of the chair. Check.
Desk light on. Check.
Now, Ms. Willems, your mission, should you choose to accept it: Get out of the office on the sly. Audrey snorted silently at her own badly-played
movie line. She stuffed the Save the Children t-shirt she’d gotten from a Central Park Zoo benefit in her Tory Burch brown leather satchel, added as many legal pads as could fit, and plumped the bag to look like it held at least four case files. She casually leaned the bag against the side of her desk, in view of her open office door.
The excited chatter of the exiting assistants filled the hallway. She typed up the Popflicks engagement letter and then entered Popflicks as a new client into the law firm database. Yes. Her pulse quickened.
The office was now quiet. She put an uncapped red pen in the middle of a legal pad on her desk. It looked like she’d be right back. The scene called for something more. If only she had a permanently steaming cup of tea. She poured a bottle of water into a glass.
She should depart boldly, but leaving early was frowned upon by the partnership powers-that-be. They might even think she needed another assignment. She definitely did not. She had just landed Popflicks. She had stayed until 11 p.m. every night this week. Okay, so I’m not always very good at saying no. But now was not the time to say no to a partner—not when she’d been working so hard for seven years, her life on hold. Now that she was in the homestretch, she could practically see “Audrey Willemson, Partner” embossed on her law firm’s business card.
She’d promised Eve that she wouldn’t stand her up—again—tonight. Best friends were supposed to be reliable. Especially when she’d promised said best friend and neighbor to be the guinea pig for her new catering business.
The towering stacks of papers on her desk made her hesitate. But . . . Promises to Eve. Promises to herself, her career. Promises to the senior partner. She could taste-test for Eve and then review the files . . . The mental image of her laughing with Eve morphed into her pale face lit by a fluorescent lamp reading a legal opinion. Her shoulders slumped.
She peeked out her doorway. No one was in the hallway. It was clear. With the Mission Impossible theme song running through her head, she snuck down the carpeted hallway and darted into the rarely used interior stairwell. Better odds to escape unseen than to chance the elevator. She jogged down several flights of stairs. So far, so good.
She was a few steps from the twenty-fifth-floor landing when the hard snick-crack of the crash bars sounded below on her left. The metal door swung open and the wiry figure of Lawrence Malaburn appeared. He leaned against the emergency exit door as it softly clicked shut behind him. Audrey stopped short, gripping the cold railing with one hand.
“Audrey. I didn’t realize you took the stairs.” Malaburn raised his face, and his thin lips pursed slightly.
Malaburn. Her least favorite partner. Eight months of working for him had made her seriously consider ending her law career. Demanding and critical, he’d brought her to tears more than once—in the office, but not in front of him. It was every working woman’s motto to never let them see you cry.
Note to self: Do not take the stairs.
Second note to self: Never let them see you sweat.
“It’s my exercise for the week,” Audrey said wryly. Maybe even for the month.
He waved for her to precede him down the cement stairway. Audrey stepped forward, her skin crawling. He was just about breathing on her neck. How about leaving the space of one step behind someone on the stairs? The jerk didn’t even practice common courtesy. No way was she going to make small talk with him for twenty-five more floors. She quickened her pace.
He matched her steps.
“Yes, well, this is fortuitous. I was just thinking of you for an assignment. It follows up on that research you did a few years ago, so it shouldn’t take too long. Could you fit it in?” Malaburn said, his nasal voice bringing back memories of his late-night calls with constant changes.
When hell freezes over. Or when I don’t already have a full caseload. Same thing.
“Thank you for considering me. I’ll check my schedule and let you know,” Audrey said, forcing a polite, measured tone into her answer.
“Stop by my office tomorrow . . . or now?”
“I’m on my way to a meeting.”
“Then tomorrow.”
They’d reached the twenty-third-floor landing. Her chance to exit, get rid of him. Suddenly, she felt the heat of his body next to her. She tensed—way too close—but then he reached past her and slapped at the crash bar. Only after the metal door slammed behind him did she let out the breath she’d been holding. She shook her head. Rules, girl, rules. He needed to go through the assignment partner. That was the protocol to ensure work was assigned evenly. She would not be in his office tomorrow.
The cement block walls of the staircase mocked her. Stop thinking about him. She was about to defend the Popflicks litigation. Her Hen Bank case was busy, and its success crucial to the firm.
She jogged down the stairs and pushed open the exit door. This staircase exited separately from the lobby, on the other side of the building.
Total bonus. She checked to confirm no law firm colleagues were in sight and stepped into the sauna that was Manhattan in the summer.
She merged into the throngs of suits heading for the subway station. Black sedans were double-parked, waiting to pick up the office building
escapees. Her phone buzzed. Watching where she was going, so she kept pace with the fast-moving current of New Yorkers, she read the text from Winnie: Need to talk ASAP. Just stopped by office.
She side-stepped out of the herd and stood off by the curb. Winnie was wasted as a lawyer; she should’ve been in CIA intelligence.
She texted back: Escaping. Promised Eve dinner. Why?
The heat shimmered off the asphalt street. A messenger guy on a bike swooped in and out of the cars on Eighth Avenue, blowing his whistle.
Winnie: This is my friend Audrey, right? Who lives at the office? Who wants to make partner in six months?
Audrey: Haha. Very funny.
Winnie: Call you later. Have fun!
She darted across the street before the light changed. She jogged down the metal subway stairs, the familiar dank smell of ammonia mixed with sweat greeting her. The countdown clock showed her the 1 train was arriving. She slid her MetroCard through the turnstile and ran down the next set of stairs just in time to squeeze onto a train. She reached around the woman in front of her to hold onto a pole, trying not to touch her, to maintain an inch of physical distance. There were definite benefits to working late and taking a car home on the client. A couple smooshed in behind her. The man had his arm tightly around the woman, holding her balanced against the jerking of the train. Audrey averted her glance and focused on the subway posters. One had a picture of a couple on a beach. That was the opposite of her summer so far, working nights and
weekends. But romance suddenly seemed possible—not this summer, not before she made partner, but maybe after. Tim had reached out to hug her at the end of their Popflicks pitch, out in the hallway, under the portraits of the founding partners. But he’d stepped back as if electrocuted by that professional work-colleague boundary. Still, it was something, and it made her smile as the train pulled into her stop.
She pushed through the subway turnstile at 72nd Street. She passed by the Gray’s Papaya with its slogans in bright red letters on its yellow façade and turned the corner to walk down the brownstone-lined block. Birds chirped; a teenager walked their golden retriever up ahead. Trees grew within small, fenced-off, neighbor-planted flower beds, with different variations of “Don’t let your dog pee on me” signs.
She reached the corner Korean grocery store and admired the sea of pink roses, sunflowers, and hyacinths for sale. The bright yellow sunflowers stood especially tall outside. Eve would like those. Audrey picked out a bunch and paid the man at the makeshift counter at the end of the row of flowers.
Walking away, she slid her wallet back into her purse just as her phone rang. Winnie. Fumbling to check it with her one free hand, she bumped into a hard body and dropped her phone.
The owner of said hard body was tall with wavy brown hair and chiseled cheekbones, and he was carrying a case of beer. His fitted, worn gray t-shirt showed off his lean muscular frame.
“Sorry, I was distracted.” She blushed as she bent to pick up her phone, trying to do so gracefully in a pencil skirt and heels while holding the long-stemmed sunflowers.
“No worries,” he said, turning away from her. “I was trying to make the light.” The light glowed red.
She checked her phone so she looked busy as she stood next to him, waiting for the light to change. That hard contact had her flustered. Had she stared at him like a lovestruck teenager? She really needed to get out of the office more often. Fortunately, her mobile had survived the fall. The caller ID had identified the call she thought was from Winnie as a scam call. Now his phone rang.
He shook his head. “Being on call. It’s so . . .”
“Essential, right?” She nodded. It allowed her the freedom to leave the office, but still be available wherever she was.
“I was going to say annoying.” He answered the phone. “Jake here.” He listened to the caller and then said, “Yes, come on by. You know my opinion: you’ve got to shake it off and get out there. Dating in New York for a guy is like shooting fish in a barrel.” He slipped his phone back in his jean pocket.
“I’ve always preferred the metaphor that honey catches more flies than vinegar,” Audrey said. “You might want to try sweet bait on your hook, rather than your shotgun approach.” She raised an eyebrow, less than charmed by his remark.
He laughed. “You’re right.” Her gaze met his; his eyes were warm blue with hints of green and gray, like the Atlantic Ocean on a calm day, and her stomach did a little flip. “Can I help you carry anything?” He waved at her purse and the flowers.
“Thanks, but I’m good.” She was tempted to hand him the flowers to carry, just to keep talking to him, but he was carrying a case of beer.
A little boy scootered past them, over the curb, into the street, towards the busy intersection. She stared in horror, her feet glued to the sidewalk as if stuck in cement. Jake bolted after him, scooping the child up with one arm as the scooter fell to the ground, just past the parked car. And then her feet moved and she sprinted over, picking up the dropped scooter from the street and following Jake back to the safety of the sidewalk.
A mother with a baby stroller laden with Trader Joe’s shopping bags ran up, screaming. “I told you to stop at the curb, Eddy!”
“I tried, Mommy, I tried.” The boy started crying. “I missed the brake.”
Audrey and Jake exchanged a look of “that was close.” Her heart was still hammering. And she felt shaky. Jake wiped his hand on his jeans.
The mother hugged her son tightly and turned to Jake. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.” Jake bent to his knees so he could look Eddy in the eyes. “I’ve got a niece about your age who likes to scooter. And you know what I’ve told her? She can scooter ahead, but she has to stop where the buildings stop. Then if she misses the brake, that gives her time to find it. What do you think about trying that?”
Eddy nodded. Audrey found herself nodding as well; that was good advice.
“Thank you both again,” the mom said. Audrey just waved it off. She felt guilty that she hadn’t moved fast enough—that she’d been stuck in shock.
“No worries. I’ve had practice with scooter crises.” Jake looked embarrassed at the mom’s gratitude. The light changed, and he quickly crossed.
Audrey followed him, still quivering from the near-accident. Her phone rang again. This time, it was Winnie.
“Hey, what’s the important news?”
“I heard a rumor that litigation isn’t doing well. They might only make two partners instead of four. I was going to wait and tell you tomorrow because you deserve a night off, but then I thought I’d better call you.”
Audrey stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “That’s not good.” Only two? All this effort and I’m not even going to make it? She leaned against a stone wall of the steps of a brownstone, her leg muscles jittery. “But Tim and I got the Popflicks case.”
“It’s not going to be enough. Two cases suddenly settled, so that means Colette and several other attorneys are no longer billing those crazy amounts, except that Colette is sure to get on another case soon. She’s not one to sit around,” Winnie said. Colette had joined the firm two years ago. She’d rebuffed Audrey’s friendly overtures; they were both in consideration for partner, but she was friendly with Tim.
“That’s game-changing.” She had to do more, but she was already working more cases than anyone else. And if she made partner, it would be even worse. She sank down onto the steps. Her hand gripped her phone tightly, as she stared down at the paper garbage littering the street.
Audrey shook her head. She had to think positively. It wouldn’t be worse. She would make it—be judged and found to merit becoming a partner with the best and brightest legal minds of the country. It was the final rung on the ladder. She would prove herself as one of them. She took a
deep breath, stood, and strode forward. Eyes on the prize. Don’t be deterred by doubts. Her mom’s favorite expression, other than “be nice.” Kevin had often imitated her mom saying that, and not in a nice way.
Kevin, who she’d broken up with four years ago, who’d said she’d never make partner.
She glanced up to see Jake turn into the five-story brownstone next to the one where she and Eve lived. The one with the apartment for rent. But that would be too much to hope—that he was her new neighbor. He was only her type in looks anyway, given that he was comparing women to fish and strolling around the streets on a Thursday carrying a case of beer—that he had managed not to drop while rescuing the boy. Impressed, she bit her lip. Better to hope that he wasn’t; she didn’t need that type of distraction.
“I still just have to do my best,” she said to Winnie.
“I tried to find out more, but that was all I got. So far.” Winnie’s voice promised that she was on it. “They should pick you over Tim or Colette or that guy in London.”
“I feel like I don’t fit the image,” she said. Especially now, with her caramel blond highlighted hair frizzing from the heat and exercise. And her face probably matched her pink blouse. “Colette and Tim are always so polished.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a personality,” Winnie said.
“They might prefer polish over personality.”
“You’re the whole package. Remember that. When you’re on, you take over the room.” Winnie’s voice was reassuring.
She nodded. She recognized that. She wasn’t conventionally pretty; she had a strong nose—far from an all-American button nose. But if she was animated or laughing when walking down the street, men and sometimes women turned to give her a second glance. Her mom said she had presence, but she had to feel confident; otherwise, she’d fade into the background.
“Tim’s like the firm’s golden boy. If they’re only making two, he’ll definitely be one of them.” Audrey stopped outside her brownstone door, hoping Winnie would contradict her.
“Unfortunately,” Winnie said.
Indeed. That was the thing about Winnie—she could trust her for the truth. But that meant there was just one spot for three contenders. And she wouldn’t bet on her being chosen over the other two. Her shoulders slumped.
Winnie continued, “Anyway, let’s grab lunch tomorrow.”
After saying yes, Audrey hung up. She should go back to the office after dinner. But she’d promised Eve they’d hang out tonight. And they barely saw each other because they both worked nights even though they lived across the hall from each other. Eve was only off tonight because the restaurant where she worked as a pastry chef was closed for a private function and the group was bringing their own birthday cake.
If Eve went to bed early, she could sneak back to work after dinner and dessert. Maybe she should’ve thought of joining the CIA. At least then she’d have the disguise skills to escape the office.
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