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Chapter 1
JUNE
The whir of the radiator is more meaningful than anything coming out of Madi’s mouth. Another unending meeting that could have been an email. But at least doodling on my notepad makes it look like I’m paying attention. Never mind that I’m just drawing that guy that hangs his nose and fingers over the edge of something.
What’s his name? Conroy? Leroy?
Doesn’t matter. He’s just a way to kill time.
I almost wince when I realize I’m using the poor doodle man that way. It’s what my most recent ex said about me. After two years, Trent said I was a way to kill time until his real life started. Just what every girl wants to hear.
“Exactly, June,” Madi sternly says. “A terrible use of resources.”
I give a polite smile and a curt nod, realizing she thinks the face I made was about her presentation. On resource management? How did I get roped into a meeting on resource management? I swear I get needlessly cc’ed on everything.
My doodle’s name is bugging me. My dad used to draw him on random things like doctor’s notes and grocery lists just to make Mom smile. Why the hell can’t I remember his name?
Walroy? Is that even a name? Or am I thinking about my boss?
Wallace, my boss, wants me to attend every meeting I can to get a better feel for operations. I’m two years out of law school, and he threatened me with getting onto the fast track for partner, so now I’m hooked into all the meetings, no matter how mundane. If I tell Wallace I am not interested in micromanaging every detail of the firm, I’m off the partner track, which would be ideal. But it’ll disappoint my mom, and I can’t do that to her. Not again.
She liked Trent. When I told her we broke up, she was the one who cried. Disappointing her again is not an option.
Thinking about her crying gives me the same guilty, sinking feeling I had when I was a kid and I saw her upset. Will I ever grow out of that? Hope so. But that feeling was the reason I tried so hard in school. The first time I brought home a bad grade, I wasn’t punished in the technical sense, but I saw the look on her face. Not mad. Disappointed. After that, I did everything I could to avoid that face. Straight As from fourth grade on.
Bobroy? Pretty sure the doodle’s name is Bobroy. Who decided to name someone Bobroy?
Behind Madi stands the best window in the entire law firm. It overlooks the harbor, but today is a gray and rainy autumn day. Just the way I like it. This morning’s pumpkin spice coffee had given me the hope of a good day until I saw my calendar. Meeting after meeting, working through lunch, and none of that counts toward my two thousand billable hours for the year.
When I was a girl dreaming of law school, I did not count on this.
TV lawyers were dashing, well-dressed, articulate people with full lives. I am a soft, sort of okay dresser with mild social anxiety who couldn’t deliver a closing argument if her life depended on it. My life is full of Cheers reruns and calling my mom. The TV shows never talk about student loans or rent that outpaces income, even when you work sixty-plus hours a week.
It wasn’t just the glamor that drew me to the law. The money was a tremendous incentive, as was helping people. These days, my bank account could be best described as a desolate void from which I attempt to pay rent, and I don’t help people. I help corporations. Though, according to the Supreme Court, I guess I am helping people. Ugh.
Maybe I’m naïve, but I don’t think you should be twenty-nine and counting the days until retirement. This morning, my calendar reminded me I have just over ten thousand days to go, so I scraped myself out of bed and got moving. By the time retirement comes, I will have been stuck in a meeting with Madison Montague for thirty years.
I’m not sure I’ll make it.
To my right, Garrett Edison taps my foot and subtly shows me his notepad. It reads, “Nice Kilroy.”
“That’s his name!” I declare in the middle of the meeting. Garrett snorts a laugh, and Madi quirks her head at me. A human record scratch. I blink half a dozen times and point to the slide, “Uh, Evan Wilcox. I was trying to think of him the other day. Thanks for putting him in the presentation, Madi. Good timing.”
“The entire presentation is on Evan, June.”
“Right. Just hit me I was trying to think of him. The other day. Like I said.”
She gives a tight smile. “Moving on. If you see here …” She droned on, and I tuned out again.
Garrett barely conceals his laughter—his shoulders give it away. He scribbles on his notepad, “Smooth.”
So, I doodle a hand with the middle finger raised, and he grins at me. Eighty-four years later, we break for lunch. “Hey, do you want to come with me and Callie? We’re hitting the new brew pub two blocks over.”
He arches a curious brow. Garrett is Japanese American, with a permanent charming smile and a cool confidence about him. I have always envied that. “Thought you were working through lunch again.”
“If I do that again, I might explode from the sheer fun of it, so I’m skipping that meeting.”
“Ah, well thanks for the invitation, but I have a lunch date … thing.”
