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“The next part of the path was doing well at law school,” she goes on. “And I did that too! You probably looked at my academic record when you hired me.”
I can remember Damien reminding me to do that, but I didn’t actually bother. We needed a paralegal pretty bad; unless she’d been selected magna cum boss-murderer, I was going to hire her.
“Top of your class,” I say, hoping that’s actually true.
“Exactly,” she replies. “Which did not come easy. But that was the plan. That was how I was finally going to make it in the big city. And then it was time for the next step…”
I reach out my hand, as casually as I can manage, and gently take a hold of hers. “Which was?”
Her hand hangs awkwardly in mine for a second or so, but just as I’m about to let go and pretend it was nothing, her fingers suddenly interlace with mine. She squeezes back, softly, playfully, even.
“Well, that was sort of the problem. My plan had been to get to Chicago and to have a good GPA at law school. I kind of figured that the rest of it would just sort of happen. Or that if it didn’t, they’d teach me what I was supposed to do while I was at law school.”
I can sense pain starting to creep into her voice. Being on plan, I realize, isn’t just a cutesy joke for her. It’s something that she takes very seriously.
For a moment, I try to imagine what my life might look like if I’d ever cared about any plan the way she clearly cares about the plan that’s brought her here. Frankly, I don’t have the slightest idea where I’d be right now, or who. Not here, I know. And not me, either.
“So I’m guessing Devil’s Advocate wasn’t the first place you applied to?”
“I tried everywhere,” she says. “Or, at least, I tried as many places as I could find. I don’t know what I was doing wrong. It must have been something, but no one wanted me. Anywhere. Until you. No offense.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her.
“Thanks, but you don’t know that,” she answers.
“I don’t,” I admit. “But one thing I do know is the culture of all the big law firms around here. Do you think I’m the second Blackwell out of three at our firm because of my amazing qualifications?”
“I’m sure not having the right contacts played some role in all of it,” she agrees. “But I don’t think it’s the whole thing.”
“You’d be surprised how far knowing the right people will get you,” I say. “And how far behind not knowing them can leave you. Of course, you were probably also losing jobs because you’re shy.”
She looks surprised, and maybe a little bit offended. “You think I’m shy?”
“I told you ambition was the second thing I noticed about you,” I explain. “The first was that you’re modest. Used to not talking yourself up too much. To letting people underestimate you and then waiting for them to see their mistake. That’s the thing in Chicago. Most people stop after they’ve seen just one thing.”
She thinks about it for a second.
“You might have a point,” she says, finally. She stops walking and slips her hand out of mine. “Anyway, this is my apartment.”
I give the place a quick glance and nod. Definitely the kind of place she found by sorting apartments from lowest price to highest.
“Well, I’ve had a good night,” I announced. “I hope you did too.”
“Good night,” she says. The way she says it, I wonder if she’s bothered by something.
As she stands by the door, I take another risk. I lean in, lips puckered. At the last moment, she turns her head, and I end up stopping just before planting a very awkward kiss on her cheek.
“Good night,” I tell her, quickly, and turn around to walk back up the road as she heads indoors.
As I’m walking up the street, the conversation plays and replays in my head. She took my hand, and she seemed friendly most of the time. It even seemed like she was opening up when we were walking together. But then again, she was avoiding me when I first arrived, and when I tried to kiss her, she avoided me. Is she upset with me? Is she just being cautious? Or did I try to go too fast and mess things up just when they were going well?
This shouldn’t bother me the way it does, I tell myself. I never get upset about this, about anyone. Not an employee and certainly not a girl. That’s always been the way I am. Damien’s the overachiever, Luc’s the creative genius, and I’m… also there. I’m the other one. And being the other one means letting little things like what some girl thinks about you slide.
So why couldn’t I do that with Emma? Why did it matter so much to me if I did something wrong? Why was I already nervous about seeing her in the office again tomorrow?
I finally make it home later than I usually do. The place is a mess, which is nothing new. My place is always a mess. I’m wondering if Raven is the problem, or maybe it’s just that I’m the kind of guy who hangs out with girls like Raven.
I’m still thinking about it when I lie down in bed and fall asleep.
