“You must have missed the follow-up. They changed the time to eight.”
My mind splutters, but no words come out.
“Take the elevator to the second floor, down the hall to your right, conference room five. Glenn Boone is about to deliver remarks to the group, so I suggest you hurry.” I recognize Glenn Boone as one of the managing partners—he’s an attorney of national acclaim and the one who can make or break my future at the firm. I need to impress him if I want to secure my permanent spot this fall. “Oh, and you’ll need this.” The receptionist extends a mustard yellow visitor’s badge. I stare at him, mouth open. He jiggles it. “Chop-chop.”
Snapping out of my panic, I grab the badge and power walk to the elevator on my right. I hammer the button, and when the doors open I launch myself inside. Hitting the two button, I clip the badge on to the lapel of my jacket with shaking fingers. As the elevator slowly rises, I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm my racing heart.
Okay, so I’m late on my first day. How can I triage this situation?
When the doors open, I push my shoulders back and step out of the elevator. Three long hallways stretch before me—one left, one center, one right. All the blood rushes from my face. Shit. I’ve already forgotten where to go. This is not happening.
Hitching my bag higher on my shoulder, I march down the hall straight in front of me. I think he said conference room five. No, four. Definitely something with an “F.” On my left, I pass a wooden door with a brass number three. Farther ahead and to my right, there’s a door with the number four. Murmured voices grow louder as I approach. This must be it.
I knock softly before opening the door a crack. Three pairs of stunned eyes land on me and ohhhh no. This is definitely not the right room. A middle-aged man and woman wearing neatly tailored suits swivel to stare at me while an elderly gentleman wobbles to his feet on the far side of the oversized conference table.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I’m in the wrong place.” I begin shutting the door, but a gravelly voice makes me pause.
“Where are you heading to?” the older man asks. His shock of white hair, deeply lined face, and expensive gray suit are strangely familiar…
“The conference room where the summer associates were asked to meet.”
“You’re in luck. I’m on my way there now.” He gives me a sly grin.
My stomach nearly bottoms out and I swallow down the panic. This is Glenn Boone. I recognize him now: he was on the hiring panel that originally interviewed me last year. And he’s caught me red-handed arriving late on my first day. This is not the impression I wanted to make, but there’s nothing I can do. Lifting my chin, I force myself to stay calm.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Glenn adds to the other two people in the room—presumably attorneys. “Then we’ll go over those depositions again.” They both nod.
“Now, which summer associate are you?” he asks once he’s in the hallway.
“Cassidy Walker.” I surreptitiously brush my sweaty palm against my thigh and extend my hand. When he takes it, I give him a firm handshake. His hand feels like fish bones in a leather pouch. “I had the pleasure of meeting you when I interviewed for a first-year associate position last year.”
“Ahhhh, yes. Ms. Walker. The survivor. I was sorry to hear about your accident, but it looks like you’ve healed well.” His baggy-eyed gaze drifts down and his thin lips crease into a frown when he reaches my trousers. Heat climbs up my neck. I know some old-school judges don’t like to see women attorneys wear pants in a courtroom—they prefer skirt suits only—but I didn’t think Smith & Boone operated under the same sort of antiquated culture. Apparently, they do.
“Thank you. I have, yes.”
He lifts his eyes to my face and nods solemnly. “Good. We’re delighted you could join us this summer to ease into firm life, especially after all you’ve been through.”
“I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity, sir. Thank you.”
We begin walking down the hall. My feet itch to double-time it to wherever we’re going, seeing as I’m already late, but Glenn seems content to saunter along at a stroll, one hand in his vest pocket. When we reach the elevators he turns left—down the hallway that was originally on my right. I was way off. He pivots toward me as he walks. “So, what did you think of my joke this morning?”
I blink. “Joke?”
He leans in like we’re coconspirators in a heist. “I like to razz the summer associates on their first day, so I ask David the receptionist to play a little trick and make you all think you’re late.”