by Erica Katz
Jordan flipped his blue tie over his right shoulder, looking for a brief moment as though he were hanging from a noose, adjusted the large face of his Rolex, rotated his bull and bear cuff links, and cracked his neck. He seemed to be making a production of waiting for me to be served before diving into his steak, and the blonde finally noticed, looking up from her plate and her eyes growing wide at the sight of his untouched meal. She placed her fork down and blushed, covering her mouth as she finished chewing.
“So sorry, I didn’t realize that Alex didn’t have her food!” Her voice sounded painfully saccharine.
The scarlet hue rising from her neck to her cheeks aroused my sympathy. “Oh gosh. Please! Eat,” I insisted.
“You wouldn’t want your salad to get cold,” Jordan said with a wink, though he seemed only half kidding.
Mercifully the waiter arrived just then with my salmon, and Jordan picked up his steak knife and fork.
“So, Jordan, did you always know you wanted to be an M&A lawyer?” the blonde asked.
“Since I was in diapers,” he said dryly, his mouth partially full of T-bone.
I snorted and covered my mouth. He swallowed and grinned, revealing a row of Chiclet-white teeth. I glanced at his left hand, just to confirm there was a wedding ring on it, to assure myself that he wouldn’t take my laughing at his jokes as flirting. The girl whose name I couldn’t remember looked as though she was about to cry, though, and I felt bad. For the first time in my entire life, I was grateful that I had grown up an only child, constantly taken to restaurants with cloth napkins and waiters in bow ties where I was bored out of my mind by adult conversation. My parents had unintentionally taught me to navigate work lunches.
“Come on! Valid question!” I said to Jordan, trying to deflect. “Did you want to be in M&A when you started at Klasko?”
“Look,” he said, pointing from her to me with his fork and leaning forward to put his elbows on the table, “this is one of the best law firms in the world. But the truth is, all of our revenue comes out of two practices. M&A and capital markets. Every other group is here for support. Litigation and bankruptcy just exist for diversification, you know?” I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. “They all work for us. But we’re supposed to pretend we’re all equal, just to be PC.”
I cocked my head to the side as I thought about my real estate assignment for Lara, and the perks of being in a “support group,” as she had explained them to me, while my fellow associate busied herself with nodding enthusiastically.
“I mean, we can’t say it out loud, but they compensate us accordingly,” Jordan continued. “Senior partners in M&A make five to six million a year. Real estate makes one. Tops. Nobody chooses to do anything other than M&A around here.”
What about people who want a work/life balance?
“What about people who want a work/life balance?” the blonde asked.
Jordan’s eyes widened, as though the question belied her laziness and naïveté. Thank god I didn’t ask that out loud, I thought. “We fund everybody else’s ‘balanced’ life. Plus, nobody actually chooses free time over six million a year,” he snorted.
I was trying to wrap my mind around what $6 million in my bank account would look like when Jordan pointed the tip of his knife in my direction. “What are you working on?”
“Well, I’m on that one real estate matter . . . uh, real estate portion of the M&A matter with you,” I mumbled, suddenly embarrassed to be working for a support group.
Jordan stared at me with a slightly stupefied expression before he snapped himself out of it. “Who is the partner?”
He has no idea who he was on the phone with last week.
“Lara Maloney.”
“Jesus.” Jordan shook his head with a disgusted sneer. “That group is a mess.” I thought of Lara’s disheveled look and the bit of egg on Michelle’s lip in the morning meeting. Still, it seemed an unnecessarily harsh assessment to me. The real estate lawyers I had met were smart and nice and valued their families . . .
“You know, you should be on an M&A deal. I’ll put you on one of mine.” He said it as though he was giving me a gift.
I smiled gratefully, taking in Jordan again. There was something about him. And it wasn’t privilege—like those lazy trust-fund boys I’d known in college. Jordan had something different behind his ease: authority coupled with confidence—and the sense that he’d earned them both.
I should discuss this with Sam. I promised him . . .
“Great!” I said, with genuine enthusiasm that surprised me.
“I’m doing tax work,” the blonde announced, provoking no reaction from Jordan, though she seemed to be waiting for him to tell her she should be doing M&A for him as well.
“So, what year are you now?” I asked Jordan, just to fill the silence. I already knew the answer, but I couldn’t let her writhe in pain any longer.
“Sixth. Hopefully partner in two years. God, I think my wife will divorce me if I don’t make partner. I’ll have spent the past six years not sleeping for no reason.”
“I’m sure you’ll make partner!” she squeaked.
“Nothing’s for sure. There are two other guys my year in M&A also up for it. Thank god though, no women—they’d promote a woman over me for sure.” He paused. “They should promote a woman over me. We have no female partners in the group right now.”
Given how rote he sounded, I almost asked him to explain why having women was a good thing, knowing he likely couldn’t, but thought better of it. “Do you think it’s easier for a woman to make partner than a man?” I asked instead.
Jordan took a bite of steak as if to buy himself time. “The firm recognizes that they need to encourage diversity. They’re not wrong. Clients care. It’s good for business.”
“I heard the new elevator bank is only for the M&A group, and that it goes right to the new fifty-sixth floor,” the blonde said, apropos of nothing.
Jordan smirked. “I still can’t believe Mike Baccard gave in to Matt’s whining to get us our own floor. And express elevator!”
Suddenly a large hand appeared on Jordan’s shoulder. I followed a wedding ring choking a bloated finger up to French cuffs and a chubby, grinning face.
“Don’t listen to a word this one tells you about me.” I took in the interloper, who was in no way handsome—he had dark bags under his lower lashes, and his hair plugs were still growing in—but whose smile and attitude made him somehow adorable.
Jordan laughed and shook the hand over his shoulder. “This is the chair of the M&A group,” he explained to me and the blonde.
“Matt Jaskel,” the man announced, extending his hand toward me.
“Alex Vogel.” I deliberately projected my words through the noisy restaurant.
“Alex, a pleasure.” He turned and extended his hand to my dining mate. “And you are?”
“Nancy Duval,” she whispered.
“Sorry?”
“Nancy Duval,” she repeated, barely louder but with her shoulders back.
He nodded and dropped her hand. “Nancy and Alex, I trust you’re keeping Jordan on his toes,” he said, placing a hand on each of Jordan’s shoulders and massaging them gruffly.
Suddenly I felt another presence approaching from behind my chair. I recognized the sensation immediately. There was never any physical similarity to the men who elicited the tingling sensation at the tip of my spine—the last one was the skinny, bespectacled teaching assistant for my sophomore Modern American Lit class—but they all shared a certain self-assuredness. I didn’t turn immediately, savoring the moment of discovery.
“This is Peter Dunn, who’s also an M&A partner,” Matt said.
When I did turn, I met Peter’s shrewd green eyes, which were set on a tanned and square-jawed face. His gray suit showed off a lean physique, and his thick honey-brown hair made him appear younger than I thought he might be, given his seniority. “How are you finding your time at Klasko so far?” he asked, a rasp in his voice g
iving it a surprisingly soulful quality.
“Learning a lot. Really enjoying it, thank you,” I answered, keeping his gaze.
I could tell he was assessing my posture, considering my demeanor, evaluating my intellect. I performed despite myself, feeling my body angle toward him. My toes shifted toward his shiny black shoes. Italian leather. I took in his scent. Tom Ford cologne. The blood ran to my head, and my cheeks flushed. The most delicious part of the exchange was that to everybody else at the table, in the restaurant, it was a routine professional introduction.
“We’re going to get Alex here on an M&A deal,” Jordan said, and Peter and Matt nodded in approval as they evaluated our plates. I recalled that whenever my swim team got a new coach, I knew I was being evaluated out of the pool as well. A good coach knew who the strongest swimmers were before ever seeing them in the water.
“Fish at a steak house?” Peter asked, eyeing the bit of salmon before me, a product of my mother’s repeated reminders that it was unladylike to clean my plate.
“I don’t eat red meat,” I said with a shrug. “Not for any reason other than I don’t like the taste.”
“So why’d you take her to a steak house?” Peter asked Jordan.
“Steak houses have the best fish,” I answered before he could. Peter looked at me for just long enough that I wondered if I had fumbled.
Matt nodded at me and looked at Jordan. “Let’s get her on the Stag River acquisition that just came in.”
“And I’ll think of one of mine to put you on as well,” Peter agreed.
I wrapped my napkin tightly around my palm and closed my fist over the fabric. Apparently I had passed whatever test they had just given me.
“Alex is working on real estate now,” Jordan said flatly as he made eye contact with the waiter and made a scribbling gesture in the air.
Matt groaned, but Peter waved him off. “Learn as much as you can about everything you can. That’s the whole reason we let you choose your work the first few months. But when you do opt in, don’t be an idiot. Come work for us.” Peter winked, and I felt my smile spreading in response, before he and Matt turned to leave.
Was it up to me, I wondered, to remember the name of the deal I was supposed to be on? Would Jordan take care of it? Should I ask him if he needed me to do anything?
The waiter placed the check down, and I watched out of the side of my eye as Jordan left a 30 percent tip and signed his name, adding an “esq” after. I groaned inwardly at his need to tell the waitstaff he was an attorney. I was unable to imagine a universe in which my father would sign “M.D.” to a bill, but decided to dismiss it.
As soon as we were back in our lobby and had said our goodbyes, I waited with Nancy, pretending not to notice her discomfort.
“I can’t believe I started eating before everybody got their food,” she said, widening her eyes as though it would create more surface area for her imminent tears to evaporate.
“Oh my god, Nancy! Don’t be silly. Jordan was just kidding.”
“I know, but that was so stupid. I’ve been practicing and everything.” She threw herself through the elevator doors as soon as they opened, and I followed.
“Practicing . . . lunch?” I asked. She nodded, and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile. “You were great!”
“Ugh. M&A is such a boys’ club,” she whispered, even though we were alone in the elevator.
I shrugged. “I like boys.” I’d always gotten along with men better than women, but I knew adding that would do me no favors.
“Well, it’s tough to get in the club. I hear they only take one woman a year at most,” she added.
That couldn’t be an actual rule, could it? I wondered if Carmen had already been staffed on an M&A deal, though. What if there really was room for only one of us?
“That can’t be true.”
Nancy sighed. “They can’t afford women. Women get pregnant and go on maternity leave, and the group is too busy to absorb all the work of another partner when they do. Or at least, that’s what people say.”
* * *
That evening I ordered dinner delivered to the office so I could pore over a stack of land surveys. I probably would have been home in time to eat with Sam if lunch hadn’t lasted so long, but it had felt like necessary networking, and I was glad I’d gone. As I munched on a spicy tuna roll, trying to keep my eyes open and not spill soy sauce on the large map on my desk, an email pinged into my in-box.
From: Courtney Cantwell
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: Assignment
Alex,
Matt Jaskel and Jordan Sellar have requested you on the Stag River merger. Please be in touch with Jordan for details. Peter Dunn has also put in a work request for you—more to come on that in the next week or so. Congratulations!
Best,
Courtney
Congratulations. I smiled as I read the word, feeling that I had been invited to an elite party.
I had just finished reading the email when the metallic ding signaled another new email, this one from Jordan to the entire Stag River team regarding the diligence review timeline and cc’ing all thirteen people who would work on the deal, me included.
Just as I was wondering if and how I should be starting on diligence tonight, I heard another ding.
From: Jordan Sellar
To: Alexandra Vogel
Cc: Matt Jaskel
Subject: We’re just keeping you in the loop . . .
So you can get up to speed, we’ll start cc’ing you on everything. Nothing to do yet. We’ll get access to the online data room any day now, and I’ll walk you through what to do.
I stared at my screen, feeling both exhilarated that I was significant enough to be on an email with one of the most important partners at the firm and guilty for reneging on my agreement with Sam to avoid M&A. I picked up my phone and dialed.
He answered after one ring. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey!” My voice was a decibel higher than it should have been. “Worst news.”
“You were asked to work on an M&A matter?” Sam snorted sarcastically. I was silent. “You’re working on an M&A matter?”
“Yeah. Sometimes they just need a warm body, and I had time in my calendar. Shouldn’t be too bad, but I’ll be here late tonight.”
“Yeah. Totally. The deal has to end sometime. Won’t be forever,” Sam said, his tone aiming for supportive but approaching annoyed. “Who knows, maybe you’ll like it.” His words rang lightly in my ears but weighed heavily in my mind.
“Maybe.”
After we hung up, I sat alone in my office, avoiding the clock and trying not to think about the sleep I’d miss while learning just enough to keep from making a fool of myself tomorrow. All the while, replaying Sam’s words in my mind. The tension in his tone made them sound like a warning, or maybe a threat. Maybe you’ll like it.
Chapter 5
Sam’s alarm went off at seven o’clock for his run, and I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head. I had left the office at three in the morning after finishing the property review and reading all the emails that Jordan and Matt had cc’ed me on, which only stopped rolling in around two, and looking up every single legal term I didn’t know (about 80 percent of them).
I thought about going back to sleep, but my eyelids wouldn’t settle in the morning light, and my anxious eagerness got me out of bed. I stumbled into the kitchen and rested my elbows on the cool granite countertop as I waited for my coffee to brew. The final grunt of the steam filtering through the grounds forced me upright. I poured myself a cup and made my way to the refrigerator without blinking to grab milk. I shut my eyes, inhaled, and sipped, allowing the sleep to slough off my shoulders.
“You shouldn’t drink that.” Sam was standing in front of me, grabbing his foot behind his backside to stretch his quad. I just stared at him.
“It’s full of hormones,” he said, switching feet. “I just saw this insane documentary on Netflix yesterday. I s
wear I might go vegan.”
I wish I had time to watch Netflix documentaries, I thought, but to avoid a possible fight and a definite blow to Sam’s ego, I bit my tongue.
“I’m pretty sure coffee is vegan,” I said flatly.
“I mean the milk. It comes from these cows that are pumped full of—”
“Sam!” I cut him off, holding my palm up to stop him. He laughed with a conciliatory nod and continued to stretch. I turned my attention to my work phone, and blinked as I registered the one hundred and thirty-seven new emails in my in-box, spitting a mouthful of coffee onto the wood floor.
He jumped back to avoid the splatter. “Al! My god, so dramatic. I just meant try to cut it out of your diet! Have a good day,” he shouted over his shoulder.
I was too busy panicking to respond. “Shit. Shit shit shit.” I ran into the bedroom and threw on work clothes. Skipping a shower, I jogged to the subway in my heels, then tried and failed to apply eyeliner on the crowded subway car. I scrolled frantically through the messages, not knowing how to prioritize them, and they just kept rolling in. I raced to my office, shut the door, fumbled with the digital directory, and dialed Jordan’s extension.
“Morning,” he said. I paused, surprised by his lack of urgency.
“Sorry. I mean . . . sorry,” I stammered. “I was sleeping.”
Silence.
“As one does . . .” He trailed off as though wondering where I would be taking the conversation. There was a click as he put the phone on speaker, as if to indicate that my call wasn’t worth his full attention. I could hear him typing in the background.
“I saw the emails on the diligence requests, but there were so many I figured I’d just call you.”
“Oh. Okay,” Jordan said, still sounding a bit confused. “There’s nothing to do yet. Just a bit of back-and-forth about one of the offshore subsidiaries.”
I frowned at my still-hibernating computer screen. “One hundred and fifty-two emails is just a bit of back-and-forth?”
Jordan snorted. “Welcome to M&A, Skippy.” He hung up.