Please Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance

by Juliana Conners

  They all three laugh and then the third one— I’m certain her name is Mandy, because when I first saw Mandy and Candace together at the mixer, I couldn’t get over the fact that their names could be “Mandy” and “Candy”— says, “The only reason I’m looking forward to orientation is because I heard that Asher Marks is going to be there.”

  “I know,” says Tara, her eyes growing wide as she stares at her perfectly- waxed eyebrows in the mirror. “I can’t believe we’re finally going to get to meet the elusive firm founder.”

  “He spent all of last summer on some mountain climbing trip in Katmandu or Nepal or Tibet or something,” Candace pipes in. “I can’t believe he didn’t even want to meet the summer clerks.”

  She flashes a sarcastic sniffle.

  “I can’t believe they let a partner get away with not working all summer,” Mandy says. “But then again, he’s not just any partner. He founded the whole firm and he’s rich as fuck. I heard he flies private jets to all the mountains that he climbs. Every few months, he’s on a new expedition.”

  “Jen Harris, the senior associate with the bad skin? She worked on the Simone Technology case last spring and she told me that Asher won a huge verdict," Tara says.

  "I've heard that's not the only thing that Asher has that's huge," Candy says. "And yeah, Jen needs to wear some foundation on that shiny forehead, poor thing."

  "The Simone Technology case earned enough money in contingency fees for everyone in the firm to happily retire, if they wanted to,” Mandy says and the other girls turn to look at her.

  “What?” Mandy says, batting her eyes innocently. “I religiously read the firm news bulletin. Don’t you? The contingency fee alone was over two billion.”

  The other two whistle their amazement and I would join them if I weren’t in hiding. My knees are starting to cramp and my foot has fallen asleep.

  I hope they’ll leave soon. But by the way their cosmetics are spread all over the bathroom counter, it doesn’t look like they ever plan to. It looks more like they moved in and made the fifteenth floor bathroom their own.

  “That’s why Asher Marks can do what he pleases,” Tara says. “He keeps the whole firm afloat. Makes a huge profit and then waltzes off on some mountain- climbing trip.”

  “I hear he can do what he wants personally, as well as professionally,” Candace adds and then laughs.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty common knowledge that he always takes a new female associate under his wing,” Mandy agrees.

  “And under his desk,” Candace says.

  Yuck.

  The three women laugh but I feel nauseous. Just what kind of a law firm had I been so anxious to work for? A place where the head partner is a total douche and the new associates laugh about it?

  “Well I don’t know about you ladies,” Tara says, “But I’d definitely let him take me whenever and wherever he wanted.”

  “Hell yeah,” agrees Candace, and all three girls nod in happy anticipation.

  Make that vie for the sleazebag’s attention, I think.

  “It’s not like he just uses and loses them,” Candace continues. “I mean, sure, he moves on to the next after a while, but whoever his chosen associate is definitely gets a good mentoring experience, both in the office and in the bedroom. And she always goes on to do bigger and better things, either within the firm or at another firm, depending on how acrimonious their fall- out is when Asher eventually jilts her.”

  “So, as long as we know what we’re in for, it sounds like a good deal to me,” Tara says, as if assessing the negatives and positives of making a large purchase.

  “Yeah, and I hear he's on the prowl for his newest one so the timing is perfect. Just don’t get attached,” Candace says. “Know it’s only temporary, and have some fun, because he definitely knows his way around the legal world, and his way around a vagina.”

  “Stop it,” Mandy says.

  Yes, please, I silently agree with her, but then she adds:

  “You’re making me horny. I have to concentrate on winning Asher’s affection, and my head can’t be in fantasy land.”

  Barf.

  “Who do you think he’ll pick this time?” Tara asks, shaking her breasts in the mirror as if they’re about to compete as prized animals at some farm show.

  “I think it definitely has to be one of us,” Mandy says, almost in a whisper.

  “Yeah, I mean most of the new associates are guys, and among the women other than us, there’s that older lady, Megan, and that clearly prudish- looking lady, Margo or whatever her name is, and a few dumpy- looking ones like that Madilyn girl.”

  I do my best not to let out a horrified “hrmph," and I also do my best not to pass out.

  Just when I was thinking that nothing could be worse than having to listen to them compete over a sexist jerk like Asher Marks seems to be, they have to go and prove me wrong. They have to start talking about me.

  “I don’t know about that Madilyn girl,” Mandy says. “She’s kind of pretty, and she’d be okay if she lost a few pounds and paid a little attention to her hair and wardrobe.”

  From my hiding spot in the bathroom stall, I don’t know whether to be grateful that she's “defending” me, or to stay upset that they're talking about me behind my back like this. Even though, to be fair, they have no idea I'm eavesdropping.

  “I highly doubt he’s her type,” Tara says, with a smug look on her face.

  “Madilyn is definitely a go- getter,” says Candace. “She was in my practicum section.”

  “What?” Tara’s facial expression changes to one of disbelief. “Wasn’t she a summer clerk at Roybal Wilson & Maine? I don’t think she even got a summer clerkship offer from Marks or any of the other really good firms.”

  “Yeah, but she was on Law Review and she increased her GPA during 3L year when the rest of us were slacking off and partying,” Candace says.

  That’s true, I want to interject. And thank you.

  I’d done her a solid once by lending her my Criminal Procedure outline before the final exam. She’d claimed she had been sick too many times throughout the semester to take good, complete notes.

  I’d heard that for Candace, though, “sick” equaled “hungover.” Many of our classmates refused to honor her request, saying she should have spent more time in class and less time partying.

  But lending her the outline that had taken me hours each day to put together— on top of the regular class time I faithfully attended— had been no skin off my back, and apparently it had resulted in her having a favorable opinion of me. Or at least, more favorable of an opinion than the other two girls seemed to have of me.

  “Well, she’s probably too straight laced for a guy like Asher Marks,” says Tara. “And I disagree that she’s that pretty. She has cankles.”

  Cankles.

  Do I have cankles?

  I look down at my bent, half- asleep ankle.

  I can’t tell.

  “Yeah, and cankles don’t go away with weight loss,” Mandy laughs. “It’s one of the ways guys can always tell that a woman might blow up again.”

  “Once you have cankles, you always have cankles,” Tara agrees.

  “Remind me not to eat too much junk food at this orientation,” Mandy says. “I don’t want to get cankles.”

  “On that note,” Candace adds, throwing her piles of makeup into her briefcase, “We’d better get going to orientation.”

  “I don’t know if cankles are something you can just get,” Tara says, as she follows suit. “I think you’re just born with them. If you have fat genes.”

  “I wonder who Asher will sit by in the conference room,” Mandy muses aloud as they finally left the bathroom. “I hear that’s always an indication that she’s the girl he wants.”

  “I like a man who instantly knows what he wants…” says Candace, before the door swings shut behind them.

  So here we are.

  They’re glibly making their way to orientation and I
’m still scrunched in a bathroom stall, trying not to cry.

  Stand up, I tell myself, and amazingly, I listen. Even though part of me feels like staying hidden in the bathroom all day and not having to deal with the realities of my work life or my personal life.

  I march my legs soldier style out of the stall, and then around in a circle, trying to coach them into re-gaining their feeling.

  I look at my unadorned face and hair in the bathroom mirror, which had formerly just been graced by the Barbies’ perfectly groomed reflections.

  It’s okay, I tell myself.

  I don’t want a guy like Asher Marks anyway.

  He sounds like a complete asshole who thinks he can do what he wants.

  I’m here for one thing and one thing only: to get my career off to the right start.

  I may have cankles, but I didn’t get this job for my looks. My brain is all I need.

  Those other girls can shove it.

  I hold my head up high in the mirror before making my way to the door.

  My feet mostly alive now, I try to walk as confidently as I can to the conference room where associate orientation is about to start.

  I’ll forget all about the three Barbies and focus on what matters. And even though I still have to deal with Jimmy later, as least I’ve made significant headway in clearing my life of anything that holds me back from that goal.

  But, damn it.

  Cankles.

  Cankles.

  Cankles.

  That one, cruel word uttered by my newest co-workers still reverberates in my mind.

  Nothing is working out the way it’s supposed to today.

  I try to think of something different, to drown them out. I remember the goals I had this morning as I got ready for work. New leaf. Fresh start. Excitement. Sex.

  These things are still all mine for the taking. Except not together of course—no matter what the Barbies might think is acceptable.

  I'll stay focused on my game plan and continue being successful just like I have been over this past year. And they'll be too busy chasing dick to be able to keep up with me.

  Watch out, Marks Sanchez & Reed. Here comes an associate who wants to work— not sleep— her way to the top.

  Chapter 6 – Madilyn

  Still determined to maintain a demeanor of confidence and focus, even if it’s fake, I head into the large conference room that doubles as a cafeteria of sorts, where associate orientation is to be held. There are a few refrigerators and microwaves, a sink and some cupboards in a small back room attached to the large room with many tables lined up in dutiful order.

  It’s all arranged this way so that that lunch meetings can be held here for a captive audience. And the managing partners have made no bones about the fact that they provide associates with free soda, gourmet coffee, snacks and often even lunch so that we have no excuse to leave the office. Their goal is to make it so that we will have more time to bill more hours for them.

  Reminding myself to focus on my job and not on my ex or my co- workers, I pick up a hoagie and a Coke and try to figure out where to sit. I don't see Mystery Man among those milling around, damn. I eye the long, rectangular tables and their occupants, hating have to make decisions such as these.

  The Barbies from the bathroom are already here, sitting together on one end of a table. Now that I’m able to see their entire bodies, it’s obvious that they look like twigs compared to me. It’s probably because they spend all their time discussing my alleged cankles instead of eating.

  Beside them is a male associate who seems rather nerdy and boring. It seems obvious that he always hangs out with the Barbies, as if he's trying to either have sex with them and/or copy the legal pleadings that they write. Or maybe his social and career ambitions align and he hopes to do a bit of both.

  Continuing to look around the room for any other options as to where to sit, I remind myself that I need to network with the partners. But I don’t know too many of them yet, and I feel awkward standing around in my tight- fitting business suit squinting at their unfamiliar faces. So I sit down beside Monique, the friendly office manager, who’s about the only woman in the room bigger than I am.

  “Hi Madilyn,” she says to me, waiving a manicured hand, and then turns back to a real estate lawyer on her left, with whom she is discussing dogs.

  “They still like to go for a jaunt in the mornings, but they’re getting old.” Then she turns back towards me and says, “Madilyn, you have a dog, don't you?”

  “Yes,” I answer, “She’s a…”

  Someone sits down to my right, and I briefly glance at him.

  Oh my God.

  It’s Mystery Man.

  He has excellent posture, sitting up straight and looking important. Now that I see what other lawyers around here are wearing I can tell that the outfit I thought was so rebellious is really just the office wardrobe for male lawyers whose schedules are cleared of court for the day.

  So he must be a lawyer after all and some kind of a senior partner to boot. But still, he wears his clothes different— better— than the rest of them. He has a debonair air about him that seems to say he doesn’t give a fuck.

  "…rottie mix,” I finish.

  “I have Shepherds too,” Mystery Man suddenly announces.

  I turn back towards him and smile.

  He’s staring at me.

  “That’s nice,” I reply, trying to place him from somewhere other than today.

  His face is handsome and chiseled, sun-exposed but still youthful despite his age. There’s no doubt he’s sexy, and powerful. But the same could be said of almost any senior partner at this firm.

  “In fact, I have two Shepherds and a Rottweiler,” he says, warmly.

  He’s obviously a dog lover, as am I.

  “No way,” I say, dropping my professional demeanor as I become excited about the similarities. “Mine is actually a Rottie/ Shepherd mix.”

  He beams, and I suddenly realize that all the Barbies are staring at me with their mouths wide open. Then I realize who I’m talking to.

  Asher Marks is sitting beside me. And he’s acting like we’re old friends.

  I momentarily freeze, but as soon as I snap back to reality, I can’t help but sneak a peek back over at the Barbies. Their perfectly lipsticked mouths are still hanging open, as they stare at me in obvious disbelief.

  “I’m Asher Marks,” he says, extending a hand for me to shake.

  “I…” know, I want to say. I know. I’ve heard so much about you. Most of it just a few minutes ago, as I was hiding in a bathroom stall.

  But I catch myself just in time.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Marks. I’m Madilyn St. Clair.”

  “I know,” he says, not bothering to catch himself.

  He stares straight at me, as if he’s reading my mind.

  “I know who you are.”

  The chill from this morning returns. I remind myself to use good posture and try to sit up straight like him. I feel super uncomfortable and wish I had either gone shopping for a bigger suit or lost a good ten pounds before I started this job. I'm still trying to squeeze into suits from my summer clerking job during law school— when I was thinner— and denying that it's time to upgrade to a bigger size.

  Asher continues staring into my eyes, clearly not as concerned with my wardrobe issues as I am. The way he looks at me makes me feel a lot sexier than I feel.

  “You're the new associate, and you clerked at Roybal Wilson & Maine last summer. Our firm wasn’t smart enough to snatch you up the first time around. But once I saw your resume during your 3L year, I made sure to rectify the situation.

  “You…?” I begin, yet trail off yet again.

  Asher Marks saw my resume? He’s the reason I have this job?

  “Well, thank you,” is all I can think of to say.

  “Don’t thank me,” he says. “It’s for the good of the firm. We need associates like you around here. I think you’ll do very well.”
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  I shake my head and look up as Mr. Sanchez, one of the named partners at the firm, approaches the head of the table and starts the meeting. It appears that the purpose is to introduce the new associates, and that means me. I can’t allow myself to slip into fantasy land.

  I’m conscious of Asher Marks by my side— and of the fact that the Barbies keep whispering and pointing— but I try not to act as flustered as I feel. There are people to listen to and look at and try to impress, which is my job as a junior associate and so I turn to the task at hand.

  Maybe later I’ll think more about Asher— professionally, of course, I chide myself, reminding myself that I can’t be as bad as the Barbies when it comes to mixing work with pleasure— but right now is not the time.

  Chapter 7 – Asher

  Ron Sanchez, who has been with me since I started this firm many years ago, gives his introductory talk about the firm’s history, philosophy and values. I’ve heard this fucking speech many times and it’s not aimed at me. So I keep my attention on Madilyn, who sits beside me taking notes on her laptop.

  She’s conscious of my presence. I can feel it. She seems intent on her note- taking, but she has her tells. She taps her foot now and then before catching herself. She smooths down her luxurious dark brown hair that I plan to run my fingers through. Her hands shake a little bit as she types.

  She is everything I love in a woman. Studious, intelligent, confident, yet eager for approval. And sexy as fuck.

  I can’t stop staring at her curves. Her black skirt hugs her lovely hips perfectly, just like I plan to. Her blouse reveals just a tiny peak of cleavage but I plan to see more later. Her dark brown eyes are inquisitive and curious but they’re also mysteriously beautiful.