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Standing and buttoning my blazer, smoothing my hair, I grab my briefcase and start throwing my research in. I have twenty pages full of information about the case, and there’s still so much more to do.
But some things are more important—the Portland Women’s Center being one of them.
I owe my entire existence to the place. If it weren’t for the caring women within those walls, I’d never be here today.
Twenty years ago, my mother was a struggling, single mom, trying to raise me. I never knew my father, who walked out when I was a toddler and never came back. She worked every shift she could at a local seafood diner, trying to make enough for us to stop living paycheck-to-paycheck. But that was hard, considering her tips were never guaranteed, and often we’d go hungry. Once, we had to spend a night in my mother’s car, during the coldest night of the winter. She didn’t have money for gas, so she would have to turn on the ignition, just long enough for us to not freeze to death, then turn it off to save what little gas was left.
It was a woman named Ruth who first took her under her wing, offering her a helping hand to get her on her feet. While we were staying at the shelter, Ruth, an attorney, had put my mom through paralegal school, which had allowed her to finally get a good job, and a nice apartment. But my mother didn’t stop there. She went to college during nights, and then law school, eventually becoming an attorney herself.
Because I saw my mother working hard to realize her dreams, I knew I wanted to do the same. I’ve always dreamed of starting my own center for women, helping them the way Ruth helped my mom with training, scholarships, and anything else she needed to be able to stand on her own two feet.
Unfortunately, that takes money. A lot of it.
And as a senior associate at a small-time law firm, I don’t exactly make the big bucks.
The promotion, though, should help.
Months ago, when Bill Lindsey said he was going to retire, Lisa sent out an email saying they’d begin the process to fill his shoes soon. She’d included an information sheet with salary ranges, benefits, et cetera. In addition to earning a salary that’s nearly twice what I’m currently making, the partner position has various other perks—profit sharing, a flexible schedule, the opportunity to pick and choose which cases I want to handle. All of that will help me to pour my extra earnings and time into giving back.
Even though I live to work, I’ve always set aside something—whether it be time, money, donations— for the Portland Women’s Center. It’s never felt like a sacrifice.
Snapping my briefcase closed, I head for the door. I’m just about to jab the button on the elevator when Brooks wanders out from his office. He spots me, and a curious look spreads over his perfectly symmetrical face. He’s been looking at me strangely ever since this morning, and I haven’t quite been able to figure out why that is.
It was hard enough sharing a conference room with him this morning. I could hardly bring myself to make eye contact because every time I tried, I thought of my fantasy, of him hovering over me, his hands molding my body.
Even now, those thoughts threaten to invade. I shove them away as he saunters closer.
“Half day, Bayliss?” He makes a show of checking his watch.
I frown. “Considering I always get here at seven, Thursdays are my early day. Not that it’s any of your business.”
I step aside as he stands beside me. “So you actually have a life outside this place? Who’d have thought?”
I shouldn’t entertain him, but I can’t help it. “Well, not you, apparently. Then again, you’re usually too busy schmoozing to notice anything.”
Schmoozing isn’t a word in my everyday vocabulary but it’s nicer than what I really want to say.
The elevator dings, and the doors open. I side-step around him and go in, leaving him staring after me. Grabbing my phone, I check the messages I last received from Rhonda. She’s doing so much better these days—she has a full-time job from an interview I set up for her, and her three kids are thriving in school. There’s no better feeling than helping someone succeed, especially when they deserve it. It puts a smile on my face.
When I look up, just before the doors close, I realize he’s still staring after me.
8
The weekend blows up before it even starts.
Friday afternoon, I’m feeling at the top of my game because I just came in from the courthouse where I managed to negotiate far more favorable terms for my client than she’d expected. She was so delighted, she hugged me, and promptly invited me over to dinner this weekend. The stars in her eyes told me it was a little more than a simple dinner invite. I turned her down. Not that I could accept anyway. Firstly, I don’t date clients or colleagues… and secondly, because, well… Jace and Ellie.
