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Finn leans back in his chair, his eyes dark and unreadable. Finally, he nods. “Okay, Emma. Give it a try.”
And I do. I throw myself into cold-calling potential clients, a list of names culled through my hours of research. I set up coffee dates and lunches, after-work drinks and even a Saturday brunch with one very busy, and very wealthy, woman.
At each of them, I sell the firm. Not the firm as it was, but the firm as it will become. It’s easy for me to do this, because the vision of the firm that Damien, Luc, and Finn want to create is one that I believe in wholeheartedly.
To my surprise, I discover that I’m good at this. I always thought of myself as too shy to meet new people, too modest to make an impression. But halfway through my first coffee meeting, I realize that I’m having a lot of fun. I’ve always loved talking about the law and how much good it can do, but growing up, that kind of conversation was discouraged so often that I just got quiet. Staying silent seemed simpler than constantly defending myself for wanting to speak my mind, so that’s what I did.
But now, I’m learning the power of my voice. And not just in these meetings, a gratifying number of which have resulted in potential clients visiting the office and being wooed by Luc, Finn, or – if they’re really important – Damien. But also in the rest of my life. I speak more freely to my parents on my weekly phone calls home, not caring if they disapprove of my choices. Because now I know that they’re the ones that are right for me, and that gives me the kind of confidence that I once only dreamed of possessing.
“Emma, you are a miracle worker,” Finn says to me a few weeks later. “We’re actually signing new clients!”
“That’s great!” I beam.
“If you have time, I’d like your help with a new case,” he adds.
I nod enthusiastically. “Definitely.”
“Great.” He glances at his watch. “I’m tied up in meetings all afternoon, but are you free tonight? We could grab dinner at the bar downstairs and I’ll bring you up to speed.”
“Sure,” I nod. He smiles and leaves, and I lean back in my chair.
Over burgers and beers, Finn outlines the case. “I can’t wait to get started,” I say when he’s done.
“There are going to be a lot of late nights in our future,” he warns.
“I think I can handle late nights with you.” I mean for the words to come out in a teasing tone, but instead they sound more like a come-on. I look at Finn’s face as the silence between us grows.
He clears his throat. “I can handle that, too,” he says, his voice low, and I blush.
“So when do we get started?” I ask.
“Tonight, if you’re up for it.”
“I am,” I say, looking straight at him.
“Okay, then,” Finn says, and swallows. “Let’s get the check.”
In the elevator, we stand closer together than is really necessary in the empty car. For a second our eyes meet and I think he’s about to kiss me, but then the bell dings and the doors open onto our floor.
Finn isn’t lying about the late nights. I quickly lose count of how many times I leave the office at midnight or even later, how many times we order in takeout that grows cold on the conference room table as we plow through files and documents.
But I’m energized in a new way, both by the case and by working so closely with Finn. Neither of us come even close to crossing the line between us again. I don’t know why he doesn’t, but I know that between the precariousness of my job and whatever is going on with him and Raven, there’s no way I’m getting too close to him right now.
15
EMMA
I’ve gotten less nervous about walking into Finn’s office lately. Yes, I get gossipped about, yes, Lucy makes jokes about how I’m clearly trying to sleep my way up the corporate ladder, but at the end of the day, it’s just another work relationship. I don’t get talked about as much as whoever it is who keeps stealing things from the break refrigerator.
Today, I’ve picked up some coffee for both of us and I want to throw an idea about the latest case the firm picked up. I’ve found an old case that could give us a new angle on the defense, but it would mean turning the case into the kind of irritating, technical argument that jurors hate.
“Hey, Finn,” I call out, stepping through the door. “Who’s in the mood for some good old fashioned far-fetched quibbling?”
I’m met with silence, and immediately, I can tell that I’ve got the mood of the room wrong. Luc and Damien are here, standing on either side of Finn, who’s resting in his chair, looking depressed.
Something bad has definitely happened.
“Uh, thank you for the coffee,” Finn says politely. “That’s nice of you.”
