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Maverick shot me a look. “I know, but we don’t need that dip in market right now. Besides, why would he pull out? This is bigger than losing three million. Hatchett is plotting. I knew this would be a fucking mistake.” He sighed in frustration.
I fought hard not to roll my eyes. Maverick was always frustrated over nothing. I knew it was a big deal, but still, shit could have been worse. “Relax man,” I said. “We don’t even have the facts yet.”
“What the fuck else is there to know? We’ve been played!”
“Possibly, but it’s just a bump. We can get a specialist on it. Or a new lawyer, as I was saying…”
Maverick sighed again, but he visibly relaxed a bit.
I clapped his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Nothing we can’t handle. Look, we’ll hit the bar tonight. I think you just need to get laid.”
He laughed. “I don’t need to get laid. I need to not be fighting with some old fart.”
We both laughed. Hatchett was at least sixty-five, having gotten into the game late. I supposed that maybe he just hated young folks, which was why he made our lives so fucking difficult.
“Right. Well, look—we can have this interview and pick a good lawyer. I don’t like being unprotected.”
“You?” Maverick gestured to the tattoos peeking from under my sleeves.
I grinned. My suit usually hid them, but I didn’t care if anyone saw. I was the fucking boss. “Yeah, me. Anyway, her name is Henley Cates. She looks good. On paper.”
Maverick stood, shagging the cup and buttoning his suit. “Well, set something up then. I look forward to meeting her.”
2
Henley
It was hard to believe that a week prior, I’d had a steady job and could afford more than frozen dinners. Though it was just an internship, I was getting paid. But the six-month duration had ended, and I’d had nothing going for me since I hadn’t been offered a full-time position.
It sucked. I mean, really sucked. I had officially become one of those people who graduated but didn’t have a job. I’d made damn near perfect grades, had second-chaired law cases, and received glowing recommendations, but was still out-of-luck.
I tended to blame my shortcomings on my red hair, thinking it kept people from wanting to hire me. My hair wasn’t the nice kind of red that people dyed theirs; it was the unruly wild kind that belonged on exotic models, not ordinary law students, or lawyers rather, since I’d already graduated. I always tried to make it look darker by either slicking it into a bun while wet, or keeping it tied up.
Logically, I knew it was foolish to think this way, but I also knew there had to be a reason I wasn’t being hired. Each day was the same. I’d spend the day reading, running unnecessary errands, and keeping myself busy until six o’clock when I would pretend to be coming back from work. And then I’d eat a sad dinner and scour every job site I could find for anything related to law.
I was convinced I would end up as a paralegal or an assistant, but knew I had to keep trying because I didn’t go into major debt with student loans to wind up with just a subpar job.
My roommate and best friend, Denton, was gone for the time being. I was lucky for him because last month, I’d barely had enough money for rent, so he cut me a break. That’s when I vowed to get a job by week’s end, no matter what. So I submitted to every firm and company around, hoping something would give. I even tried my luck with the big guns like Hatchett and H&P. With those two being heads of investment banking, I knew I could make a killing as an investment lawyer for either of them. But I also knew it was a farfetched dream. Their application stacks were seven feet high, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if you had to be a blood relative to actually work there. Hence, I doubted my glowing resume and job experience would improve my chances. Nor would the photo that was required for one of the applications, for that matter. Sure, I have a pretty face and would probably have a job by now if I used it to my advantage. But to say I didn’t know how would be an understatement. My hips and curves were just barriers to jeans and button up shirts, not something I used to control men.
By the end of the night, I’d showered and snuggled into bed with my e-reader. Sometimes I felt lucky to not have parents that were down my throat. They traveled the world and had a satellite number I never called, but it was nothing personal. I was alone besides Denton, and even he had stopped asking about my employment status, knowing how much it annoyed me. I was already thoroughly disappointed in myself and didn’t need constant reminders about why.
I ended up having a fitful sleep, not waking until ten o’clock and taking my soggy oatmeal into the bathroom. Denton and I had separate bathrooms, and I had decorated mine in silver and white with black fluffy rugs and flowers back when I’d had money a few years ago when we first moved in. It had been my junior year of college. His fashion stuff had taken off, so we had decided to get a nice place together. I’d been working for an investment firm at the time, but lost the job when I graduated because the position had only been for students.
The sun peeked through the window and I felt luxurious as I soaked in the tub with the last of my good bath salts. Leaning against the towel pillow, I shut my eyes and tried to relax, but could feel the tension throughout my body. I was constantly waiting for my phone to ring these days, so when it did, I practically flew out of the tub, hoping it wasn’t just Denton saying he’d forgotten his key.
I looked at my phone, not recognizing the number. “Hello, this is Henley Cates,” I said, accustomed to answering as a professional.
“Hi, this is Martha with Human Resources at H&P Enterprises. I’m calling to let you know you have been scheduled for an interview this afternoon at one o’clock.” Her chipper voice glided through, but a glance at the time didn’t allow me to enjoy the good news.
“Thank you. Is that one, central time?” I squeaked.
“Yes, ma’am. About forty-five minutes from now. You can enter through the front and you’ll be directed here. Thank you.”
She hung up before I could ask why the hell I hadn’t been notified sooner.
I jumped out of the tub, not bothering to empty and wash it, and quickly began drying off, wondering when, or if, I had previously gotten a notification about the interview. I’d been glued to my emails and cal
l-log for months, yet I was sure this was the first time I’d heard about it.
