Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [54]
“Nothing.” I rose from my chair. “I need to get to that meeting.”
My father stood, too. “You’re sure?” His forehead creased with worry, a look that meant he was concerned about me, that he probably wouldn’t sleep tonight.
Whenever I’d had a rough spot in my life, or at least what I perceived as rough at the time—like when Rob Bradshaw asked someone else to the prom or when I failed to make law review by only a few points—my father got that look, and he wouldn’t sleep for days until I was over it. I would hear him walking around the house at night and the soft murmur of the TV. In the morning, I would find him in his study, the stacks of work telling me he had been at it all night. He wasn’t the type of parent to try and solve my problems. He offered advice if asked, and held my hand if I wanted, but he fretted and paced and stayed awake until I was back to normal. I hated to see him like that, hated that I caused his reaction, and yet his reaction was a silent gesture of love. I knew he would worry about me now. He would lay awake at night until I asked the questions or told him I was fine, but this time, the thought of his worry didn’t bother me as much. In fact, maybe it was a good thing, because it would force me to ask him the tough questions in order to erase it. Things would have to come to a head. It was time.
I told him I would find him later, and he left my office with those worry lines still crossing his face.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Magoo Barragan said as I walked into the conference room. Magoo, an olive-skinned man with wavy, dark brown hair, was standing by the buffet table with the four other attorneys that made up the cyber-law department. They were all choosing from the sandwiches and salads Amy had ordered. Unlike my office, this room had a view of the river. Outside the glass, the sun gleaming off buildings made me wish I was back on the stretch of sand behind Long Beach Inn rather than breathing the artificial air of a sealed room.
“Magoo,” I said in a jokey, plaintive voice. “You know I love you, so why would I want to kill you?”
He carried a sandwich to the table. “Then what are you doing giving me the Your New Home dep in Delaware and dragging me into this McKnight monstrosity?”
I’d left him a voice mail earlier, officially asking him to help on McKnight.
“I need you desperately,” I said. I put the files down on the table and walked over to the buffet.
“Yeah, yeah,” I heard Magoo say behind me. “All the women in this firm need me.”
As I helped myself to a turkey sandwich and a scoop of pasta salad, I greeted the other attorneys. Ellis Radwell, a tall, African American man two years out of law school, was loading his plate full of food and said, “Hey, Hailey,” through a mouthful of potato chips. Ellis was an excellent lawyer and an even better writer. I knew the McKnight trial would require extensive motions and briefs, so normally I would seek his help, but Ellis’s wife had recently given birth to their first child, and I felt bad asking too much during this time. McKnight was going to require some very late nights.
I talked with the three other associates, trying to decide who would be the best to help on the case. Michelle Headly, or Mickey as we called her, was the youngest of the bunch, coming up on her one-year anniversary at the firm. A beautiful, fair-skinned woman who didn’t seem aware of her good looks, she was eager to take on any work, but I needed someone with a little more experience. That left Natalie Decker, a true New Yorker with a very serious demeanor, or Jim Siderski, a jovial, football-loving guy. I preferred Jim, since we would all be spending a lot of time together, and Jim tended to make things fun, but Natalie had extensive intellectual-property experience that would be invaluable. As I picked up a fork—real silver here at Gardner, State & Lord no plastic stuff—I asked Natalie to help out.
“Whatever,” Natalie said, sweeping her blunt-cut hair out of her face. That was Natalie’s reaction