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Of Macy, Rogers & Mitchell, the named partners on the wall behind the reception desk. Al had expected CC to greet her, but after a year practicing in the South, Ted wasn’t a surprise. Neither were the next words out of his mouth.
“Will there be anyone joining you from Dotson Brands? Maybe Mr. McDowell or one of the Mr. Dotsons?”
As if her own gray hair and partner title—hell, her own name on the wall of the firm she helped build, Parker Rosin Weeks—weren’t enough to prove she could handle this transaction by herself. In this man’s estimation, she needed the younger in-house counsel or one of the Dotsons to oversee her work. Over thirty years in practice, and while her name was on the wall somewhere, that glass ceiling was still a long ways up.
She plastered on a fake smile and gave him the truth he couldn’t seem to grasp. “Mr. Dotson and his son are working with Kip on our next acquisition. I’m here to close this one.”
Deena Arden, the receptionist who’d introduced herself when Al first arrived, pressed her fingers to her lips, holding back the laugh the upturned corners of her mouth betrayed.
Ted, his back to her, remained oblivious. “Of course, our clients are eager to close as well. Let me show you to the war room Ms. Arden set up for the deal.” He held an arm out toward the adjacent hallway, but before they could start in that direction, CC emerged from across the lobby. “I can take it from here, Ted.”
Al stifled her relieved sigh, ready to be done with Ted and much happier in CC’s capable hands.
“Ms. Rosin, this is Ms. Clarke,” Ted said, his voice clipped. Al’s pent-up sigh became a barely concealed laugh as she imagined how much CC’s business casual flair—wide leg, black-and-white houndstooth slacks paired with an even bolder magenta sweater—must rankle boring-suit Ted. “She’s the client contact on this case.”
Did Ted even know the clients’ names? Well, Al did, and CC deserved respect for the job she’d already done. “The attorney who’s been with Jen and Etienne from the beginning.” She held her hand out, shaking CC’s. “Good to see you again.”
“You two have met before?” Ted said.
“Last week,” Al replied. “CC was a helluva negotiator on the LOI. I’ve been in this business thirty years, and I’d hire her in a hot minute.”
Huffing, he straightened and buttoned his suit coat. “Well, I’m happy to help,” he said, chin lifted, voice snotty and rude in that Southern way that still came off as polite. It impressed Al as much as it pissed her off. The New Yorker in her could never pull it off. “In case you ladies need someone else’s eyes on anything.”
Someone, as in a man’s, in case their womanly eyes weren’t enough. “Thank you, Ted,” Al said. “We’ll keep you in mind.”
He didn’t miss the brush-off, which only made his retreat more epic. Once he turned the corner, Deena finally let loose the snicker she’d been fighting. CC split an amused smirk between the two of them. “Behave, both of you.”
“It’s not every day someone calls him on his shit.” Deena swung her green gaze from CC to Al. “I owe you a coffee for that.”
“Nope, I owe you a coffee for setting up our war room.”
“I like her,” Deena said to CC. “You better watch it, Carrington, or someone’s gonna steal your crown.”
Laughing, CC pretended to adjust one on her head. “Still fits.”
Al waited until they were on their way down the hallway to ask what the crown was about.
“Staff favorite,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Not that it’s too hard around here. Ted’s not even the worst.”
Al believed it; she’d seen worse. “Second firm I worked at, one of the senior partners used to put his papers on the floor so all the women had to bend over to pick them up.”
CC made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “There’s one partner here who tells me I’ll make partner because I ‘never got knocked up,’ while the one woman partner we have tells me I’ll never make partner because I ‘lack maternal instincts.’”
“Zevel,” Al cursed.
“There’s that too, never mind my dad’s Methodist.”
“Have you thought about leaving? Or telling someone?”
She didn’t answer right away, a more telling reply than anything she could say. Before Al could nose further, a young Black woman appeared at the door to the conference room at the end of the hallway. She was as tall as CC, also smartly dressed, and her dark hair was clipped short, highlighting her big brown eyes and the sharp lines of her face. “All ready for you, CC.”
Her familiar nasal drawl was a pleasant surprise. “I recognize that accent,” Al said with a smile.
“Al, this is Brynn Cary, originally from the Bronx, graduated Tulane Law and joined MRM earlier this fall after spending the last two summers with us. Brynn, this is Annaliese Rosin, Dotson’s lead counsel on the Tchin Tchin deal.”
“Al, please.” She shook Brynn’s hand, then followed her and CC into the conference room. “How’s practice treating you so far?”
“Never a dull moment,” Brynn replied.
