Page 1 of Wait for Him

Part One

2018

Rose

Eight Years Ago

“What an absolute dick.”

“Cheers to that.”

Jade and Tyler clink their beer bottles together like they’ve earned it. My hype squad. My co-counsel. The only two people on the planet I would willingly sit in a hotel bar with at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night when my feet are screaming, and my pride is somewhere on the floor of Judge Peterson’s courtroom.

Today was the biggest loss of my career.

Two point nine billion dollars gone. My client's claim, my argument, six months of case prep — all of it dismantled in under four hours because Judge Peterson is a sexist asshole who spent the entirety of my closing remarks looking at opposing counsel, and opposing counsel has a swinging dick and the audacity to use it as a professional credential. The only silver lining: no more weekly four-hour treks to Fresno.

I take a long pull of my whiskey because it’s a whiskey kind of day.

“I want it on the record,” I say, setting the glass down, “that I…was right.”

“You were right,” Jade confirms, raising her bottle.

“The precedent was there.”

“It was absolutely there,” Tyler says.

“Peterson would never rule in our favor.”

“Not even a little.”

“So, this wasn’t a loss.” I gesture loosely with my glass. “This was a predetermined outcome executed by a man who peaked in 1987 and has been punishing women for it ever since.”

Tyler raises his bottle. “To predetermined outcomes.”

We down our drinks.

I’ve been practicing law for a few years now. Since I joined Lineberg & Jones two years ago, it’s been one hard-hitting case after another, which I prefer — I don’t do well with slow. But, for lack of a better term, it’s a sausage fest. The men at the firm have built an entire ecosystem around that fact. Judges kept comfortable with strip clubs and expensive members-only dinners at country clubs after a full day of golf. A network I will never be invited into and was never designed to include me.

Yesterday, one partner asked me to take notes in a meeting because he thought I was the secretary. I’m a senior associate, and I’ve worked my ass off for that title.

So, between that incident and today’s loss, that’s how I ended up begging my work besties to unwind at our hotel’s bar. I’ve loosened my hair from its pins. My blazer is folded over the back of my chair, and my shoes have been kicked off. For the duration of this whiskey, I am not an attorney anymore.

I’m just Rose, and Rose orders another round and leaves the appeal filing for tomorrow.

“I saw you and that asshole Taggert in the hallway, what did he have to say?” Jade asks, but her eyes aren’t on me — they’re on the bartender; the two of them eye-fucking each other like they’ve already decided on how tonight will end.

"He said, and I quote, 'Tough loss, Bennett, but at least that skirt makes your ass look phenomenal. I even caught Peterson looking a few times.'" I reach for my glass. “I told him to go suck Peterson’s flaccid dick and walked off.”

“My fucking queen.” Tyler’s hand connects with mine in a high five of genuine respect. “I love you so much. If I weren’t gay and severely emotionally stunted, I’d ravish you.”

“You’d have to start by not saying ravish, Ty.” I chuckle. “No one says ravish.”

“Don’t listen to her, Tyler. She hasn’t had sex in over a year. People in her condition will say anything.”

I roll my eyes. “It has not been more than a year.”

Wait. Has it?