Worse, I didn’t take the first two years of law school seriously either, scraping by with the minimum effort. It took even more “strings” to keep me in the program, and I didn’t pull it together until . . . well, unexpected loss gives you perspective.
I’m lucky they gave me the job, even after I turned into a model student my final year. That was only enough to lift me from bottom to middle of the class with only two semesters to try to turn things around. But it had also earned me the respect of all my third-year professors.
Too bad I had yet to earn the same from my father.
“It wasn’t a request.” His voice is firm. “Zed Pro Tech is looking to bring their business over, and that’s two million in annual billing. They need white glove treatment, and they’re looking for someone young to take out their directors. I’ll handle their C-suite, but you need to take out the younger guys on the team. And girl,” he adds. “Three people total. Find a wingman and handle it. Be up here in fifteen.”
And he hangs up.
I massage my temples, trying to rearrange my workload so I can be out of the office by 6:30 to take these guys—and lady—to dinner. If I can get them back to their hotel by 9:00, I can work some more at home and not fall behind. Any further behind, anyway. This job is always about playing catch-up.
I turn in my chair and glance at the other offices, trying to think who I should grab and take with me. This is a political choice whether I like it or not; I have to think about who is on the partner fast track but who also doesn’t get on my nerves.
Lauren, I decide. She’ll balance out the overwhelming bro vibes when corporate males get together, and she’s good socially.
I poke my head into her office. “Got a minute?”
She waves me in and finishes up something on her computer before smiling at me. “What’s up, Josh?”
It’s a small thing, but I like that she calls me by my name. A lot of the associates—mainly ones who belonged to fraternities in college—call me Little Brower. I hate it but smile like I don’t. They’d do it even more if they knew it bothered me.
“Management wants me to show the younger members of the Zed team a good time. We need a wingman when we take them out to dinner. You want in?”
“Sure,” she says. “What time?”
“Want to come upstairs with me and iron it out?”
She nods. She’s no dummy. Being a team player only greases the track for her, and face time with any of the partners is always a bonus. Thirty minutes later, we’re back downstairs after meeting with the Zed associates and making a plan for the evening. They’ve requested the Austin nightlife experience, so I’ll be googling to figure out what that is. It’s been a minute—or three years since I started at the firm—since I’ve had a regular “nightlife.” I don’t know what’s hot right now.
“Steak and live music?” Lauren says. “How about you pick the restaurant, I pick the music venue?”
“Deal.”
In my office, I buckle down to meet my most pressing deadline. I can’t believe I’m having to go out twice in one week. Hope tonight goes better than pho with Sami. It had been fun until she flipped a switch and it wasn’t. If I weren’t working seventy-plus hours a week, I might take the time to figure her out. There’s something about her that I can’t put my finger on, something that makes me want to know more.
But I don’t have time for complicated people puzzles on top of the legal ones I deal with. Maybe something happens between other versions of us. Another time, another life.
I push her out of mind and focus on the contract in front of me. This is the here and now.
Laurenshootsmealook across our small table on the mezzanine at the Continental Club, a legendary jazz spot. We secured it with a Ben Franklin-sized “donation” to a server. The Zed team, John, Will, and Amber, seemed to like dinner at III Forks, a high-end steakhouse, and they look like they’re enjoying the music now, but it’s hard to say. They were polite through dinner, and they’re polite now.
I lean forward to be heard above the music. “How do you like Austin so far?”
Will holds up his beer and tips it toward me. “Good vibe, thanks.”
Still polite. Maybe they aren’t easily impressed? I decide to scratch below the surface. “You like jazz?”
John smiles. “We have to say yes, right? Or we sound uncultured.”
Interesting. He’s got some whiskey in him and it’s loosening his tongue. “So youdon’tlike jazz?”
He shoots a fast look at Amber and shrugs. “Sure.”
That’s a no. It’s my turn to exchange glances with Lauren. She studies our guests for a few seconds then leans forward. “Sounds like you’re not having the experience you want. How can we fix that?”
That’s why Lauren is perfect for this kind of thing. She can read a room, and now she’s pivoting to signal that flexibility is how we do things at Brower and Moore.
Will, John, and Amber trade looks before Will leans forward. “What doyoudo when you go out in Austin? Do you get fifty-dollar steaks and hang out at jazz clubs?”
