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JL: Sam was bailed this morning. Liam there?
I’m not surprised but my anxiety is now sky-high. My fingers shake as I tap out a response.
ME: Just arrived.
JL: ????
Liam’s ringtone, “Burnin’ It Down,” starts. “JL,” he tells me with a grin. “Yeah, Boss?”
Silence for several long minutes. Then Liam puts the phone back in his pocket. “Okay. I’ll be here until JL takes over. Can I hang out in your office? Or do you have somewhere I can be close by but not be in your way?”
“You can stay here for the moment. I have a meeting in the conference room soon. We can figure something out later.”
“Cool. JL is going to take you to lunch and will be with you overnight. Case will take over in the morning. Dirk will be the third man.” He snickers, enjoying his own reference to the Orson Welles film. Clearing his throat, he continues, “With JL leaving at the end of the week, three will be the minimum and we can bring in someone extra if we need to. JL will give you the complete schedule.”
“Is this going to extend to my trip to Paris?”
“To O’Hare and an escort onto the plane. GSU will have someone pick you up at De Gaulle and take you to the hotel. JL is the man when it comes to organizing everything.”
“Thanks.” I pick up my iPad. “If you want more coffee, the machine is in the staff lounge.”
“Great. All right if I hang out there?”
“No problem. If anyone asks, just tell them you’re waiting for me..”
As I walk out from my office, I hear Elspeth call me. “Hey, Ms. Press.” She must be psychic or have CCTV in the corridor since she can’t see me from her post in the foyer, and yet she knows I’ve left my office.
With a frown, I change direction. “What is it, Elspeth? I have a meeting in a few minutes.”
She huffs, “Just doing your favor.” Then she sits there, staring at me.
“Favor?”
“Yeah. Your shoes.” She looks at my feet with a frown at my conservative, low-heeled, black pumps.
“Oh, right. Thanks for looking it into it for me.”
“There’s a place you can send them for repair.” She dangles a Post-it note then pulls it back. “Just leave them here and I’ll arrange for a pickup.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I gush, then run down the hall for the meeting.
The partners’ conference room is overheated, and I feel moisture collecting by the time I take my seat, halfway down the left-hand side of the mahogany table. Rebecca sits at the head. This part of the meeting is pre-client strategizing.
The table seats twelve, but there will only be eight of us, plus the client. The three unused chairs sit against a wall, a minor blockade in the narrow rectangular space. I’ve been in this room three times—when I was interviewed, when I was formally introduced to the partners and staff on my first day, and when I was promoted three years ago from associate to senior associate. Now I’m placing my foot back on the ladder, hoping to move up to non-equity partner, where I don’t have to buy into ownership until I can afford to move up another notch. This promotion would show the equity partners have confidence in my abilities and give me options for more lucrative cases. If Hayden gets the spot, he’ll be an equity partner for sure.
While I’ve been woolgathering, the rest of the team have taken their places around the table—Laney, our researcher, Blaine, the file clerk, Mario and Francesca, the junior associates, legal secretary, Tulia, and puffing in at the last minute, Hayden. He’s wearing a suit I’ve never seen before. It looks custom tailored. Dark gray with a subtle eggplant-colored stripe, matching vest and slacks, with an eggplant-colored shirt. Black, high-gloss patent leather shoes. The outfit’s so sharp he could cut himself. Ten points to him for style. I sigh and add them to the spreadsheet.
“Where’s the donuts and coffee?” He glares at Mario and Francesca. “That’s one duty of junior associates.”
They trade mystified glances. Rebecca raps on the table with her knuckles. “If you want coffee and donuts, Hayden, call Do Rite or Stan’s for delivery. The associates are not required to feed your face.” The asperity in her voice sounds like the harbinger of doom.
I look out a window, barely able to see my reflection in the glass. Not for the first time, I wonder whether I belong at a firm where someone like Hayden can flourish.
“What kind of donut do you want, Micki?” Hayden’s irritating rasp makes me snap to attention.
My response isn’t fast enough. With a snap of his fingers that bumps my nose, he repeats, “Micki, donut, wake up.
“Chocolate old-fashioned.”
