Starting this job has been nerve-racking. I walked in here yesterday full of confidence, and with good reason. As a high school valedictorian who went on to get my bachelor’s and law degrees from Stanford, graduating summa cum laude, I was ready to conquer the world. Yeah, my interviews with Charlton Hammerness and Vic Stevens—along with their top partners—were pretty intimidating, but I knew I could do it, knew I could impress them and get the position, which was incredibly competitive, since they were only taking on two new first-years.
That self-confidence has deflated quite a bit since yesterday, though. There are more than five dozen attorneys at this firm. I’m at the bottom of a very tall ladder.
In what feels like record time, I make my way to the main conference room—a huge space, spartanly decorated, its focal point the biggest table I’ve ever seen, with plenty of room for the two dozen or so leather chairs surrounding it. I catch sight of the may-or-may-not-be-rude woman at the far end, her back up against the wall, arms crossed. She spots me and waves, gesturing me over.
Okay, so that’s a good sign, right?
I make my way over to her, inching sideways past a group of suit-clad men clustered by the end of the dark wood table. Letting my breath puff out, I flash her a smile. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“No problem. I guess we haven’t met—” Looking down as I put my hand out, she shakes her head. “No offense, but you really don’t want to touch me. I’ve got a nasty cold. That’s why I wasn’t here yesterday, which was your first day, right?”
Well, a cold explains that hoarse voice of hers. “Yeah,” I reply, sliding into the empty spot next to her against the wall. “I’m Paige Waters. I’m in litigation, working under Shaun Hudson.”
“Bethany Wang. Family law.”
I’m about to say it’s nice to meet her and that I’m hoping to get transferred to family law eventually, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“To get it over with,” she goes on, shooting me a briskly playful look, “yes, I was born here, and so was my dad. His parents immigrated from China. My mom is a blonde white lady, which is why people find all of this”—she swirls her index finger in a circle in front of her face—“plus my name kind of confusing. And yes, I’ve thought of changing my last name—especially in high school; it was horrible—and I’d probably do it if I wasn’t worried it might give my dad a stroke.”
For a second, all I can do is stare at her. I’ve met some over-sharers in the past, but good grief.
“You could always do it and just not tell him,” I suggest, deciding I like her. She’s direct, no-nonsense. In other words, totally my type of person.
“I’m the worst liar in the world,” she says in a low tone, then adds with a twitch of her lips, “Cue the lawyer jokes.”
I let out a half laugh, half groan. My mom is an attorney, too, and I grew up with my dad’s bad lawyer jokes. And since the day I told my parents I was applying for Stanford Law, he’s been directing them at me as well. That’s okay, though. Since he’s been married to my mom for nearly thirty years, I suppose he’s earned it.
“You’re a second-year?” I ask Bethany, scanning the room. The seats around the conference table are filling up with mostly men and some women, all of them definitely older than me. More experienced. Comfortable and settled in their jobs. That’ll be me, too, eventually. I keep having to remind myself of that fact.
“How’d you guess?”
“All the older associates I were introduced to yesterday looked a little…frazzled?” I answer with a smile.
“That sounds about right.” She snorts and then snickers. “Good thing a lot of them get to sit down for this, I guess. The rest of us have to stand.”
Narrowing her eyes in the direction of the door, she says, “Oh, except for the Golden Boy, of course.”
“Golden Boy?” Curious, I follow her look.
And all the air is sucked out of my lungs. My heart does a flip.
Oh. My. God.
There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s talking about the guy who just strolled into the conference room, chatting with a couple of partners I don’t remember the names of. And while most of the new faces I’ve seen since yesterday morning are still running together in my mind, I know for absolute sure that I've never seen him before.
I’d remember him. For the same reason I’ll never forget my first glimpse of the Grand Canyon on that family vacation when I was fourteen. Or the Coliseum and the countless other awe-inspiring sights I enjoyed on my whirlwind tour of Europe with a couple of friends the summer between high school and college. And if I were ever lucky enough to go into space, I’m guessing that first view of the earth from up there would also be a comparable experience.
He’s that striking—tall, broad-shouldered, and athletic, with a narrow and sharply-chiseled face that a Greek god would envy and light brown hair with a golden sheen, making Bethany’s moniker for him all the more appropriate.
Then he smiles and laughs at something one of the other men says, and I die a little. RIP old Paige. Long live the new Paige, who somehow has to find a way to go about her job while knowing she’s found a new standard for male perfection—and that he’s a coworker.
“Logan McKinley,” Bethany supplies in a loud whisper. “He’s a third-year, and most of them have to stand, too, but Hammer wants him by his side, so he gets to sit.”
And just as she says that, he unbuttons his suit jacket before pulling out the chair to the left of the seat at the head of the table, which I’m assuming is reserved for Mr. Hammerness.
“I haven’t met him yet,” I tell her.
While shifting in to sit down, he starts taking stock of the room, sliding his cool blue eyes across the mass of people.
“Probably because he was in court yesterday,” says Bethany. “Hammerness is in the middle of a huge trial right now—that securities fraud thing—and McKinley is second chair. A lot of associates with more seniority than him are pretty pissed about that.”
His gaze moves past me as swiftly as it does everyone else, but then it’s like he freezes, straightens…and whips his attention back to me.
“Best advice you’ll get this week,” the woman next to me goes on. “If you want to get anywhere around here, learn to kiss ass.”
“Uh-huh,” I say distractedly, because Logan McKinley’s still zeroed in on me, and it’s like an arrow to the chest. I stop breathing while his eyes hold mine.
And when he rakes those eyes down my body and then back up again, I feel aware of every inch of myself in a way I never have before—aware of how hurriedly I twisted my hair up this morning, of how tightly my black blouse and long, white pencil skirt fit me, and of how I couldn’t resist wearing my new Kate Spade heels despite the inevitable agony at the end of the day.
Does he like what he sees? I suppose he must, or he would’ve looked away by now. A burning, prickling heat spreads through me, from the top of my head all the way to the tip of my toes.
Then Charlton Hammerness marches in, and Logan breaks eye contact, taking his seat while everyone falls silent. Hammerness stops behind the chair at the head of the table, looking around the room, a scowl on his face.
“Billable hours are down in every department,” he says, his bushy eyebrows quivering. “I wanna know why and how you’re gonna fix it.”
What follows is a tense twenty minutes of him fuming and snapping at people whose excuses and suggestions fail to satisfy him. Thankfully, it seems like only the attorneys seated at the table are expected to contribute. I guess the rest of us are so low on the totem pole that we’re good for nothing except observing and learning.
And the whole time, Logan McKinley stays silent. I keep expecting Hammerness to call on his “Golden Boy” to speak up, but he never does. Which is strange, because it seems like everyone else gets their fair share of reproach from the firm’s founding partner. So that either means he thinks Logan is blameless…or that he refuses to criticize his protégé in public.
Bethany’s nickname for him seems more fitting by the minute.
I lose count of how many times I catch myself looking at him and have to force my eyes away. It’s an impulse I can’t seem to control, as if he’s a flame and I’m a helpless, stupid moth. Or as if he’s candy and I have a severe sweet tooth.
I’m in so much trouble.
Well, I just need to stay away from him, that’s all. Doesn’t matter that fifteen percent of people meet their significant others at work, making it the most common start of romantic relationships, because really, that just makes it kind of a cliché, doesn’t it? Besides, I have plans—plans that I’ve perfected and stuck to since I was a preteen—and right now I’m in the “build a career” stage, which leaves zero room for distractions. Especially those of the unbelievably hot-coworker kind.
A hot coworker who seems to have the gods smiling upon him in every way imaginable, and so he probably has the oversize ego to match. Which means that it should take only one conversation before I’ll want to strangle him, anyway.
By the time Hammerness wraps up the meeting by slamming his hand down on the table before pointing his finger at everyone and barking out a final, “Fix it!” I’ve developed an entire narrative of Logan McKinley’s most likely personality, and he’s clearly the kind of smug and smarmy douchebag that I can’t stand.
Unfair? Maybe, seeing as I haven’t exchanged a single word with him yet. But I don’t care. It’s safer this way.
“Go to the break room and have a cup of coffee with me?” Bethany asks as we follow along the crowd of people streaming out of the conference room.
“Sure,” I say, and I let her lead the way past partners heading back to their offices and associates going back to their partitioned desks.
The break room at Stevens and Hammerness is pretty small, like the kitchen in a tiny apartment, but the coffeemaker is serious business—one of those gleaming stainless-steel monstrosities you find in coffee shops. Bethany fills up a disposable paper cup and hands it to me, and I grab milk and sugar packets from the stacks next to the machine, pouring some in and twirling a stirring stick in the steaming liquid before putting a lid on it.
“So how did McKinley get to be the Golden Boy?” I try make the question sound casual, but I still move my cup up to take a sip, just in case my face doesn’t look as neutral as I’m intending.
Leaning against the counter, Bethany takes a drink from her own cup before she answers. “He’s just everything that Hammer looks for in a favorite minion. They both got their law degrees from Berkeley—and McKinley graduated summa cum laude, so there’s that. I also overheard someone say that McKinley blew Hammer away in his interviews.”
I give a nod. The picture of him that I painted in my head is still looking pretty accurate—even though a tiny voice is telling me that description sounded a lot like me.
“You’ll get it once you talk to him,” says the other woman, who I guess is taking me under her wing, for which I’m grateful. “He’s got a way about him…the way he talks, looks at you… It’s almost hypnotic. He could probably tell you the moon is made of cheese, and you’d believe him.”
“Right,” I reply, not bothering to hide my disgust. Maybe he’s even worse than I’m imagining?
Bethany shoots me a playful smile. “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that he’s so hot women around here keep fans under their desks just for when he walks by. Hammer likes to surround himself with beautiful people.”
At my raised eyebrows, she adds, “And no, I haven’t slept with him. Blissfully engaged.” She holds out her hand, showing off a ring with a rock the size of a pea.
“Oh, that’s gorgeous,” I tell her truthfully. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I’ll finally have an excuse to change my last name without my dad flipping out,” she replies with a gleam in her eyes.
As I laugh, she sips her coffee before saying, “McKinley was eyeing you, though, wasn’t he?”
“Probably just being curious about an unfamiliar face.” Again, I keep my voice light, though my pulse kicks up a notch.
“Uh-huh.” Bethany smirks.
I roll my eyes. “Settle down. I’m career focused right now, and I’m not dumb enough to hook up with a colleague. Especially not with a guy like that.”
“A guy like what?”
“Overly cocky. Too handsome and entitled and full of himself.” Deciding my coffee isn’t sweet enough, I pop the lid and dump in the rest of my sugar packet. “I went out with several guys like that in college, and in my experience, what you see is all you get. They’re shallow as a puddle, and they think because they have a pretty face, that’s all they need to bring to the table.”
My drink sweetened, I put the lid back on as I add, “I’d rather be with a man who has some self-doubt. Makes him willing to work harder.”
Throwing Bethany a self-deprecating smile, I lift the cup back up to my lips. Then I notice her expression, and I freeze. She’s looking back and forth between me and the door behind my back, her eyes wide with alarm.
Oh, no. No way.
We’re obviously not alone anymore, but it can’t be him. Can it? That kind of thing only happens in cheesy novels and bad rom coms, not in real life.
Reluctantly, I turn around, bracing myself for the worst.
And there he is. In the doorway, leaning against the frame. With his hands in his pockets and a blank, unreadable look on his face.
My palms turn clammy. With an unsteady hand, I set my cup down on the counter. How much did he hear? It couldn’t have been that much, right? I replay the conversation in my head. I’m probably okay.
“Have you met the fresh meat, McKinley?” Bethany chirps.
“No,” he replies after a short pause. “Unfortunately.”
And of course his voice is perfect, too—a deep and rich and smooth baritone. It makes me think of dark chocolate.
I step up to him and offer up my hand. “Paige Waters.”
He says nothing and makes no move, still studying me with that inscrutable expression.
Clearing my throat, I fight the urge to shrink away from him, to retreat. It takes all my strength to keep my hand outstretched as I ask, “And you are?”
One corner of his mouth twitches and dimples for a split second. “Pretty sure you know. Since you were just talking about me.”
My stomach drops. How long was he standing there?
“Gotta get back to work!” Bethany announces in a high-pitched tone. Scooting past us, she shoots me a look over her shoulder, mouthing, Good luck!
So much for having found an ally around here.
Well, I refuse to do anything except stand my ground. Locking eyes with Logan again, I ask, “Why would you think I was talking about you?”
This time the dimple stays, and he flashes the most perfectly annoying smirk I’ve ever seen.
“Because you couldn’t keep your eyes off me during the meeting just now,” he says.
Dammit. Heat burns my chest, fanning up my neck and into my cheeks. He noticed my staring…and I can’t remember the last time I was so embarrassed and furious at myself.
Still. I’m not backing down.
“Time to make an appointment with your optometrist,” I comment lightly.
That maddening smirk of his morphs into the full and brilliant smile, the same one that devastated me back in the conference room, except now I’m close enough to see how his piercing blue eyes gleam and spark.
And those eyes now go heavy-lidded as he leans down toward me ever so slightly. His voice a low rumble, he says, “I could see you perfectly, Paige Waters.”
My heart stutters, and I start to feel feverish. I’m scrambling for a good comeback, but he seems to have fried my brain. What the hell is happening to me?
“Good for you,” is all I manage to force out. I have to get out of here. Without a word, I move to slide past him through the door.
He puts his arm up, bracing his hand on the other side of the
doorframe, blocking my way.
Taking an involuntary step back, I fix a glare on him. “Excuse me.”
“Sorry,” he says in the least apologetic tone I've ever heard. “My cocky, entitled, too handsome self can’t let you go without making a pass at you. Obviously.”
Oh, yeah. I was right about the high likelihood that I’d want to strangle him. “You could. If you wanted to prove me wrong.”
He tilts his head. “Why would I want that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To make a good first impression on a colleague?”
His smoldering gaze turns hotter, full of unspoken promises. “I’m more interested in what else you could be.”
My bones turn liquid, heat sparking in my core—and then I start to panic, my heart jumping into my throat. He’s trying to fluster me. Why is it working? It shouldn’t be working. I’m smarter than that…right?
“At what point does this become sexual harassment?” I ask, hating how breathless I sound.
He straightens and lets his arm drop, unblocking the doorway. “Probably when you and Wang started discussing and judging me behind my back.”
Wow. Okay. I deserved that, I guess.
My face burning, I tell him, “You’re right. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.” Again I shove my hand out toward him, offering him a smile that feels wobbly. “Start again? Hi. I’m Paige Waters. First-year associate. Fresh meat.”
Big. Mistake.
This time he accepts, wrapping his hand around mine, and this must be what it feels like to get hit by lightning. I was not at all prepared to actually touch him, to have his bare skin against mine, to have his warm and firm grip feel like it envelops not just my hand but my entire self, body and soul.
Part of me wants to yank my arm away and run to safety. The other part doesn’t want to ever let go.
“I’ll accept your apology if you go out with me on Friday,” he says, tightening his hold on my hand so that it’s hovering on the edge of hurting me. An unexpected thrill shoots through me.
“No, thank you.”
My refusal doesn’t deter Logan McKinley. Of course. “If you’re scared, you could ask Wang if she and her boyfriend would want to come along as chaperones.”
Mend (Waters Book 2) Page 4