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And for what?
Do I really believe Julia is going to make me her equal? From attending one company party? No. I have a feeling Julia is the new queen bee incognito, and I’m just making a fool of myself.
I look over the stupid dress I bought. The black material too tight. The silly black thigh-highs too irritating. This is the very thing I vowed I would not do when I first entered this law firm; I would not conform.
But it was a chance, wasn’t it? The promotion? The money could mean getting my brother the treatment he really, really needs…but then what?
Shaking off the hurt, I situate my bra that keeps my boobs from just popping out of the dress. I ache to be home, buried under the covers, lost in a dramatic novel that will make my problems seem like the petty issues they are.
After I wash my hands and have hidden out in the bathroom for a safe amount of time, I brace myself at the door. When I open it, the beat of 80s pop music blasts my face. A sinking feeling pulls at my heart. Before my mother got sick, she listened to her 80s playlist almost every day. The reminder of her only reaffirms my decision to get out of here. Quickly.
I will my feet to move me forward through the dimly lit conference room which has been transformed into a dance club, complete with churning strobe lights and a DJ.
No one will cop to it—the universal belief that this party is for “company growth”— but every person here knows this is a close-mouth celebration for the firm’s most high profile client.
Malcolm Bates.
Just his name sounds sinister. Alleged rapist. Multiple counts. Many testimonies wiped from his slate, as if they never existed. The women’s lives torn apart and defamed on the stand.
But this is the law. And the law proved Malcolm Bates innocent of the allegations against him.
Our firm’s stance? A rich, powerful man such as Doctor Malcolm Bates must suffer for his status and wealth. His penance for being a successful cardiologist is slander.
I haven’t had the privilege to work on any of his cases, so I’m trying to reserve my judgment, keeping my feelings neutral. High profile clients are out of my depth…unless I somehow manage to impress Julia enough to get the promotion, which will put me working directly under one of the partners.
; I can do the work. I’m good at my job. That’s not what intimidates me—it’s the pressure of supervising the very women who mock me. Overseeing research and trial briefs for our biggest clients. Especially when the one with the most case hours is known to the public as Doctor Date Rape.
A nauseous twinge flutters my stomach. After three years, I’ve gotten accustomed to working cases like his. At first, it was difficult. I didn’t think I could separate myself from the victims. But time has a way of distancing those acute emotions, dulling them into a bearable ache.
Besides, over the years, I’ve had more important things to worry about other than myself.
I make my way toward the back wall set up like a bar. I’ll just cash out. Pay up the two Cokes on my tab, then sneak out the side exit. That’s the plan. The women in my department won’t even notice. Or maybe they’ll be grateful. Awkward Alexis isn’t around to encroach on their attempts to get laid.
I spot them dancing in a group. Chelsea is the most noticeable. She holds her red plastic cup above her head as she sways her enormous hips. I don’t feel so bad thinking it now. Her laugh can be heard over the music, and for the second that our eyes lock, she smiles, but I swear it’s a smirk—like she knows just how uncomfortable I am and all she has to do is say one nice word to me… Then she’s dancing again, ignoring me and shaking her ass at Ronnie, another paralegal in our department.
A pain sears my chest, and I hate that what they think matters. That I just can’t be one of them. How much easier would my life be?
I’m not a ladder climber, though. Like the rest of her flock. A lot of people have started where I am now, and in under a year, they’re above me. I take orders from those I’ve trained. They’re always friendly at the beginning. Then as soon as a promotion pans out, after months of kissing ass and stroking egos, they don’t even remember my name when sending a memo.
At least Chelsea knows that much. Then again, she hasn’t slept her way to the top. Yet.
This whole firm is something right out of the fifties. The pretty ones—that I swear have no paralegal training whatsoever—rise right to the top. They’re groomed and mentored to work with the partners.
Maybe that’s how it is at every law firm ran by an all-male partnership. Just because the world claims times have changed, doesn’t mean they have.
And right on cue, as if he senses my thoughts drifting to him, I meet his arctic blue eyes across the crowd. Chase’s gaze locks on to me in a predatory fashion. Heat simmers beneath my skin as he openly assesses me. Unnerved, I fight my own will to look away. As I always do.
But not tonight. His current is too strong—the rising music too powerful, heightening my emotions, liquefying my nerves until I feel trapped. Unable to escape his pull.
I’m no better than the ladder climbers sleeping their way to the top. Frankly, I’m worse. And pathetically so. At least they have the courage to act on their fantasies, rather than sneaking glimpses at one of their bosses for…what? So I can swoon over him in the privacy of my own, twisted mind?
That thought is a splash of cold reality, and I lower my eyes to the floor, escaping as quickly as possible. I keep my gaze down as I weave my way through the gyrating bodies, the ground shifting annoyingly with the flashing dots of lights. And as if I willed it to happen, that cold splash finds me.
I stumble into someone and liquid soaks the front of my dress. The scent of alcohol stings my nose. But I’m too concerned about the person I ran into to care. “I’m so sorry.” I try to pick up his cup and we knock heads.
“It’s fine,” he says, sloppily waving a hand before he palms his forehead. “Leave it. That’s what the cleanup crew is for, right?” His glassy eyes squint as a full smile spreads his lips.
