Of course, she was also a bitch, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to make a good lawyer.
He flipped the page, and his eyes narrowed. "What's up with this Missy Stephens?"
I nodded and tried to look concerned, which wasn't too difficult. "She's a real problem, Mr. Nelson. She comes with great bloodlines—"
"I can see that."
"But she's never going to make it in a firm. Not here, not anywhere."
He frowned. "Why not?"
"She's soft." I felt horrible badmouthing Missy like this, but it was true. She wasn't going to make it, and I wasn't about to lose my job over it. "She's been in my office since day one, complaining about people being mean to her. She won't speak up, won't even look anyone in the eye." I shook my head. "She has no commitment to this kind of lifestyle."
Otto rubbed his chin. "That's a problem. Her dad won't be happy if we don't offer her a position." He looked at me. "Do we still do that thing where we make offers on the condition the intern doesn't accept them? You know, so it makes it easier for them to get other jobs when firms ask if they got an offer from us?"
I shook my head. "Not after that last one sued us for making an offer which he accepted, and then we retracted it."
"Damn kids." Otto frowned. "So, what do we do?"
I took a deep breath. "I've been working on a little plan, and I think we've dodged a bullet."
He lifted a brow. "Yes?"
"Well, usually, as social director, I protect the interns so they have a great summer and want to come back."
"That's your job."
Gee, thanks for the recognition that I do it well. You're such a warm and fuzzy kind of guy, Otto. "Anyway, once I realized that it would be a nightmare to hire Missy, because we'd have to let her go almost right away, I decided it would be best if she made the decision to drop out herself." Was I good or what? "Anyway, I just got off the phone with her, and she has decided to drop out of the program. She said she could never work at a place that was so tough on people." I shook my head and tried to look disgusted instead of empathetic. "I have no idea how she could grow up in the family and not know what the law is like, but she doesn't."
Otto studied me for a long, impassive minute, and my stomach tensed. I couldn't tell. Would he scream at me for being a fool? Or commend me for doing such an excellent job handing the situation?
It was at that minute that I realized I really didn't want to lose my job. I could handle Otto, I knew what it took to succeed. I could be the next Hildy, molding young female attorneys into powerhouses that would crush the male-dominated nature of the firm. And I'd do it for myself. Not for my parents. Yes!
Which meant I had a lot to lose if Otto fired me.
He looked back down at the memo. "So, what about this fellow Jim Knockman? Looks like he's on the cusp."
Was he kidding? Not even going to respond? Did that mean I was off the hook? Or that he was impressed with me? Or that he was using the rest of my info, and then was going to fire me?
He eyed me. "Well? What about Jim? Should you manage him out of the program too?"
I swallowed. I think that meant he was okay with what I'd done. That managing out of the program was a good thing. So I'd done it. I was good at my job, and I'd finally proven it to Otto.
I was a success.
Until I screwed up the next thing. Not sure if this was how I wanted to live.
I needed to do some serious thinking.
I got back to my desk to a voicemail from Hildy. It was Monday, and I needed to submit the application by tomorrow with her husband listed as a reference, or it would be too late.
So I opened the website and looked at it. Lots of boxes to fill out.
Then I closed the window and tried to read emails.
Then I opened it again, and read the instructions.
Then I went on an intern tour to check in with everyone.
When I came back, the webpage was still sitting there with the cursor blinking at me.
There was nothing binding about filling it out, right? I mean, I could always walk away. And I might not even get into school anyway.
Filling it out didn't mean I wanted to be a lawyer. It simply meant I was keeping my options open.
I chewed on my lower lip for a moment, then I typed in my name, address, and phone number.
I stared at it for a while.
Then I clicked “Next.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I walked downstairs at eight-fifteen that evening, and Van was there. I actually felt a little nervous walking up to him, probably because I had something at stake. I wanted his friendship, and I hadn't done much to earn it. "Um, hi."
He looked up from a book he was reading. When he saw me, he sort of smiled, and slid the book under the desk. "Hey."
"So...sorry about blowing you off at the bar."
He shrugged. "You have your friends. That's cool."
There was some serious distance here. I know I deserved it, but it still made me feel bad. And seeing as how I was entirely friendless at the moment, I couldn't afford to give up Van too. "Here." I shoved the card at him, along with a jumbo size candy bar.
He stared at the card without picking it up. "What's this?"
"For you." I felt sort of stupid now. "I made it for you."
He looked at me with an unreadable expression. "You made me a card?"
"Yeah. It's bad, but whatever."
I felt really nervous when he picked it up and opened the homemade envelope. He smiled at the front of the card. Good. I'd been hoping for a smile there. When he opened it and read what I'd written, I tensed again. I couldn't remember exactly what I'd finally put down, but it was something to the effect of an apology for blowing him off. And inviting him for dessert at Après, my treat, to start our friendship again.
Dumb, I know, but I'd been a little mentally unstable since the breakup with Max. I'd been feeling sort of weirdly insightful and deep. I wished I remembered exactly what I'd written on there—he was taking an awfully long time to read it. I hope I hadn't written I love you, or anything stupid like that, out of habit from writing cards to Max. Oh, God. That would be so embarrassing.
Van grinned and shut the card, obliterating any chance of me checking out what I'd written. "I've never gotten a card like that before."
I shifted. "Yeah, well, there you go." Was I articulate or what? Obviously, if I became an attorney, I shouldn't become a trial attorney, since I obviously had no verbal communication skills when under pressure. What was up with that? A new development, because I'd never had this problem before. Must be all the stress.
"So, I have Thursday night off."
I nodded. Why was I so tense? Did it matter if he invited me out or not? I mean, it wasn't like Van was the only guy in the entire city of Boston who might hang out with me. Or maybe he was. Yes, actually, he probably was. Geez. Talk about pressure.
"Is dessert an option for Thursday?" he prompted.
"Sure." Phew. He'd asked. Relief was a wonderful feeling. "Maybe we could go out too. Like a bar or something? I mean, unless you have plans or something," I amended quickly, not wanting to seem too desperate. "Like with your friends."
He lifted a brow and studied me. Did I feel exposed or what? It was like he was reading my mind. My mind wasn't a place I wanted visitors right now. It was too much of a mess. "How about we go to dinner first and see what happens?" he suggested.
Dinner? I wasn't sure I had the cash to spring for dinner, too. Dessert at Après would probably cost twenty or thirty bucks a pop. Well, as long as April didn't collect on my share of the engagement gift, I was probably okay. "Sure. Dinner."
He nodded. "Want me to pick you up at your place?"
"At my place?" This was sort of sounding like a date. Or maybe I was wigging out.
"Or we could meet here."
I nodded. "Right."
He touched my arm. "You okay?"
"Depends on your definition." I wiggled my shoulders and let my
hands flap to release the tension. "No, seriously, I'm fine. Let's meet here."
He gave me another look that I couldn't read. "What time? Are you working until your usual time? Eleven?"
I smiled. "I don't have an event, so I'll leave early. How about seven?"
Surprise flicked across his features. "Really? That early?"
"Unless you don't want to get together that early. I mean, I can work later, or we don't have to meet or—"
He set his hand on my arm. "Relax, Shannon. Seven is fine. I'll meet you at your office?"
"Fine."
He gave me a look. "And if I'm two hours late and I don't call, worry. I'm probably dead somewhere."
I started to get tense about the jab about Noah, but Van shook his head before I could open my mouth. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that you can have high expectations with me and not worry you'll be disappointed. Don't let one bad experience burn you."
What was that about? It wasn't like this was a date. And it was way insightful for a guy. Too insightful. "I'm totally over Noah."
He lifted his brow. "Good for you."
I'm not over Noah. Or Blaine. Or anything. I'm an emotional disaster with no friends, except hopefully you. "So, um, I guess I'll see you Thursday."
He nodded. "Thursday."
I suddenly couldn't think of anything to say, so I left. But I did a little jig in the elevator on the way back up to my office. I had one friend after all!
My phone was ringing when I walked into my office. I answered it without checking caller ID. "Shannon McCormick, may I help you?"
It was my mom. "Max came over for dinner tonight, and he said you guys have really broken up. You're going to start dating other people."
It sounded kinda final to have my mom telling me. "Yeah."
"How did you convince him of that? What's wrong with you?"
I ground my teeth. Shouldn't there be a moratorium on harassing phone calls until I was fully recovered and strong enough to cope? "That's two questions. Which do you want me to answer?"
"Don't be smart with me. How could you drive Max away like that? It was bad enough you kept toying with him and all those breakups, but to actually convince him to date other women? What were you thinking? You're going to regret it and want him back, and it's going to be too late."
"Phoebe and Dave are having an affair." That, my friends, is a sterling example of the change-the-topic strategy.
My mom was shocked into merciful silence.
"Because they committed to the wrong person," I continued. "I'm not going to make the same mistake. See you later."
I hung up before she could recover her voice. If I went to law school, my mom would be all happy with me. But I wanted her to like me for me.
I frowned. But what was me? Was the real me the kind who could hang with Van and his friends and be happy? My parents would be horrified, but all I wanted was to have fun. So, maybe Emma was right. Maybe my staying at the law firm had been a subconscious effort to keep one toe in the world my parents would like. Same with dating Max, or lusting after Blaine.
Maybe it was time to find the real me, whatever that was. First step, go out with Van and his friends. Second...I surveyed the law school application on my screen, the "click here to submit" button blinking its challenge at me. Turn it in or not?
One minute, I felt the surge of power and excitement at the thought of being a lawyer.
Next minute, I hated everything having anything to do with the legal profession.
But I wasn't exactly unbiased. I had lawyer parents and brother, a lawyer-crush who'd used and dumped me, a pretentious bastard stealing my friend from me, and a boss who was a complete ass. It wasn't difficult to figure out where my hostility came from.
But if I took that away...I opened a new document on my computer and began a list titled Good Things about Lawyers and Law Firms If You Take Away Everything I Hate About It:
It's interesting.
It's challenging.
There are attorneys, like Hildy, who I would like to be friends with.
I would no longer be bottom of the barrel.
My pay might actually reflect how many hours I was working.
I could become a leader instead of a servant.
My wardrobe would still work.
I would make more money than these insurgent interns—insert gloating sense of satisfaction.
I could use my brain for something more interesting than how to delude interns about the true nature of working at M&S.
I would know how the firm works before I even started, so I'd be several steps ahead of everyone else.
Even though I'd have to go to school at night and work during the day, it's not like I had a social life to give up.
It would be fun to go into debt to pay for school. I love a good challenge!
* * *
I stopped and re-read my list. It was sort of dorky, but all positive. Interesting to note that I could actually be mature enough to assess the legal profession without letting my personal baggage prejudice me. Never would have thought it.
It wasn't enough to get me to go to law school yet, but I was pretty sure it was sufficient to justify submitting the application. So I emailed Hildy that I’d done it and her husband could follow up on it before I could make my other list—the Why I Hate Everything about the Legal Profession list.
Then I left the building so I couldn't get back on the computer and withdraw the application.
What was the worst that could happen? I could get into school, feel too much pressure to accept, attend, tell my family, be welcomed into the fold, and then spend the rest of my life in a job I hated, knowing that I'd sold out.
See? That wasn't so bad.
Chapter Thirty
On Thursday at six fifty-seven, I inspected my reflection in the bathroom mirror. No slut tank top tonight. Blue jeans, a pair of sandals with a decent heel, a cute V-neck tee shirt that was modest enough to keep my breasts from being on display, yet snug enough to acknowledge their existence. Freshly polished toenails and fingernails. Legs shaved, armpits hair-free, eyebrows tuned up. Hair brushed and released from the bun. My evening makeup, including lipstick, which I never wore. I had even put on my gypsy earrings that dangled down and implied a sense of fashion freedom I didn't usually sport.
Yes, I was worthy of a night of fun, with three minutes to spare.
I slung my suit bag over my shoulder, tucked my makeup bag under my arm, and walked back to my office. Blaine was in his office with the door shut. Typical. I barely spoke to him during the day, other than to bicker over Isabel's time. Emma had never come to see him at work, but they were obviously still together because I hadn't seen her in a week.
I frowned. Okay, so I missed her. So I was lonely. Not even Dave or Phoebe had called me.
Oh, sure. It was my fault because I'd been a bitch to all of them.
Maybe it was time to make some more cards.
"You look nice."
I stopped in the doorway to my office and felt my cheeks flame at the appreciative look on Van's face. Other than the time when my boobs were hanging out on display, I was certain he'd never looked at me as a woman before. Or at least never shown it. It felt weird. We didn't have that kind of relationship.
But it felt good. I mean, Van was undeniable handsome. And a nice guy to boot. Why wouldn't it make a girl feel good to get him to notice her? So I smiled. "Thanks."
He nodded. "I like that outfit a lot better than the one you wore to that bar the other night."
Nice of him to remember. "Yeah, well, that was a mistake, but feel free not to bring it up again." See? This is why we weren't dating. Because we were too honest. A boyfriend would never tell me when I looked bad, or at least he wouldn't if he wanted to stay conscious. But for some reason, it was okay for Van to be honest. Maybe because he was my only friend, and so he was replacing Emma and Phoebe and Dave, who I relied on for honesty. Whatever.
Van looked pretty hot. He was w
earing jeans and boots, and a light green shirt that matched his eyes. I peered closer. I'd never noticed his eyes were such a vibrant green. Very cool.
"They're not colored contacts." He sounded amused, and I felt my cheeks flame again. "They change based on what I'm wearing."
"I like them."
He raised his brow and I felt even more embarrassed. "So, um, dinner, then?" I said.
"How about the North End?"
"I love Italian." I tossed my suit bag over a chair and grabbed my purse from my drawer. Apparently, I was feeling the importance of developing this friendship with Van, because I felt all nervous and shaky.
We'd just stepped out into the hall, when Blaine walked out of his office. He was carrying his briefcase and looked like he was heading out for the evening. He nodded at me, then his eyes paused for a moment on Van, as if he was trying to place him.
How insulting. How could he not recognize Van? I tucked my arm protectively through Van's and smiled sweetly at Blaine. "Blaine, you remember Van Reinhart? Van, this is Blaine Hampton."
Blaine shook his hand, and I could tell he was still struggling to recall. Van put him out of his misery. "I work security downstairs."
"Oh, right." Blaine had the grace to look embarrassed as he shook Van's hand. "I didn't recognize you out of context."
Shut up, Blaine. You're being a prick. "Van and I are going to dinner." Van might be the security guard, but I was proud to be with him.
Blaine raised an eyebrow as he followed us to the elevator, and I shot him a warning look for no snide remarks. I knew he was remembering Dirk and Noah of recent past. Come to think of it, I'd never told Emma that Noah and I weren't an item, so Blaine didn't know either. Last he knew, he'd had breakfast with Noah after running into him in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning. Probably thought I was a total slut.
The elevator came and we all got on. "So, leaving early tonight, Blaine?" I asked, trying to deflect any potentially awkward questions from him.
One More Kiss (A Too Many Men Romantic Comedy / Chick Lit Novel) Page 18