In Your Corner
Page 2
Three minutes later, Penny bursts into the restroom and hefts my makeup case on the counter. With the efficiency that made the firm offer her a permanent position one week into her exchange program, she pulls out a handful of brushes and orders me to sit.
Obediently, I drop onto the padded stool beside the vanity table etched with the Farnsworth & Tillman logo, a crest with an F resembling a fox and a T resembling a tiger battling over the scales of justice. Classy.
“Male client?”
“Yup.”
“Age?”
“Founder just passed the mantle to his son, and Farnsworth described him as young and inexperienced, so I’m guessing early thirties.”
She discards a few selections and sorts through the bottom of the kit for my “younger face,” then spends the next ten minutes fixing me up.
After a quick glance in the mirror, I sigh and lean back in my chair. “You did your best, but it’s no use. We’d need an entire crate of concealer to get rid of the circles under my eyes. Hopefully, the new client will think an exhausted attorney is a good attorney because it means she’s working hard. What do you think? How do I look?”
“Haggard.” Penny gently wipes away some of the excess makeup and touches up my cheeks with her blush brush.
“I’m hoping that’s a British word for lovely.”
Penny snorts. “It means you’re pushing yourself too hard and it shows. It’s those pro bono cases you’re running on the side. They’re eating into the time people normally reserve for sleeping and basic body maintenance.”
My eyebrow lifts at Penny’s gentle rebuke. “I’m meeting a new client in a few minutes and this could be the case that cements my path to partnership. My father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and probably all my relatives back to the beginning of time were law firm partners before they were thirty-two. I can’t break the family tradition. I need to be cheerful and happy. I need to be motivated. I need the ‘Rah, rah! Go, team, go!’ speech we are forced to endure in our morning meetings.”
Penny studies me for a long moment. “Is that really what you want? Partnership at the age of thirty-two with all the burdens and responsibilities of running a law firm?”
“Of course that’s what I want.” I follow her out of the restroom. “It’s the next logical step. It’s what I’ve been working toward since I got my kindergarten report card. Nothing will make my parents happier or more proud than to have me carry on the family tradition.”
“Rah, rah. Go, team, go.” Penny adorns her monotone with a bland expression.
I go. But, for once, I’m not feeling the rah.
***
Ten minutes later, after a wave to Penny, I grab my cell phone and notebook, and head to the elevator bank through a labyrinth of gray felt partitions. As I step into the shiny steel and glass elevator, my phone buzzes. A smile curls my lips when I check the caller ID.
Drake. Or, to be more formal, Dr. Donald Drake. My long-term friend with benefits, and one of Oakland’s preeminent heart surgeons, has kept me going through the worst of times. Tall and muscular with natural blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, I thought he was an Adonis when I first laid eyes on him. Still do.
“Well hello, stranger,” I breathe into the phone. “How long has it been? Two…three months?” The doors close, and almost immediately, I am catapulted toward the client reception area at light speed. Time is money at Farnsworth & Tillman.
Drake chuckles. “Long time no sex.”
“I was thinking that myself. Unfortunately, I’ve been hit with a new case, and it’s going to eat into my sex time.”
Drake makes a disapproving noise into the phone. “Sex is a basic human need, like food or sleep. As a medical professional, I can’t in good conscience allow you to risk your health by depriving yourself. How about I pick you up tonight for a quick fix? I’m ring doctor at Redemption until about ten p.m., and then I can come straight to your office.”
My chest tightens when he mentions Redemption. My best friend, Makayla, met the love of her life, Max, aka Torment, at what is now one of Oakland’s up-and-coming MMA fight training gyms.
And I lost mine…Jake.
I try to wipe out the memories of Jake that are intimately associated with the fight club as the elevator hurtles me toward my destination, but once he’s in my mind, he refuses to leave. I can’t decide which memory is worse. The devastation on his face when he walked into my apartment after our breakup and saw Drake in my living room wearing only a towel, or the hurt and anger in his voice at Torment’s near-fatal fight when he told me exactly what I’d thrown away.
“I would love to use you for sex, Drake. It’s been far too long. But I’m not getting out of the office any month soon.” My voice catches and I hesitate before bringing up the topic I have successfully avoided for the last few months. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about our arrangement…”
The elevator jerks to a stop and I end the call, promising to meet Drake for coffee after he’s done at Redemption as I step out into the gaping maw of the client reception area. Designed with the sole purpose of intimidation, the vast foyer with its twenty-foot ceilings and almost three-hundred-sixty-degree views gives a whole new meaning to the word fishbowl.
With a nod to the team of receptionists, all wearing their matching navy blue and teal Farnsworth & Tillman uniforms, I check the TV monitor for the room number and then turn in to the maze of marble corridors, stilettos clacking as I head toward unlucky room thirteen.
Obediently, I drop onto the padded stool beside the vanity table etched with the Farnsworth & Tillman logo, a crest with an F resembling a fox and a T resembling a tiger battling over the scales of justice. Classy.
“Male client?”
“Yup.”
“Age?”
“Founder just passed the mantle to his son, and Farnsworth described him as young and inexperienced, so I’m guessing early thirties.”
She discards a few selections and sorts through the bottom of the kit for my “younger face,” then spends the next ten minutes fixing me up.
After a quick glance in the mirror, I sigh and lean back in my chair. “You did your best, but it’s no use. We’d need an entire crate of concealer to get rid of the circles under my eyes. Hopefully, the new client will think an exhausted attorney is a good attorney because it means she’s working hard. What do you think? How do I look?”
“Haggard.” Penny gently wipes away some of the excess makeup and touches up my cheeks with her blush brush.
“I’m hoping that’s a British word for lovely.”
Penny snorts. “It means you’re pushing yourself too hard and it shows. It’s those pro bono cases you’re running on the side. They’re eating into the time people normally reserve for sleeping and basic body maintenance.”
My eyebrow lifts at Penny’s gentle rebuke. “I’m meeting a new client in a few minutes and this could be the case that cements my path to partnership. My father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and probably all my relatives back to the beginning of time were law firm partners before they were thirty-two. I can’t break the family tradition. I need to be cheerful and happy. I need to be motivated. I need the ‘Rah, rah! Go, team, go!’ speech we are forced to endure in our morning meetings.”
Penny studies me for a long moment. “Is that really what you want? Partnership at the age of thirty-two with all the burdens and responsibilities of running a law firm?”
“Of course that’s what I want.” I follow her out of the restroom. “It’s the next logical step. It’s what I’ve been working toward since I got my kindergarten report card. Nothing will make my parents happier or more proud than to have me carry on the family tradition.”
“Rah, rah. Go, team, go.” Penny adorns her monotone with a bland expression.
I go. But, for once, I’m not feeling the rah.
***
Ten minutes later, after a wave to Penny, I grab my cell phone and notebook, and head to the elevator bank through a labyrinth of gray felt partitions. As I step into the shiny steel and glass elevator, my phone buzzes. A smile curls my lips when I check the caller ID.
Drake. Or, to be more formal, Dr. Donald Drake. My long-term friend with benefits, and one of Oakland’s preeminent heart surgeons, has kept me going through the worst of times. Tall and muscular with natural blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, I thought he was an Adonis when I first laid eyes on him. Still do.
“Well hello, stranger,” I breathe into the phone. “How long has it been? Two…three months?” The doors close, and almost immediately, I am catapulted toward the client reception area at light speed. Time is money at Farnsworth & Tillman.
Drake chuckles. “Long time no sex.”
“I was thinking that myself. Unfortunately, I’ve been hit with a new case, and it’s going to eat into my sex time.”
Drake makes a disapproving noise into the phone. “Sex is a basic human need, like food or sleep. As a medical professional, I can’t in good conscience allow you to risk your health by depriving yourself. How about I pick you up tonight for a quick fix? I’m ring doctor at Redemption until about ten p.m., and then I can come straight to your office.”
My chest tightens when he mentions Redemption. My best friend, Makayla, met the love of her life, Max, aka Torment, at what is now one of Oakland’s up-and-coming MMA fight training gyms.
And I lost mine…Jake.
I try to wipe out the memories of Jake that are intimately associated with the fight club as the elevator hurtles me toward my destination, but once he’s in my mind, he refuses to leave. I can’t decide which memory is worse. The devastation on his face when he walked into my apartment after our breakup and saw Drake in my living room wearing only a towel, or the hurt and anger in his voice at Torment’s near-fatal fight when he told me exactly what I’d thrown away.
“I would love to use you for sex, Drake. It’s been far too long. But I’m not getting out of the office any month soon.” My voice catches and I hesitate before bringing up the topic I have successfully avoided for the last few months. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about our arrangement…”
The elevator jerks to a stop and I end the call, promising to meet Drake for coffee after he’s done at Redemption as I step out into the gaping maw of the client reception area. Designed with the sole purpose of intimidation, the vast foyer with its twenty-foot ceilings and almost three-hundred-sixty-degree views gives a whole new meaning to the word fishbowl.
With a nod to the team of receptionists, all wearing their matching navy blue and teal Farnsworth & Tillman uniforms, I check the TV monitor for the room number and then turn in to the maze of marble corridors, stilettos clacking as I head toward unlucky room thirteen.
