without even a glance at the poor guy.
“Listen, I know you love to bake because it’s something you did with your Nana when you were growing up. I get that. At some point though, Penelope, you have to give up on childish dreams like making cookies, and pies and bullshit birthday cakes for assholes and their kids. Your baking is delicious, and I’m so happy our kids will grow up with a mother who can make homemade meals for them. But it's time you grow up and realize that your little hobby is just a pipe dream. It’s time to get married and quit playing childish games.”
I’m too stunned to respond right away. I take a moment to collect my thoughts and I am just about to give him a piece of my mind when his phone vibrates, causing us both to pause. He never even considers not answering. He immediately grabs the phone and brings it straight to his ear. “Spencer Adams,” he says in a commanding voice. “Not again,” he sighs in resignation. “Ok, I’ll be right there. Yeah, I just finished dinner. No, I won’t need a car. Ok. Bye.”
“This conversation isn’t over, Spencer!” I glare at him with exasperation. “I’m not going to give up everything I am to be the person your clients think you need. Not now, and not ever for that matter,” I say with confidence. We’ve been dancing around this subject since we got engaged, and I’m not going to do it anymore.
“Let’s talk about this more when you’ve had time to calm down. You’re looking at this all wrong. It’s clearly the perfect opportunity to quit your job, set a date, and plan our wedding. You know I’m close to becoming a partner at the firm. That’s going to take up even more of my day. Once we’re married, our family will occupy all of your time and you won’t have a moment to think about your silly ambition,” he says in a patronizing voice.
Our waiter is back. Spencer signs the receipt and stands, leaving me no time to respond to his condescension.
“Now, I have to go back to the office,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “A major client was just arrested. This case could be huge for me, especially with reviews coming up next month. I’m sorry if I was too forceful, but you’ve had to have known this was coming,” he says with an arrogant chuckle. “We’ve been engaged for over a year now.” He looks at me almost regretfully, and before I have a chance to respond he says, “I’ll see you when I get home.” And he’s gone.
On my drive home I grow more and more angry and upset at Spencer’s presumptions. I knew he wasn’t overly enthusiastic about my career as a pastry chef, but I never thought he’d expect me to be some kind of ‘Stepford Wife’. Surely he doesn’t think of me as some timid woman who just kneels at her husband’s feet, ready to cook and clean and take orders.
It’s true that we’ve grown apart since he started as junior partner at the new bigshot law firm. He had a forceful and confident personality when I first met him, but after taking this position, those traits have slowly transformed more into aggression and arrogance. I guess it makes sense with all the late nights and long weekends he’s spent with these people. They’ve really rubbed off on him.
When we first started dating, Spencer was so different. We met at a mutual friend’s party 3 years ago when I was in culinary school and he was almost done with his law degree. I remember the first time I saw him from across the room; it felt like a magnet was pulling me to him. He was so light and free, his wit quick and his personality enchanting. It’s what first drew me to him and what possessed me to say yes when he proposed a year later.
And he’s always doted on me. Making up for mistakes or arguments with gifts and trips and money. I think back to when we got engaged. He had just started working at the firm and gotten his first win. With his first bonus, he bought me an enormous 2 carat pear shape diamond ring that any girl in LA would kill for. He told me how much he loved me and our life together, and how he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me.
After that first big case, about a million more followed. I watched Spencer become more interested in the lifestyle he envisioned and less interested in the person he supposedly wanted to share it with. It seems that while we were growing apart, he was growing closer to the 1950s. These archaic ideals aren’t views I ever imagined hearing from him.
