Now here’s the part where I tell you that deep down, I’m looking to reform. My big bad ways have landed me in hot water, and it’s high time I right my wrongs.

  Cue smug grin.

  The pleasure I got from pounding on that stall door and telling that first-year to “hurry it up” was a rush unlike any other.

  I’m content with the way things are. I’ve been with Elwood Hoyt for nearly ten years. I’ve worked my way up from summer associate to partner at a lightning-quick pace, and now I’m looking to add a new title to my belt: senior partner.

  It’s absurd, really. Most of my peers would be happy to call it a day in my current position. A partner at Elwood Hoyt’s principal offices in Chicago—that’s it. That’s the golden ticket.

  But I want more. Like any good villain, I’d prefer world domination, but making senior partner would be a close second.

  With this goal in mind, I accept an unprompted meeting from one of the head honchos. Anders Elwood is one of the two founding partners of our firm. Though well into his 60s, he’s not going anywhere. So while I can blow past just about everyone else in this building, for him, I have to dig deep and pull out my last vestiges of humanity. My smile has to be genuine. For once.

  “Hudson? I’m assuming you have a moment,” he says when he strolls confidently into my office as I’m in the process of dialing my phone.

  I mean, what power! He didn’t even knock! Did Lucy even attempt to stop him? (Not that she could…)

  I clap my phone back into place and stand up. “Of course. What do you need, sir?”

  I expect him to bring up an issue with a contract, some amendment he wants me to glance over. Anders doesn’t technically work in mergers and acquisitions, but when we have large-scale deals in the works with billions of dollars on the line (which we do, most of the time), he usually keeps a close watch on them, especially during preliminary review and closing.

  “As you know, all my children followed in my footsteps to pursue a profession in law.”

  That’s…not where I thought he was going.

  He walks around my desk and takes a spot at the window, knocking over one of my achievement trophies positioned there. I wince when it cracks against the glass, but he doesn’t even seem to register the sound.

  “Barrett, Wyatt, Conrad—I’m proud they’re all here at Elwood Hoyt.”

  I merely nod, choosing to keep my mouth shut considering I still don’t have a good sense of where this discussion is headed. I can’t think of a single other time Anders has strolled into my office to discuss his children. To discuss anything outside of work, really.

  The Elwood brothers are infamous at our firm for obvious reasons. Thank god only one of them works at the Chicago office. The last thing I need is to be competing with three of the boss’s kids instead of one. Though really, while Barrett is intelligent and capable, I don’t exactly view him as my competition. Namely because he’s not in this department, and last I checked, he was only projected to clock about 2,000 billable hours this year. Last year, I soared past 3,500. I was the firm’s top earner, and that little trophy Anders is carelessly letting crash to the ground proves it.

  “Unfortunately, my youngest has also decided to join the family business.”

  To call Elwood Hoyt a family business is laughable. It’s like the Waltons calling Walmart a li’l general store. Elwood Hoyt employs thousands of lawyers worldwide, over 700 here in Chicago alone.

  “I’m sure you’re proud.”

  He turns to me with an annoyed scowl.

  Okay, rewind, not proud.

  “I’m furious.” He spits the words. “Beyond. My Scarlett doesn’t belong in this world, not among—” He looks me over with careless judgment before finishing his bold statement. “Men as cutthroat as you.”

  Good to know my reputation has pervaded every square inch of this office. If Anders Elwood considers me cutthroat, I must be doing something right. The man isn’t exactly a gentle lamb himself.

  “I’m sure your daughter will be able to hold her own.” I have to bite my tongue before adding, Now if that’s all, would you mind… while gesturing toward the door.

  “Fortunately, I won’t have to worry about that. You will ensure it’s taken care of for me.”

  I blink, utterly baffled.

  “She’s taken a liking to mergers and acquisitions,” he continues. “She’ll start on this floor today. I just checked and she’s meant to be under the wing of Amaya Chandra, and while Amaya is a capable lawyer, she hasn’t been with our firm as long as you have. She doesn’t have a vested interest in ensuring my daughter has an easy path ahead of her. Do you catch my meaning?”

  My silence compels him to spell it out for me.

  “Go easy on her. Lob her softballs. That’s it.” He has the audacity to smile at me before adding, “Have I made myself clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  With a nod, he turns toward the door. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  I pick up my phone the second he’s out of my office and down the hall. My assistant, Lucy, picks up on the first ring.

  “Whatcha need?” she asks, no formality necessary.

  “Figure out when the first-years get in today. Are they already here? Have you seen them around the building?”

  There’s shuffling on her end. “Oh, they start today? Let me just…”

  “Call me back,” I say then hang up.

  At a sprightly 79 years old, Lucy Sadler is likely the oldest person in this building, and she’s been my trusty assistant since my first day as a senior associate. I inherited her from a partner who retired ten years ago. Lucy might have retired alongside him, considering she was his great aunt, but she chose to stay and now we’re best friends, though neither of us would ever admit that.

  My phone rings.

  “Whatdoyougot?” One word, spoken fifty times a day.

  “You said first-years?”

  I rub my eye sockets. “Yeah, Luce. First-years.”

  “On it.”

  While I wait for her to get back to me, I reclaim my seat and open a fresh internet tab. I type Scarlett Elwood into Google. Like any good lawyer, I need to do my research.

  I didn’t know the Elwoods had spawned a fourth child. How many children does one couple need? Oh shit—who’s to say there aren’t more than four?

  A shiver rolls down my spine.

  Before the search results load, I picture Scarlett as a female version of Anders replete with white hair, sideburns, and whiskers sprouting from her nostrils. Then the first page of Google appears, and there, at the top of the screen, is a high-resolution headshot of the youngest Elwood. Huh, I was wrong. This girl—girl, because she can’t be a day older than twenty-three—is a brunette bombshell. She takes after her mother, I suppose, same as Barrett. She has gorgeous hair, thick chestnut brown waves surrounding her demure face. Her eyes shine with hopeful youth, and her smile is seductive, though not in a come-hither way. She’s chock-full of that dimpled charm you’d expect from your childhood crush.

  When I realize my stomach has squeezed tight with something, I wince and scroll down until I land on what I’m really looking for: intel. There are a million law forums online. Even just searching “Reddit” and “Scarlett Elwood” pulls up plenty of results. Apparently, people really enjoy discussing her.

  I read and scroll fast. There’s no time to waste. I have a full day of work ahead of me that doesn’t include stalking a stranger online.

  Anonymous134_x: This girl is so obnoxious. I was in her same year at Columbia Law and you should have seen the way the professors fawned all over her. I doubt she had to study for a single test because of who her *DaDdY* is…ugh. Barf.

  * * *

  LawGirlXO: I heard it’s been like that her whole life. She grew up in this elite private school. A total pampered princess. It’s just so annoying that people like her take spots away from lawyers who really deserve to practice.

  * * *

  Anonymous134_x: Exactly! She’d never have made it into Columbia without her family’s legacy.

  * * *

  Throwaway13339990: @Anonymous134_x Proof or shut up.

  * * *

  Anonymous134_x: Uhh…I saw it with my own eyes. A professor gave her an extension on a paper because Scarlett wanted to go on vacation in San Trope with her family or something. That would have never flown for the rest of us. There was other stuff too…but trust me when I say, we were all aware of her privilege. There was an understanding among the staff that she was untouchable, like her dad was pulling the strings or something. Meanwhile, the rest of us were actually working our asses off…

  I scroll a few more pages then decide I’ve seen enough. While the idea of people anonymously spewing hate online reeks of cowardice, the sentiment behind all these posts still stands. It’s not hard to parse out the pertinent information from the mean-spirited vitriol. Furthermore, I don’t need to wonder if there’s truth behind any of these stories; I just had it confirmed for me by her own father. He waltzed into my office and made himself very clear: go easy on Scarlett. Smooth out the path before her…or else.

  This isn’t daycare. This is the top law firm in the nation. People fight tooth and nail to be here, sacrificing everything, putting themselves into debt up to their ears—all so they can watch someone like Scarlett breeze through, no problem? Infuriating.

  I’m actually glad Anders has asked me to bring her onto my service. I’d love nothing more than to take Scarlett Elwood along for a day in my life. I bet she doesn’t even survive the morning. I’ll give her until 10:00 a.m., then she’ll go running for the hills. Sure, maybe her dad will want my head on a platter for going against his wishes, but something tells me he understands the score here. If his daughter isn’t capable of being a real lawyer, that’s going to become apparent sooner rather than later, no matter her team placement.

  And if he’s intent on pushing this, on letting her play lawyer while the rest of us do real work, he’ll have to find some other dummy to do his bidding ’cause it ain’t gonna be me.

  Chapter Three

  Scarlett

  WELCOME, says the banner over the top of the conference room door.

  You’re doomed, says the glare of the nine new hires looking my way as I scoot into the room and try to assess my seating options. Oh yes, I was hoping for the creaky chair way in the back, the one that looks like it was pulled out of storage for today only. Every seat in the front—where I would usually sit on my first day at a new job—is filled, save for one, and when I take a step toward it, the blonde girl claiming the spot to its left says, “It’s taken,” with enough snark that I don’t feel up to challenging her.

  Okay then.

  Footsteps sound behind me, and I feel a little bit smug that even with my bird poop incident, I’m not the last one to arrive this morning. There is one guy who comes in after me; it’s the guy Barrett just pissed off at the elevators. He sends me a death glare as he walks in to claim the last seat next to all his friends…the seat the girl was saving for him.

  Dammit, Barrett!

  I’m left with the chair in the back. When I sit down, it squeeeeeeaaallls like it’s two hundred years old.

  “Sheesh. Anyone got some WD40 handy?” I ask with a little self-deprecating laugh.

  No one turns around.

  All right, so that’s how it’s going to be. I figured today could go one of two ways: the best and least likely outcome is that I immediately make friends and find my place among my peers. The worst and most likely outcome is that everyone already realizes who I am, hates me for it, and decides they’re better off banding together in their mutual hatred of me.

  Just to confirm which option I’m dealing with, I lean toward the rail-thin boy a few feet in front of me. He’s far enough away that no one would mistakenly think we’re sitting together but close enough that I don’t have to raise my voice much to ask him if he knows who I am.

  He shoots me an incredulous look. “Of course. Don’t talk to me.” He looks up quickly to check if the blonde girl in the front row has heard him. Fortunately for him, she’s engrossed in an animated conversation with the people around her.

  I’m not surprised everyone already seems to know each other. No doubt every single person here—besides me—worked as summer associates together. It’s a really big deal to land one of the coveted summer spots at big law firms in between 2L and 3L (aka year two and year three of law school) because nine times out of ten, the firms look to their summer associates when considering offers for full-time positions come graduation time.

  Just because I wasn’t here last summer doesn’t mean I was slacking off, mind you. I just decided that instead of slogging through another Chicago summer, I’d go abroad. I was a summer associate at Elwood Hoyt’s London office in an effort to spend some time with my brother, Wyatt. Also, it was convenient and fun to backpack around Europe on my free weekends (what few I had). As much as I enjoyed my time in London Town, I knew the choice might come back to bite me in the ass.

  It looks like alliances have already been formed.

  Barrett’s first piece of advice was to make friends, wasn’t it? Well, sorry, bro…that’s not going to happen today, it seems.

  High heels clap in quick succession and then a woman enters wearing a steely-eyed glare. Harsh expression aside, the lady’s in one hell of an outfit. I immediately take note of her understated diamond necklace and the sleek way she’s knotted her black hair at the nape of her neck. Her dark skin is complemented nicely by her camel-colored dress. I peer over and—yes, her shoes coordinate perfectly as well. Ten out of ten.

  She walks to the front of the conference room and looks out at us with a lazy perusal. A few people actually squirm in their chairs in the uncomfortable silence. I sit stock-still until her gaze scans around the conference table, finally landing on me. Her eyes narrow. No doubt, she’s placing me. Barrett and I look too similar for her not to put two and two together right away. Word has likely spread around the firm that yet another Elwood is joining the ranks.

  Jesus, how many of you are there? she’s probably wondering.

  Without giving anything away, her gaze cuts sideways and she begins in a clipped, crisp tone. “I’m Bethany Quinn, a senior associate in mergers and acquisitions. I’ll help each of you get placed with your team today. HR will meet with you at some point as well, so most questions should be directed at them, not me. After this meeting, if you bother me, I’ll send you a bill for my hours. Understood?”

  Everyone nods with slack-jawed expressions.

  I’m the only one smiling.

  I love her. I want to be her. No nonsense, just boatloads of attitude and confidence.

  “Most of you were summer associates here, so welcome back and, more importantly, congratulations. In your current position, you’re no longer on the lowest rung of the ladder. However, you haven’t proved yourself yet. There are four partners in mergers and acquisitions, so you’ll be broken up into small groups and absorbed by each of the four teams. The junior and senior associates you’ll be working alongside will have very little patience and very little time for hand-holding. You were not accidentally chosen for this job. Each of you is capable of learning fast and thinking on your feet. You’re getting paid gobs of money to perform as an asset to this company. That being said, we don’t want mistakes. Triple-check your work. Ask for guidance if it’s absolutely necessary.”

  She scans over us. “I want to be perfectly clear about the reality of a firm like Elwood Hoyt. None of you are ignorant about this world. Take a good look at the peers around you because by this time next year, a quarter of you will be gone. In two years, only half will be left standing. Likely less.”

  Oh god. What is this, The Hunger Games? Are we about to have to kill each other off? Because if push came to shove, I do think I could take the scrawny guy near me in hand-to-hand combat. I’ve been kickboxing like crazy this last year.

  “Now I know you’re all weighted down with the guidelines and handbooks from HR concerning Elwood Hoyt’s training policies. Pertaining to the mergers and acquisitions side of things, we have a different hourly requirement than most other departments. We want you all aiming for at least 2,500 billable hours a year. How you decide to break that up is your concern.”

  2,500 billable hours…and Barrett said to add 500 to their base requirement, meaning he wants me shooting for 3,000 billable hours. Taking into account two weeks of vacation and holidays, that leaves me with sixty-hour work weeks on the low end. More than likely, I’ll be pulling ten to twelve-hour days and working some on the weekends too.

  I peer around the group, though there are no wide eyes, no bleak expressions. It’s all furrowed brows and fierce determination. Everyone knows the score, apparently.

  It’s hard to believe though. A quarter of us won’t make it through the year? When do people start dropping? Right now, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s even remotely interested in walking away.

  Bethany pulls out a memo on the firm’s letterhead from the padfolio she brought in with her.

  “I’m going to read out the teams. Find who you’re grouped with, exchange numbers, get close. These people will be your support system for the next few months. It’s impossible to survive here alone.”

  One by one, she starts listing the partners followed by the associates assigned to their team.

  “Mr. Beltran—Makayla Hammon, Dilan Phan, Ramona Dalton.”

  A guy in the center of the room turns to two girls sitting beside him and they give each other surreptitious high fives.

  Thaddeus Welch, Vihaan Robles, and Andy Pace land on Mr. Pruitt’s team.

  My name is called next, first up for Amaya Chandra’s team. After me, she calls the name of two other girls. One of them sits over near the window by herself. She looks back at me and shrugs as if she doesn’t really care that we’ve been placed on the same team.