Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [52]
“Morning, Hailey,” the receptionist said as I walked out of the elevator and onto the thirty-third floor. Behind the woman’s high, mahogany desk, the words Gardner, State & Lord were spelled in burnished gold on the glass wall that overlooked a large conference room. Soothing classical music played from hidden speakers. This was the image our firm wanted outsiders to see.
“Hey, Tina,” I said.
I slipped my key card in the slot by the side door and stepped into the true Gardner offices, where secretaries clacked away on computers, swore at printers and answered constantly ringing phones. The attorneys’ doors were all open and the sound of their phone conversations blended with the other voices. Meanwhile, mail and copy people hurried through the hallways, making deliveries and picking up stacks of documents.
I called hello to a number of employees as I made my way down the hall. Everyone looked pale to me today, as if they hadn’t seen the outside of this building in years. It was nearly true.
I was lucky enough to have what was considered a large associate office with a window, which, unfortunately, looked upon nothing but the building next to it. But at least I had some fugitive sunlight sneaking in, unlike some of the other associates who were strapped with internal offices and nothing but a fluorescent glare for their twelve-hour workdays. I even had room for a small love seat, although now it was stacked with large red McKnight file jackets.
Amy, a small woman with a cap of dark hair, bustled in after me. As usual, she wore a too-short skirt with a trim, matching jacket. “You look tired,” she said, frowning.
“Thanks,” I said in a sarcastic tone. But both Amy and I knew that I needed occasional mothering, that I liked it.
“Eat breakfast yet?”
“It’s almost eleven.” I unpacked my laptop and files. “I’ll wait for lunch.”
“Nope. I’ll get you a bagel.”
I didn’t argue. I told Amy to bring in the Your New Home files and any other cases that had to be dealt with immediately, and then to schedule a lunch meeting with all the cyber-law attorneys for one o’clock.
I worked for the next couple hours, absently picked at a cinnamon-and-raison bagel between interruptions. My phone rang incessantly, as if clients and other attorneys had sensed I was back in town.
I had just picked up my Dictaphone to dictate a Motion to Dismiss on a new file, when I heard Amy speaking to someone outside my office. “Hailey’s busy,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll just pop in,” said a sugary voice.
I groaned.
Paige Amboy, my least favorite attorney at the firm, stuck her head in my office. Her lustrous blond hair swung with the movement. “Welcome back, Hailey.”
“Hi, Paige.” I refrained from sighing, and sat up in my chair, aware that I’d worn my oldest, most unflattering gray pantsuit. Paige, meanwhile, looked stunning in a lemon-yellow dress just tight enough to be sexy but still conservative enough for Gardner, State & Lord. I was rarely able to pull off that effect.
“I heard about your arb,” Paige said in an overly sympathetic voice. She advanced into the room, eyeing my clutter with disdain. “You win some, you lose some, I guess.”
“I consider this a win.”
Paige’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Of course,” she said soothingly.
“What can I do for you, Paige?”
“Oh, I just wanted to check up on you.” She said this as if she were babysitting a four-year-old in a sandbox.
“Everything’s just fine, thanks.”
“Getting ready for the partnership election?” She had finally stopped prowling and now stood in front of my desk.
I didn’t ask her to sit. “Sure.”
“Did you write the essay yet?”
“What essay?” I said this to see if I could draw a reaction. Paige, two years my senior, was also up for partner this year, and