After an hour of dealing with it, I groan and shoot to my feet. My first attempt to move my desk is an utter failure. On the second try, I put some real muscle behind it and manage to shift it a few inches, creating a screech so loud every person across the city just winced and covered their ears.

  “You mind?” Kendra snaps.

  She has her headphones on while she works. She’s not on a call or anything though, so…I ignore her and push my desk another few inches. Better. I’ll no longer have to sit beneath a leafy canopy, at least.

  “God you’re insufferable.”

  “Me?” I snap, whirling around to face her.

  She rolls her eyes.

  I cross my arms and stand up tall; suddenly I’m over it. “Did you move my desk?”

  “No. I didn’t move your desk.” Her mocking tone makes it clear she thinks I’m nuts.

  God, have I lost it? With a heavy sigh, I try for a different tactic. “You know we don’t have to keep doing this. It’s day three—surely you’re starting to get tired.”

  “Tired? Of what?” she asks, pretending to be stupid now that I’m actually calling her out on her rude behavior.

  I don’t even keep the sarcasm out of my tone when I reply, “What’s your goal exactly? To make me suffer?”

  She looks at her computer. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not that different than you. We could be friends, you know.”

  Her mouth thins with disgust at the idea. “I’m all tapped out on friends at the moment.”

  Fine.

  I go around my desk and take my seat. I’m about to refocus my attention on a contract when she speaks up again. Her tone isn’t nasty, but it’s still harsh. “For the record, you are different from me and my friends. Most of us don’t have daddy dearest as a safety net. We have hundreds of thousands in student loans to pay back, a career on the line. We’ve worked to get here.”

  My jaw tightens in annoyance. “I earned my place here. Same as you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

  “I scored a 169 on my LSAT.”

  She laughs. “Like I care? I’ll bet you had every single tutor imaginable, someone to guide you through step by step. I’m actually surprised you didn’t get a perfect score to be quite honest. Meanwhile, I took the LSAT while I was working part-time at a law library and putting myself through college and taking eighteen hours of upper-division courses.”

  “That’s incredibly impressive. You should be proud.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  Suddenly, I know, no matter what, I’ll never win with her. I could tell her I finished second in my class at Columbia Law and she’d find some way to twist it around on me. No amount of hard work will amount to much in her eyes.

  At the end of the day, she’s right. Out of the two of us, she had the harder road getting here. I won’t argue that. I just don’t understand what she wants from me now.

  I steady my voice, trying my hardest to smooth things over once and for all. “I understand that I had a leg up in this industry, and I’m not trying to lord that over anyone. In fact, I’d like to separate myself from my last name as much as possible. I want to work and prove myself here, same as you.”

  “Okay, Kendall Jenner…”

  Her snide remark is the last straw. Is she kidding?! I’m not using my long legs to strut down a catwalk. I’m using my brain to practice law. I want to explode in a myriad of ways, to argue my point until the cows come home, but Hudson’s advice from yesterday comes through just when I need it the most.

  Ignore them and get to work.

  He’s right.

  I grab the contract I need to review and work straight through lunch. Sophie wanted me to edit a letter of intent and get it back to her by 3:00 p.m., so I do one better and get it to her with additional notes by 1:00. Then, I also draw up an exclusivity agreement for her to review.

  A lot of my work as a lower-level associate involves constant communication with clients. Even though it’s only my first week on the job, I’m already sending and receiving over a hundred emails a day, easy. A large portion of that communication results from being part of a team. Since I’m working beneath Sophie, most emails she gets, I’m CC’d on as well. Compared to Hudson’s workload, Sophie’s deals are small potatoes, but it’s still a lot of responsibility.

  There’s a closing scheduled for next week and another scheduled for the week after that. Both deals require a lot of documentation, and it’s my job to confirm we’re getting everything delivered to our clients to review in a timely manner, signed, and filed away appropriately. Staying on top of paperwork in mergers like this is half the battle, and though it takes time (unpaid time) for me to do it, I’m trying to stay as organized as possible.

  I don’t leave my office until 7:32 p.m., and Elwood Hoyt is far from empty. Half of the office is still going strong, which makes me think maybe I should still be working too. Kendra’s gone. In fact, none of the first-year associates are still here. It’s Hudson’s corner of the office that’s abuzz with life. Upon closer inspection, I see Lucy’s at her desk, but other attorneys file in and out of Hudson’s office. Some are even splayed out on the floor or the couches in his reception area. Whatever is going on must be big if it’s requiring all hands on deck.

  I’m slightly envious of everyone involved, which is hilarious given the circumstances. I wish I were getting the privilege of staying late, getting orders barked at me by Hudson Rhodes?

  Well…kinda.

  I almost emailed him last night and again this afternoon, just to check in and confirm there wasn’t anything else he needed from me. He hasn’t reached out once since I left his office yesterday afternoon, and I refused to bring him another cup of coffee this morning. There have been no further tasks, none of the “favoritism in reverse” he promised me. I should be happy about that, I suppose.

  I’m about to pivot toward the elevators and be on my merry way when I suddenly stop.

  Be assertive. Go after what you want.

  Hudson’s office draws me in like a moth to a flame.

  Associates are everywhere. Papers. Memos. Highlighters. Pens. Laptops. Empty soda cans. Venti coffee cups with ice cubes swimming in pale dregs. Bethany and Sophie are sharing Lucy’s desk. Bethany has two pens tucked behind her right ear and another behind her left. She’s furiously flipping through pages when she looks up and sees me standing in the threshold between the hallway and the sitting area.

  “Do you need help?” I ask with a lopsided smile.

  It’s a dumb question. It’s like I’m watching a person drown in a pool, and instead of jumping in to help, I call out to them, Hey! Everything good?

  She’s probably about to tell me to fuck off. Instead, she points to a thick stack of papers bound with black plastic rings.

  “Sit down, read through that. Highlight anything pertinent. We’re examining KinBio’s numbers, comparing them over time and benchmarking them against competitors.”

  My ears perk up. KinBio is the pharmaceutical company Hudson discussed on the phone yesterday. Did the FTC get back to him today? Is the merger moving forward?

  I drop my things immediately and am about to pick up the bound pages when Bethany’s stomach audibly growls. Sophie laughs, and I look around the room, registering that most everyone is in the same boat: tired, overworked, hungry.

  “Have any of you eaten?”

  An attorney across the room jerks his head up with wide eyes. “Shit. Dinner. I knew I forgot something.”

  The concept of an evening meal hadn’t even occurred to him, or anyone else in the room for that matter.

  “Why don’t I—”

  Bethany’s already waving her hand for me to get on with it. “Order, yes! Whatever. Just get something here ASAP.”

  I go with pizza and salads from my favorite place down the street, and I charge it to the company card Bethany hands me. Firms like Elwood Hoyt are happy to pay for a $12 slice of pepperoni pizza while you continue working overtime helping to make them millions upon millions of dollars, so I go overboard. I make sure everyone has a fresh drink, and I tack on a bunch of appetizers and a few dessert options because who doesn’t want an ooey-gooey brownie fresh out of the oven after having ingested enough grease to require a truckload of Tums?

  I add a rush delivery fee, and when my phone chimes, I run down with an empty supply cart and meet the delivery guy at the entrance.

  “Did you uh…order all this?” The stoned teenager can’t comprehend how little ol’ me could need this much pizza. Now that I’m seeing it, it’s a lot. Oh well.

  I sign the bill and help him load everything up on the cart.

  “Please tell me you brought the plates and silverware I requested.”

  If not, I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.

  “Yeah, it’s all in there.”

  Perfect. I tip him generously then cart the food to the 70th floor, trying not to salivate from all the delicious smells surrounding me during my trip up in the elevator.

  My reappearance is met with what could only be described as the reaction Jesus might expect to get on his homecoming.

  “OH MY GOD.”

  “FUCKING HELL YES.”

  “MOVE!”

  They can’t get to me—or my pizza—fast enough.

  I start opening boxes, explaining the options. “That one is meat lovers, this one’s margherita.”

  I pass out plates and drinks, toss the salads, and get everyone in the sitting area taken care of before I start loading up plates and bringing them into Hudson’s office.

  There are four attorneys inside. Two work from his couch, using the coffee table as a desk. Another one is spread out at a side table that was covered in achievement awards yesterday. Now those sit on the ground. Hudson sits behind his desk on a call, tilted back in his chair, tossing his stress ball up into the air over and over again in quick succession so he can catch it and continue. He clocks my arrival with predatorial precision. His brown eyes lock onto me and then narrow slightly.

  My stomach flips. He’s sans suit jacket and tie. The sleeves on his white button-down are rolled up on his toned forearms. It looks like maybe he hasn’t shaved since yesterday because he’s sporting a sexy amount of scruff. He looks meaner with it, too tough for this setting. Truth be told, that face is wasted in this job. He should be working security for some mafia boss, interrogating moles. Those thick expressive eyebrows say everything he can’t while he’s on the phone.

  I hold up the food in question.

  He nods toward the other attorneys while continuing his conversation.

  “Thank you!” the guys each say quietly, quickly accepting the plates.

  I rush out to get drinks, sweeping my gaze around to make sure everyone out here is still good to go. Then I start to make Hudson a plate. I’m not sure what kind of pizza he likes and I can’t ask him while he’s on the phone, so I just give him my favorites: plain pepperoni and a slice of supreme. I add a little salad on the side and, on a hunch, grab him a Coke too.

  Back in his office, I find him leaning over his desk, still on the phone, his stress ball forgotten near an empty coffee cup. He watches me as I walk in with his plate and drink. It feels like miles between his door and his desk. I manage to get there without stumbling and spilling his soda everywhere, but only because I take small, measured steps and hold my breath the whole time, thus pleasing the karma gods.

  Because I’m not about to accidentally get grease stains on anything important, I set his plate down on the farthest corner of his desk. I straighten and am about to flee as quickly as possible, but I realize he’s still watching me with careful reverence.

  I look to him, mouthing, “Greek salad,” so he’ll know what to expect. Then, “Pepperoni. Supreme,” pointing at each of the pizzas. Uh, duh. It’s a little unnecessary to explain to someone living in Chicago what pepperoni pizza looks like, but too late to backtrack now.

  He shakes his head and mouths, “Have you eaten?”

  I shake my head right back, and even though no sound leaves his lips, I’m still absolutely certain from his furrowed brow that he’s not pleased with me or my answer.

  He’s the one actually wheeling and dealing here. He needs the sustenance.

  “Eat,” he mouths.

  I shake my head, and his eyes narrow. I roll my eyes, and before I know it, he’s reached out his leg to hook the side of a chair positioned behind me. With his foot, he drags it closer until it bumps the back of my legs. He points, and I sit. Then he waves for me to take a slice. I go for the pepperoni, and he takes the supreme.

  “Did you already meet with Nicholson?” he asks the person on the phone.

  God.

  His voice.

  It’s…toe-curling. That’s what it is. My damn toes are trying to curl in my pumps, and I should be focusing on this pizza and minding my own business. I’d stand and leave if not for the fact that I’m curious about the crisis situation and the person he’s on the phone with. Is it TJ? Did the FTC get back to us? The DOJ? Is that why everyone’s in a tizzy tonight?

  I peer over at Hudson from beneath my lashes and find his attention has strayed to my legs—specifically the stretch of thigh exposed by my skirt riding up a little.

  I go rigid and he looks away, but truthfully, it might have been a coincidence. His expression was sort of far-off, like maybe he didn’t even realize where he was looking. He didn’t flinch or show any other outward signs of guilt, so I write it off and listen as their phone call concludes and Hudson hangs up.

  “The pizza’s good. Are you going to eat that salad?”

  “No, here. It’s yours. The Coke too.”

  I give him a minute to eat before I bombard him, though apparently that was everyone else’s plan too. He’s immediately flooded with questions and demands for an update. I just sit like a deer caught in headlights, absorbing every second.

  Everyone else seems to be wide-eyed and nervous, but Hudson isn’t fazed by the intensity of the situation, which actually has nothing to do with the FTC clearance process. Or it does, but not in the way I initially suspected.

  The big news of the day is this: our big pharmaceutical merger is headed south and fast. KinBio and Chapman International are suddenly at odds because Chapman’s bankers claim (as of today!) that their evaluation of our client, KinBio, shows a rapidly eroding financial profile.

  Hudson thinks this is “complete and utter bullshit.”

  The fact is, Chapman International first approached KinBio with an unsolicited buyout offer three years ago. KinBio turned down that deal and a subsequent one that came a year later before they were finally persuaded to play ball when Chapman agreed to pay KinBio a $570 million breakup fee contingent upon the DOJ and FTC’s antitrust ruling. Meaning, if the two companies were prohibited from merging, Chapman International would owe KinBio a lot of money as a consolation prize for all that wasted time and effort.

  And guess what decision is looming on the horizon!?

  Dum dum DUM…

  “Someone talked,” Bethany says emphatically. “An informant. Either that or Chapman is just getting spooked about the DOJ’s decision and they don’t want to have to pay that fee.”

  Every head in the room swivels in Hudson’s direction, waiting for his response. He’s the least pissed person in the room. Even I feel enraged over this issue, and I’ve barely dipped my toe into this merger.

  He shrugs. “Either way, it’s irrelevant. Chapman knew KinBio’s financial profile well before today, and we’ll be able to prove that. They’ve had three years to perform their due diligence. If they try to renege on the deal now, they’ll have to pay that breakup fee.”

  He sounds so absolute, so sure of every word that comes out of his mouth. I realize I’m still staring at him, mouth agape, long after he’s finished talking, but it’s only because I’m slightly amazed by him. He’s horrible or whatever, but he’s also…brilliant.

  I want to be just like him. I want him to teach me his ways step by step.

  “You put the breakup fee in the contract.”

  It’s not a question.

  His brown gaze slides over to me. “I did.”

  Even with us all on the same page about what’s going on, the fact remains: we have a lot of work ahead of us if KinBio has to go up against Chapman International in court.

  I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Good thing Moira is already taken care of. Two months ago, on one of my late-night shopping sprees, I bought an automatic cat feeder for her. It’s just a little food dispenser I can use on days when I get home really late. She hates it, of course. She’s tried to dismantle it on multiple occasions. I can sense her fury even from a distance.

  Out in the sitting area, Bethany sets me on a task, and I’m about to make myself comfortable on the floor when Hudson barks my name from his office door on his way to get more pizza.

  “What are you doing?”

  I look up and blink in confusion. Everyone is staring at me accusatorially, like, Good going! You pissed him off!

  Have I missed something? Did he not realize I was here the whole time? The one feeding him pizza?

  “You don’t have to sit on the floor,” he clarifies, flipping open pizza boxes, trying to decide between his options. “There’s room in there.”

  He means in his office.

  “Oh.”

  There’s an audible sigh of relief from the senior associates as if they’re glad he’s not going to totally annihilate me. It’s not that they care about my well-being; it’s that they’ve got enough on their plate without having to worry about skirting around blood on the ground.

  I scoop up my things and re-enter the devil’s lair. It’s weird how much easier it gets each time I do it. Eventually, I’ll be stepping into the underworld without so much as a blink.

  “Please don’t be annoying, just sit down” is Hudson’s advice to me as he reclaims his seat and motions for me to take the one he already got for me.

  He’s…offering to share his desk. He even shoves aside some papers to clear more room for my stuff.