“Great. I’ll have it in your in-box before I leave today.”
“Excellent! Do you have an hour? I’m hopping on a conference call with a client to go over some questions before his deposition next week. It’d be good for you to listen in. And if you don’t mind, take some notes.”
My phone buzzes from where I’m clutching it in my lap. Devin’s texted me back. I quickly glance down.
Roger that, Nancy Drew. See you at 7
I swallow the dry lump rising in my throat. If I sit in on the conference call, it won’t leave me much time to finish my memo and get home in time to get ready for tonight’s meet-up.
But this is big law life. There’s only one answer. “Of cour—”
“I’d be happy to take notes for you, Andréa,” Mercedes cuts in.
Every muscle in my body goes tense. I know what Mercedes’s doing. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Andréa blinks. “Thanks, but Cass has it covered… Mercedes, isn’t it?”
Mercedes pops out of her seat and extends her hand. Her charcoal skirt hugs the voluptuous curve of her hips. “Trowbridge. Ohio State University Law School graduate, magna cum laude.”
What the hell? I thought I was the only graduate in the summer associate program. Typically, summer associates are rising second-and third-year law students. My situation was unique. Or so I thought. That would explain her extra helping of competitiveness toward me. We’re competing for the same position in real time.
“A fellow Buckeye. Nice to meet you.” They shake. “Which practice group are you assigned to?”
“Public law.”
“Ah, Frank Carlson’s group.”
“Yes. But I’d love some exposure to litigation, and I’m always happy to help if you need an extra hand.”
From anyone else, I’d consider this a run-of-the-mill, benign request for practical experience in a different area of the law. But from the tone of Mercedes’s voice and the way one corner of her lips curl into a split-second smirk, it’s clearly an indictment of my perceived skills. An attempt to hip check me out of her way and into my assigned group. Heat pulses through my veins and I ball a hand into a fist on my lap. My nails dig into my palm.
Andréa blinks twice. “I’ll talk to Frank and see what we can do. Ready?” She says to me.
With a nod, I stuff my phone into a drawer, unplug my laptop from its docking station, and follow Andréa out.
“She’s intense, that one,” she says once we’re two hallways down and out of earshot.
The temptation to drag Mercedes from here to Timbuktu pounds in my chest, but I shove it down. I prefer to take the high road. It’s less crowded up there.
I shrug one shoulder. “She wouldn’t be at Smith & Boone if she wasn’t.”
Andréa chuckles. “True.”
We enter her windowed office and she closes the door behind me. I settle into the sleek, upholstered chair across from her desk and send up a silent prayer to whatever god is listening… please, don’t let this call take too long. I have a memo to finish and the meeting of my life to get ready for. No problem, right?
* * *
“Brie, I have a problem.” My voice comes out a choked whisper even though I’m alone in the women’s bathroom at the end of the hall.
“What’s up, buttercup? It’s almost seven—why aren’t you home getting ready for your get-together with Dream Boy?”
“Because I’m still at the office.”
“What! Why?”
“I got roped into a client meeting and then I had to finish a memo for my supervisor that took way longer than I thought.” At least Mercedes already went home. The last thing I need is for her to walk in on my bout of unbridled panic.
“You know you’re supposed to be there in fifteen minutes, right?”
“I know! And now I don’t have time to go home and change… help! Can you drive over and bring me the dress we talked about? The knee-length periwinkle one that’s hanging on the back of my closet? And the white stone necklace and matching sandals?” It’s not a date, but I still want to look my best… not like I spent the last ten hours hunched over a computer like a gargoyle.
“Oh, honey, I wish I could. Any other night I’d totally be there, but I have a thing.”
“What thing?”
“I’m presenting at an engineering conference downtown. They asked me to speak on a panel for Young Leaders in Flight.” Her voice takes on a mocking bravado, and I can practically hear her eye roll.