Page 8 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Max stayed there for another moment, observing the situation. When he was satisfied, he walked to the fallen leashes, sniffed, then looked back at Avery.

“Yes,” Avery said. “Thank you, Max.”

Max trotted back to the kitchen and settled beside my chair.

I ate in silence for a minute. Avery let me. That was another thing about her. She understood that care was often most useful when it doesn’t ask for a performance.

When I’d first met her in college, she’d been leaning against a campus brick wall in cut-off coveralls, holding a flyer for a volunteer animal-transport weekend. Even back then, she’d had a buzz cut, and she’d looked exactly like someone my mother would have called a handful in a tone of profound admiration. I’d thought she was so damn cool. Then I’d learned she was an oil-heiress, a Teddington, which had seemed cartoonish for about ten seconds until she told me, with complete seriousness, that inherited wealth was only interesting if you used it to annoy bad people and subsidize good dogs.

We’d been friends ever since.

She picked up her waterglass and took a sip, studying me over the rim. “You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“No, I mean, you look so tired, your body is ready to issue a formal complaint.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“It’s your eye that’s twitching.”

I touched the corner of my eye. It was, in fact, twitching. “That’s because I’m passionate about the law.”

“That’s because you had coffee for breakfast and spite for lunch.”

“PB and J, actually.”

Avery went very still. “At what time?”

I hesitated. “A little after four.”

“And did you finish all of it?”

“Most of it.”

“How much?”

I stared at my chili, stirring it half-heartedly. “Half of it is currently abandoned in copy room three.”

She closed her eyes briefly and took a breath that suggested meditation had failed her as a practice. “I give you food, dog supplies, and free elite canine daycare. I’m not above physically placing a sandwich in your hand every morning like you’re a Victorian child being sent into the mines.”

“That’s the second Victorian child reference I’ve heard today. I think I should be offended.”

“You laugh, but I’m close to doing it. You have to start taking better care of yourself.”

The blunt concern affected me more than sympathy would have. Avery had seen me run myself ragged often enough to know the signs.

I tried for lightness. “Do you think the mines would offer dental?”

“How badly do you want this job?” Avery asked, leaning back in her chair.

The question softened something in me right where I was thinnest.

“Bad,” I admitted. “Pretty fucking bad.”

She nodded, but said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

“There are six of us,” I said, staring into my bowl. “Everybody knows there might only be two spots next year. Maybe. If the firm feels generous and the economy doesn’t do something humiliating, then two is a safe bet. I just…” I exhaled. “I need to be one of them.”