I click a button, and our current building appears on screen. It’s the tallest one in Albuquerque, and the firm name appears across the top of it.
“While this firm bears my name as first and foremost on its letterhead, I couldn’t have gotten here without— as the Beatles say— a little help from my friends.”
I click forward to a photo of me and Ron Sanchez and Bill Reed, at a black tie fundraising gala last year. And then to a photo of the four of us twenty years ago, toasting to the news that we had settled a big case and had enough money to move to a new and better office.
“Since childhood I’ve had the knack for entrepreneurship and for making money. This story ages me— if the Beatles reference and talk about historical Albuquerque hasn’t already—”
Everyone laughs. The three women on the side table try to sound sexy with their rather obviously forced laughter, while Madilyn sincerely lets loose a good belly chuckle.
“But I started my neighborhood’s first marble ring at age 8. If you wanted a better marble, you traded yours in to the kid who had the one you wanted, and paid him ten cents. Five of it went to him, and five to the ringleaders.”
The laughs continue.
“When times were good— whenever a kid had gotten paid extra for doing an errand around the house, or Grandma came to visit and gave him a quarter— kids improved their marble collection. And when times were bad— when a kid wanted the latest comic book but didn’t have the money, or he was being bullied by some kid at lunch who required a pay-off to leave him alone— kids sold their marbles to make a little cash. But the house always won. And the ring wouldn’t have been the ring without my other ringleaders. The rest moved on, moved out of the neighborhood, disappeared. But one of them was Ron Sanchez. We’re still leading the ring today.”
Everyone claps.
“Thank you for the applause.” I nod. “But my point is that it takes a team of hard working, intelligent and— most of all— trustworthy people to build any organization that’s worthwhile. There was a reason that each of you were chosen as associates.”
I look directly at Madilyn. She returns my stare for a second, and then looks down at her laptop.
“There’s a meaning to all of you being here today. The firm believes in you, and wants you as part of the team. The firm has a very special purpose for each of you.”
Again I look at Madilyn.
I can tell, even with the lights dimmed for the projector presentation and even with her face downcast, that she’s blushing.
She knows I want her. I’ve never been one to hide my desires.
I click a button, and a photo shows up, of five guys— one of them being me— on top of a mountain.
“This is my team on top of Mount Everest last summer.”
The crowd gasps. It’s a breathtaking view.
“We got there not right away but little by little, working together and as a team. It’s why I wasn’t here to meet any of you who were clerks last summer. But I did learn valuable lessons to bring back to you. We are all on the same team. We all must do our part. We each must do what is asked of us.”
I stare straight at Madilyn, who shifts her eyes up at me and then back down.
“The concept of teamwork, of working together and helping each other, is why I started the associate mentoring program,” I continue.
I can see the three women on the end straighten up. Undoubtedly they’ve heard of this program. They know that that whichever associate is my mentor also becomes my lover. And they all want to be that associate.
And that’s why they won’t be. Because they’re too fucking eager. I hate easy targets. I like a challenge.
I look at Madilyn and continue.
“Your mentors will find you later this afternoon and set up an initial appointment,” I tell the room. “The rest of today’s orientation will be about office procedures such as billing, using the brief bank, working on assignments, using the firm software and computers and the like. But your meeting with your mentors will be where you get into the heart and soul of practicing law. Your mentor will be your coach, your guide, and your guru. It is my hope that these relationships will serve you well throughout your associateship here at Marks, Sanchez & Reed.”
Everyone waits with baited breath. They want to find out who their mentors are. And, perhaps even more importantly to some of them, who my mentee is.
I smile, knowing that I’ve teased them long enough.
“Monique has a list of mentors matched with mentees that she will pass out now before starting the portion of orientation that deals with payroll and benefits. There isn’t much rhyme or reason to why mentors were paired with mentees, since we don’t know much about you yet, and we only hope to be able to make some good guesses based on stated interests and goals.”
The three women in the front are whispering to each other, and it’s obvious they don’t believe me. They know that my mentee is carefully chosen ahead of time, as are many of the others.
“Without further ado, I’ll leave you in the good hands of Monique.”
Everyone looks disappointed, but I couldn’t help one last tease.
“I’ll be leaving for the rest of the day. I’ve got client business to attend to and you’ll soon learn that the practice of law never stops. But before I go, I’m pleased to announce that my mentee this year is Madilyn St. Clair. I’m happy with the assignment, and I hope that all of you will be just as pleased with yours.”
I can hear Melody Mason’s gasp as I walk towards the exit. She covers her mouth, but whispers to Mandy.
Annoying tendencies such as these are one of the many reasons I would never choose her as my mentee.
I look at Madilyn and raise my eyebrows. She’s staring straight back at me, as if taking me up on the challenge.
There’s nothing I like better a challenge. It’s why I’d chose a Madilyn over a Melody— or anyone in her crew— a thousand times over.
And as if showing me just how much of a challenge she’s going to be, Madilyn lowers her eyes once again.
But I know she’s heard my message loud and clear— I’ve made sure of it, by delivering it in front of a room full of her peers— and now it’s up to her to respond to my cues.
For extra affect, I drop a folded piece of stationery paper in front of her before leaving the room.
If she is the woman I think she is, then she will be mine for the taking.
And I have never been wrong about this sort of thing.
My knack for women is as good as my knack for entrepreneurialism and money making. It hasn’t always been this way— it wasn’t as ingrained in me since childhood like the marble ring or other business ventures I started at a young age.
I had to learn the hard way, to move from what I know I didn’t want to what I know I do want. But once I realized it, I’ve been as right about women as I have been about business and the law.
And I know enough about women to know that Madilyn St. Clair is going to be mine.
Chapter 8 – Madilyn
I tell myself not to open the note until we get our first break from the orientation but I can’t help myself. As Monique explains HR and billing policies that I already know, it begins to feel as if the note is burning a hole on the conference room table in front of me.
I can see that the Barbies are almost as anxious for me to open the note as I am. I also notice, once Monique passes around the list of mentors, that they don’t seem too pleased with their assigned mentors.
They keep sneaking glances over at me and talking amongst themselves. Telling myself that I want them to strain their necks trying to look at what the note says, I open up the folded- over piece of paper. Honestly, though, I can’t stand the anticipation any longer myself.
The stationery is fancy; the old-fashioned kind that no one ever even uses anymore. The initials RCS are embossed on it, and at the top, it says:
From the desk of Asher Charles Marks, Esquire.
The note is sh
ort and simple.
Madilyn,
Come to my office after orientation to receive instructions for your first training session.
Asher
My heart jumps up into my throat. The note sounds professional enough, but there’s an undertone to it that makes it a bit personal. Especially that last part.
My first training session?
Remembering that all eyes are on me— or at least those belonging to the Barbies and their little Ken-doll friend— I close the note and then type some gibberish on my laptop. I want to make it look like I’m taking notes from Asher’s note.
I want them to think I’m already being assigned big, important tasks, even though I know they think that I’m supposed to be Asher’s new sex slave or something. But I’ve only been chosen to be his professional mentee.
Right?
I’m not sure what to make of this situation. I’m flattered that Asher chose me as his mentee, but I want to have a nice, professional relationship with him. Isn’t it possible that he chose me because of my intelligence and proven track record of hard work?
But then, that means he isn’t into my physically. Just like the Barbies predicted. Maybe even because of my cankles.
I will myself not to look down self-consciously at my ankles. I don’t want to let the Barbies know they’ve gotten to me. And I know logically that the size or shape of my ankles haven’t changed one bit since I saw them in the bathroom stall this morning.
And obviously Asher doesn’t care about them. Whether he’s interested in being my mentor for professional reasons or personal reasons or both, he clearly chose me out of all the other possible mentees, cankles and all.
Not knowing which choice to root for— Does he want me for my brain, or my body?— I feel restless, wishing that orientation could be over already. But it just drags on all day long, with no seeming end in sight.
As the afternoon inches forward to a close, I’m mad at myself for being excited about seeing Asher once orientation ends. But I can’t get him out of my head, and I’m glad I’ll soon find out what exactly he has in mind for me.
Chapter 9 – Marliyn
Finally, the orientation ends. As I stand up to leave— trying not to look like I’m in too much of a rush— the Barbies and their Ken rush over to me.
Looks like I’ve made some friends.
“Hey Madilyn,” says Candace, a fake grin spreading over her face. “How are you? I’ve been meaning to say hi. Catch up with you a bit.”
“Hi there,” I say, trying to plaster an equally fake grin across my own face. “Last time I saw you was when I was lending you my Torts outline.”
I watch her blush and I know she’s thinking about how she was too hungover to study properly. And she wonders why Asher would pick me to mentor.
“I’m Mandy,” Mandy says. “We met at—”
“The mixer,” I fill in for her, extending my hand for her to shake. “You really like those Rum Runner drinks.”
Now it’s Mandy’s turn to blush.
“And I’m Melody. This is Joe.”
I resist the urge to remark, “You mean Barbie and Ken.” I decide I’ve gotten in enough zingers for the morning.
Everyone shakes hands all around, and then I’m glad that the re-introductions are over. I want the entire conversation to be over, too, so that I can go see Asher.
“So it looks like Mr. Marks has assigned himself as your mentor,” Candace says. “Lucky you!”
“Lucky me!” I repeat.
“Did he give you a note?” Mandy asks, butting in. “What does it say?”
“Just some assignments to start working on,” I tell them.
“Already?” Joe doesn’t even try to hide his jealousy. “Like what kind of assignments?”
“Oh, some research memos and simple discovery stuff,” I lie. But to my defense, I’m sure that’s what kind of assignments he’ll give me, because they’re the typical assignments. “Look, it’s been nice chatting, but it’s been a long day, and I need to head home.”
“We were only trying to be friendly,” Melody says, crinkling her nose up like a pug dog. “You don’t have to be so snooty.”
“I appreciate it,” I tell them. “I just have some plans and need to be going. And snooty is all just a matter of perception. Let’s catch up soon though!”
“Definitely,” Candace says, waving a perfectly manicured hand at me. She elbows Melody, as if to put her in her place for being snarky with me.
Cankles: One. Barbies and Ken: Zero, I think, as I head off on my own. I’m too excited to think about what Asher has in store for me to care about them anymore. This day is finally going the way I was hoping it might but in a totally different way than I had ever expected.
Chapter 10 – Madilyn
In planning my first day of work before I’d actually started it, I’d assumed I’d head back to my office after today’s orientation and continue setting it up and start working on any new assignments or notes from that day’s instructions. But since I don’t have an office yet, I sit down at my cubicle and stare at my computer.
There isn’t really any new work to get started on. At least, not until I see Asher. I just want to make sure that the Barbies and Ken leave, so they don’t see me going to his office on the seventeenth floor and start asking me even nosier questions.
I upload the notes I took during today’s orientation session to my drive on the firm server. I think about opening up the billing software and seeing if there’s a category for “training.” I doubt it, since the only hours that count are actual billable and collectible time spent working on client matters.
But then I see something flash in the corner of my computer screen. The IT guy had told me that app was for the intra-office instant messaging system. But I wasn’t expecting to get any messages yet.
I gulp and then click on the flashing light, somehow knowing who it’ll be.
Asher Marks: Did you read my note?
My fingers hover above the mouse, nervous to answer.
Madilyn St. Clair: Yes.
Asher Marks: Well, are you coming?
I gulp again.
Great.
I’m already being chastised by my new mentor. But I can’t help looking up and around and over my shoulder.
How does he know I’m here?
A thousand possible explanations run through my mind. He knows what time the orientation was scheduled to finish. It’s the end of the day so he assumes I’ll be here. Maybe the partners can see when the associates’ computers are online. The instant messaging system does alert them when I’m online.
But I still feel as if I’m being watched.
And I don’t know whether to be creeped out or intrigued. I guess I feel a mixture of both. Like with everything else today, my emotions seem to be a big jumbled mess and jump all over the place.
I know I’d better answer him, right away.
Madilyn St. Clair: Yes, just had to upload my orientation notes. I’ll be right up.
His answer is instantaneous.
Asher Marks: Good.
This is clearly not a man who is used to waiting. He’s a man used to people jumping when he says jump. And he’s letting me know that I didn’t jump quickly enough.
Oops.
My heart pounds as I take the elevator up to the senior partner floor. It’s obvious that Asher is trying to exert some sort of power play over me, and I can only imagine what he has in store for me when I get to his office.
If what the Barbies say is true, then he expects me do more for him than write research memos. Will he bend me over the desk and spank me? Does he have a bookcase that turns into some torture device or leads to a secret love den?
I blush at my thoughts. I want to laugh at their ridiculousness but I also have no idea what to expect. I can feel my panties dampening a bit, and I can’t believe I’m getting turned on by thoughts of what my boss and new mentor could do to me.
But they’re just thoughts, I
remind myself, as the elevator door opens and I head to his office. And they’re natural. He’s older, powerful and really fucking hot, to boot. And it’s not like my love life has been on fire any time recently.
I can’t help but feel lucky that the mysterious man I’d spent this morning masturbating over is now calling me to his office for some sort of intrigue.
I take a breath, and knock on Asher’s office door.
“It’s unlocked,” he says. “Come in.”
Unlocked?
Who has a lock on their office door?
Apparently Asher Marks.
As I step into his office, I realize he has a lot of things that other lawyers at the firm don’t.
For one thing, his office is much larger than any other office I’ve seen in the firm. It has the best view of the Sandia Mountains. It boasts a large screen TV. A leather couch and recliner. A Mad Men-style bar, a golf practice area and stacks of weights and kettle bars.
When I finally focus my gaze on him, as he sits behind his large mahogany desk, he’s still looking down at his work.
“Madilyn. Come in.”
He waves his hand at me, still without looking up.
I obediently take a few steps forward.
“Wait,” he says, holding up a finger. “Please close and lock my door first.”
I pause.
“It’s my office policy,” he says. “You’re to do it every time.”
“Yes, Mr. Marks.”
I close the door, and then lock it.
“Call me Boss,” he says.
He’s got to be kidding, I think.
But when I turn towards him again he’s finally looking at me with a sincere expression on his handsome face.
His brown eyes stare into mine in a way that seems as if he can see through me. He smells musty and masculine as if he’s been outdoors. His office smells like wood.
“Yes, Boss.”
I hope I don’t blush as I say it.
Yes Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Page 4