“That’s nothing. Apparently he told the first years this was going to be a marathon and to stay hydrated.” I rolled my eyes.
Jason hooted and slapped his leg. Now he had me laughing too. I could feel the anxiety draining from my body.
“So.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I take it this means you aren’t going to be able to make it to my cousin’s wedding?”
I grimaced. “When is that again?”
“In three weeks …” he trailed off.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking contrite. Canceled plans were the norm in Biglaw, but it was still tough to see Jason’s disappointed expression. “You know I would try to get the time off if I could, but I need to knock it out of the park with this one. Chances to land a career opportunity like the StarCorp secondment just don’t come along every day.”
“Neither do family weddings.” Jason flashed that killer smile that I love. He knew that all social plans we made always had an asterisk attached—work dependent. He just wanted to make me squirm a little longer.
“I could see if I could get away for a day,” I lobbed, hoping he wouldn’t take me up on the offer.
“Don’t worry about the wedding.” Jason rubbed my shoulders. “It’s not even a cousin that I particularly like. You focus on being Hercules.” He pinched my bicep playfully. “And impressing Mr. Dramatic.”
I put my hand over his. What had I ever done in my life to deserve such a sweet, understanding boyfriend? Whatever it was, I was grateful I’d done it. “I really am sorry I have to miss it,” I murmured.
He pressed his mouth right next to my ear and whispered. “Don’t worry. You totally got this.”
5
“OKAY.” I LOOKED AROUND the table, feeling puffed up because I was the most senior associate in the room. It was our first meeting in the “war room”—a conference room on the thirtieth floor that was reserved indefinitely for “Project Mojo,” the codename given for the deal. As first year associates, Gavin Shin, Patrick O’Shea, and Sheldon Laurie were too junior to attend the kick-off meeting, so I was responsible for filling them in on what happened and doling out the specific duties. When Ben had referred to the first years as my “team” I had the sudden realization that I’d never had a team before. Sadir was right—I was moving up in the world.
I had worked with each of my team members before, so I had a good idea what to expect. Gavin was the oldest of the three, having taken off two years between college and law school to figure out what he wanted to do. This made him hungry to catch up for lost time, so he worked around the clock to prove that he should be considered better than his peers. He always jumped at the opportunity to have face time with a partner and was often the last one to leave the office. Rumor had it his work ethic was fueled by his pesky cocaine habit which quickly became obvious to anyone who worked with him.
Sheldon was the polar opposite. He was a devout Mormon, whose work was always meticulous. His attention to detail would have been enviable if there was no timeline, but on this deal it was going to be irritating. Last time I worked with him it took him five hours to review one supply agreement. Then he came to my office distressed that the contract contained a lot of grammatical errors. I had to explain to him that the quality of drafting was not an issue for us. Our responsibility was solely to summarize it, but he looked at me like a Labrador trying to understand his master, cocking his head from one side to the other in confusion. In Sheldon’s world his job included editing previously executed contracts. So, despite my explanation and plea to work faster, his summary included a long list of supposed grammatical errors in the contract, all of which were insignificant.
Patrick, on the other hand, was a barrel-chested, quick-witted Irish Catholic from Boston who always said he didn’t have time for bullshit. And to Patrick, everything was bullshit. You need him to revise his work? Bullshit! The cafeteria is out of fried chicken? Bullshit! It’s raining? Bullshit! I couldn’t give him the responsibility of coordinating the paralegals or giving instructions to the specialists because I knew he’d come across as brash and aggressive, thereby creating more problems than it was worth. But his work quality was better than Gavin’s and quicker than Sheldon’s, so that made him my favorite.
Grasping my hands in front of me, sitting ramrod straight, I mustered my best power-commanding tone. “Highlander Hotels has thousands of corporate documents, contracts, and policies relating to their hotels around the world and each one has to be reviewed. They’re posting the documents in an online data room and for confidentiality reasons they’re not permitting us to print them. So, we’ll work from this checklist.” I slid three copies of the 177-page stapled checklist across the table.
“Holy crap,” Patrick muttered, flipping through the pages.
“I know it’s a lot of work, but I’m really going to need your one hundred percent on it,” I said in a tone I hoped was motivating rather than pleading. “So, let’s get started.” Taking a deep breath, I flipped open the first page of the checklist.
Two weeks into our efforts, Ben called the first status meeting. Reviewing my notes one final time before I headed to Ben’s office, a tiny smile played at my lips. I’d been up for twenty-six hours straight. My eyes were burning and my deodorant had long since ceased to be effective. I hadn’t consumed anything but coffee and Diet Coke, but that wasn’t why I felt light headed. I was dizzy with excitement. After reviewing one tediously boring contract after another, I’d come across my own version of a smoking gun.
I squinted at the clock on my computer. 9:55 A.M. Five minutes to freshen up. I swiped a handiwipe under my arms, ran a brush through my hair, and popped a breath mint. After a futile attempt to dab out a grease stain on my skirt, I picked up my notes and headed down the corridor to Ben’s office, mentally giving myself one final pep talk.
Ben looked well rested and freshly showered as he waved me in from behind his polished desk. I felt a pang of embarrassment, but hoped my unkempt appearance communicated my level of commitment. Maybe this was what he meant by going “above and beyond.”
I handed Ben the due diligence checklist so he could get an idea of the dent we’d put in the work load. He ran his eyes over it, expressionless, then put it down and launched into a list of outstanding items he wanted me to attend to. I scratched feverishly on my notepad. He was adding a lot of work to what already felt like a bottomless pit.
“So.” He blew out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. “Any red flags in the due diligence I should know about?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, actually I found something that may be of interest to you.”
His lips pressed into a thin, impatient line.
“Ben?” A sharp voice trilled through the office.
I looked up to see Sarah standing in the doorway. She was wearing another one of her flawlessly pressed, fitted black suits, and a pair of blood-red stilettos.
“You wanted to see me?” she said, in crisp, precise diction.
“Yes.” Ben perked up as he waved her inside. “Take a seat. We’re just about done here.” He gestured with his chin towards me.
“Great.” Sarah flashed a Cheshire smile as she sauntered over to the chair beside me. Her eyes swept over me and I was suddenly very aware of my greasy hair sticking to the back of my neck.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, hoping Ben had the good sense not to mention the StarCorp secondment. I knew from Sadir that Sarah had been passed over for the secondment two years ago, the position going to a well-connected associate who had the good fortune of being related to the CEO of a big client. If Sarah caught wind that I was in the running for the secondment this year that would be akin to painting a giant target on my back and handing her a gun.
“What was your question, Mackenzie?” Ben asked distractedly as he watched Sarah lean back in her chair and cross her toned legs. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to pull a Sharon Stone right before my eyes. She did have a way of carrying herself in the office that seeme
d to be the perfect balance of offering herself up a silver platter while still maintaining professionalism. She laughed a little louder at men’s jokes, lingered with eye contact and strategic lip licking but, annoyingly, she still spoke with authority and proficiency.
I looked down at my notepad, doing my best to ignore the flush that was creeping up my neck. “Well, Highlander gets all of its bedding from Southern Hospitality, the company that owns the Blissful Bed Collection, pursuant to a five year supply contract they have in place. The contract is set to expire at the end of March and so far I haven’t come across any plans to renew. So —”
Ben waved his hand dismissively, interrupting me. “That’s not noteworthy. With a company of their size supply contracts can fall through the cracks. Just make a note of it in the diligence memo.” He tossed me back the diligence checklist.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the side of Sarah’s thin lips curl up into a smirk. I wanted to reach over and wipe the smug look off her face.
“This supply contract is particularly important, though.” I continued, a slight shake in my voice. “Highlander just spent two hundred million dollars on an advertising campaign centered around the fact that every one of their hotels is furnished by Blissful Beds. If they let the supply contract expire, they’ll have to dump the whole campaign which would be a big hit. Our client would be stuck with a bill for a new ad campaign.”
A small smile crept across Ben’s face. His expression reminded me of a parent watching a kindergarten graduation.
I took a deep breath. “I think we should make the renegotiation of the Southern Hospitality supply contract a condition to closing.”
Ben was nodding approvingly now, as though I had passed some test. “You’re absolutely right, Mackenzie. Great catch.” He scratched a note onto his legal pad. “Go ahead and add that to the draft of the purchase agreement.”
“Will do.” I tossed a satisfied smile in Sarah’s direction on my way out. How you like me now?
As soon as I got back to my office, I closed the door and did a happy Snoopy dance. Jason was right. I totally got this.
6
I PUSHED OPEN MY office door, nearly hitting Sadir, who was sprawled out on the floor, looking like a corpse and smelling like one that had been there for days.
“Mackenzie!” Sadir jumped to his feet. “Shit, is it morning already?” He snorted and snuffled as he raked his sleeve across his nose. Then he rubbed his bloodshot eyes and attempted to smooth down his hair, which was sticking up after being mushed against a pile of files used as a makeshift pillow.
“Yuuuup. Morning time,” I answered with a hint of annoyance, placing my bag on the floor, slipping off my coat and hanging it on the back of the door before taking a seat at my desk. I was used to Sadir sleeping in the office, but this morning I found the sight a little … repulsive.
“Looong night.” He let out a guttural sigh, stumbling to his seat. “Reallllly long night.” I could tell he wanted me to press for details, but I wasn’t going to take the bait. My mind was hazy from sleep deprivation and all I really wanted was to sip my latte and peacefully do some online shopping. Clicking open Outlook, I could hear Sadir running through his morning routine on the other side of the partition—eye drops, mouthwash swished ten times and spat out in the garbage can, and two spritzes of cologne. I knew what was coming next.
“Hey, did you hear the latest?” He popped his head over the partition.
“Nope,” I answered disinterestedly, scrolling through my email. Every morning Sadir offered up what he referred to as “the latest,” which gave the sense that he had some juicy tidbit of gossip, when in reality it was just the information he’d gathered on who was working on what, what deals had died, or whether one of F&D’s clients was in the Wall Street Journal that day. None of it fell into the category of “the latest,” but that didn’t stop Sadir.
“There’s a new deal being staffed. Wanna know the partner?” He paused before drawing out the name dramatically. “Saul Siever. Some poor associates will be sucked into his vortex of craziness today.”
“Really? That sucks.” I continued my daily script of responding enough not to be rude, but not enough to encourage him—then my mind caught up to what he’d just said. “Wait.” I suddenly felt my insides cramp, remembering Saul standing in the elevator when I stepped in at 6 P.M. last night. I was just ducking out for a quick sushi dinner with Jason, a tiny present to myself for enduring the all-nighter and impressing Ben. Saul gave me an angry once-over as I resisted the urge to tell him I would be returning to the office in an hour (and that I’d just come off an all-nighter). Now, I was kicking myself for staying silent because Saul Siever, the craziest partner at F&D, thinks he saw me leave the office for the day before seven. In Biglaw that was akin to pulling the trigger four times in a game of Russian roulette, knowing you had two pulls left and one was the bullet. “Who’s staffing a new deal?” I stood up slowly, my heart pounding.
Before Sadir could answer, my desk phone trilled, filling our small office with a sound that I was certain got louder and louder with each ring. I took a moment to steel myself before I looked, but still felt like the wind had been knocked out of me when I saw the name on the caller ID: SAUL SIEVER.
Sadir’s eyes were wide. “Aren’t you going to get it?”
I nodded, saying a silent prayer that Saul had simply dialed the wrong extension, and tentatively picked up the phone.
“Come see me. I need you to do something for me,” the voice on the other end snarled, almost unintelligibly. Then he hung up. There was no “Hello, this is Saul Siever. Can you come to my office, please?” Not even a chance for me to respond with an, “Okay, on my way.” Just dead air.
I felt my throat close up. After a moment of listening to the deafening silence, I pulled the receiver away and noticed my fingernails were digging into my palm, as I death-clutched that phone like it was the last piece of solid ground and if I let go I’d be washed away.
“Well?” Sadir looked at me expectantly.
Without responding, I fumbled around my messy desk frantically, picked up a legal pad, and hustled down the corridor of filing cabinets towards Saul’s corner office. There was no way I could work on a deal with Saul simultaneously with the Highlander deal. Ben specifically asked me to commit one hundred percent of my time. Just tell Saul you’re too swamped to take on anything more, I told myself firmly. I had two years of dealing with partners under my belt and knew what to expect: impatience, ingratitude, edginess, and the occasional threat of violence. I considered myself such an expert in the Biglaw partner personality that I could’ve tapped into my BA in psychology and written a book: Fragile Male Egos with Napoleon Complexes and No Idea of Limits by Mackenzie Corbett. Surely that meant I could handle Saul.
As I approached the corner office I could hear Saul’s voice raised, presumably on a conference call. “Listen, these motherfuckers think a buyout is their only fucking choice. That’s crystal fucking clear.” I stopped outside the door, suddenly too afraid to knock or go in. I felt like I had bricks in my shoes, unable to put one foot in front of the other. Is this what it feels like to be paralyzed with fear?
Anna Perez, Saul’s latest secretary, glanced up from her computer. “You gotta show no fear, hon—just knock and go in.” She pointed a long, animal-printed fingernail at Saul’s door. I’m sure she was used to the sight of tentative associates making their first trip to see The Godfather. I grinned tightly and nodded. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my hand and knocked.
“Yeah?” Saul barked. I cautiously put my hand on the door handle, looked at Anna, who gave me a confirmatory nod, and pushed the door open.
Saul’s office was the size of a small apartment; its sweeping view stretched all the way up from Midtown to the tip of Central Park. In the middle of the room was an imposing desk, roughly the size of a large dining room table. Seated behind it, in an elevated chair that reminded me of a throne, was Saul. Pasty-faced and balding,
he looked like the type of person that must have been stuffed in a locker multiple times in high school. He was skinny, with no muscle tone, and had a scrunched-up face that reminded me of a weasel. His dress shirt was so wrinkled it looked like it had been balled up on the floor before he picked it up, dusted it off, and put it on. He had two deep furrows between his eyebrows, the kind that implant themselves on a face after a lifetime of scowling, and his few wisps of hair flew crazily on his head. He glared up from his phone, regarded me with a mixture of disdain and contempt, then returned his focus to the call.
I took this as my cue and removed the pile of files resting on the chair across from him and sat down. Immediately, I felt like I was Alice in Wonderland, having just eaten the pill that made me smaller. I thought for a moment that it was the large, intimidating office that made me feel this way. Then I realized my seat was about six inches lower than Saul’s. The whole thing was designed to make me look and feel tiny. On the plus side, if you could call it that, my chair did afford the most amazing panoramic view of the park—you could see all the way up to the reservoir, not that Saul seemed to notice. He spent most of the day with his back to the view.
“We need them to continue to think their ship is sinking and we’re the last fucking life boat,” the voice on the other end of the speaker phone blared. “The last thing we need is any fucking media leaks making the stock go up giving these imbeciles a shred of hope.”
Sitting in on my first conference call, I’d been surprised at how much the clients swore. These were educated, grown men (and occasionally women), but they used the word “fuck” with the frequency most people reserved for adjectives. It was like being on a playground with a bunch of fifth graders who had just learned their first swear words. “Fuck” was used as a noun, a verb, and sometimes even a preposition. Some of the combinations they put together didn’t even make sense. “The fucking guy’s a fucking shit ass fuck.” “The cock-sucking draft they sent us was fucking fucked.” Not exactly the most articulate way of describing things from these so-called titans of business. But our clients were large hedge funds and the people that worked there were known for being gritty and unrelenting. These were not people that came from old money, living off trust funds. No, these were guys who started with nothing and climbed, one hand over the other, all the way to the top, making millions in the process. Even though they had more money than ninety-nine percent of the population, they still had huge chips on their shoulders and rarely uttered a sentence without adding “fuck,” “shit,” “asshole,” or some combination of the three.
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