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“The first million into the firm,” I counter.
“I can live with that,” Reese concedes, “but nothing that was on the books before today counts.”
“Keep the name,” I say. “But the bet’s on. Loser buys the winner a ridiculously expensive bottle of scotch. I’ll pick the bottle when I win.”
Reese laughs. “I can live with that.” He motions me forward. “I’ll see you to your new office.”
“Because it’s right next to your office,” I joke.
“Too damn close,” he replies. “I tried to change that, by the way,” he says. We start walking down a long hallway just past the reception area. “The construction team couldn’t make it happen,” he says. “Not without putting you in a closet and that would have looked bad to clients.” His phone buzzes with a text and he glances at it, a shift to business slipping into place. “We have that scholarship placement starting today,” he informs me. “She just made it to HR.”
“Right,” I say. “The one from Stanford that you know personally.”
“That’s her,” he says. “I setup the staff that will be working in your core team in the conference room at nine. The partner meeting is at ten. I want to give you a heads up on a couple of things in advance.”
We enter the double glass doors that are the entrance to the newly built executive offices with Reese’s corner office on the right and mine on the left. I wave to his secretary, Maria, who is Hispanic, forty-ish, and always brimming with attitude; she greets me in with a wave and a smile.
Reese and I head toward my office, and despite the wide berth between our doors that allows cubicles and offices between us, Maria murmurs something muffled in Spanish that’s said a little too loudly. Something to the effect of Reese and I both being fine-ass men. I laugh right along with Reese, who softly says, “She doesn’t know I speak Spanish.”
“I want popcorn and a good seat when she finds out,” I say, entering my window-lined corner office, and considering I haven’t seen it since it was sheetrock and construction, I pause for a minute just to take it in. Décor compliments of Ashley, the sitting area is done in black leather to the right. A conference table to the left.
“You’re unfortunately going to have to make your team meeting a quick one,” Reese says, as I cross to sit behind my new, shiny mahogany executive desk that appears to have no drawers. “I have to be done with the partners meeting no later than noon because I need to be back in court at two, which is why I want to circle back to our new intern again.”
“She’s the one you said was Cat’s research assistant, right?”
“Yes, and that made getting her on our team, when everyone else wanted her, tricky. She’s prideful. She doesn’t want charity or to feel like she’s gotten a handout. Her first instinct was the reason I wanted to hire her as a favor.”
“Was it?” I ask.
“Hell no,” he says. “I’ve let her sit in on some of my team sessions and she’s good. Really damn good, which is why it pains me to say that I think, based on the personal relationship she has with myself, and even more so, my wife, she needs to be yours. But if you get her, you get what comes with her. That means you take on her educational program requirements.” He indicates a file on the desk. “That has the details of what you’re required to do. She’s worth it, man. She’s a future star.”
“What’s her name?”
“Lori Havens.”
I go still. I’m not sure I can breathe but the puzzle begins to come together. “And she works at your apartment with Cat?”
“Daily,” he says. “Why?”
“I might have met her.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“It’s more a matter of record.”
“Of record,” he says flatly. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
I dismiss the comment with a wave of my hand. “I just ended a trial. I’m still in courtroom mode. I’ll read the file and meet with her.” I glance at my watch. “I’ll see you in the boardroom in fifteen minutes.”
Reese knocks on the desk. “In other words, get the hell out of your office.”
“Always liked how good you were at getting the point,” I say.
He studies me a moment and stands up. “See you in the conference room.”
I watch him cross the room and exit, shutting the door behind him. I scrub my jaw and I find myself momentarily resisting opening the file. It can’t be her. She’s too old to be an intern, but then I remember the story Reese told me about this particular intern. Her father died and her mother had a stroke right afterward. Top of her class at Stanford. Ivy League as I suggested that night. Fuck. This could be a problem. I open the file and find no photo. I start reading. She’s impressive on paper, and if she’s the Lori I know, she’s impressive in all kinds of ways.
I stand up and walk to the window, hands on my hips under my jacket. It’s her. I know it. I feel it. It has to be her. Her situation explains why I couldn’t find her. I never once considered looking beyond active attorneys. Beyond that night, I’d ruled out her knowing who I was. I didn’t feel that when I was with her, but maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she left. If she left then though, why would she be here in my offices now? My gut says, she wouldn’t.
