Except, the annoying voice of reason in my head chirps, you do stupid shit when you’ve been drinking.
I groan.
“Sibley, are you even listening?”
“Of course.” I panic, worried I’ve missed something he’s said. “Where are you?”
“Home for the moment. I’m about to leave for class.”
“I thought you didn’t have class until one?”
“I have a meeting at ten. It’s on the shared calendar.” His smug voice makes me want to smack him. “You know, the Google Calendar you insisted we start using?”
Refusing to engage in this battle, I ignore the snarky comment. “Tonight, then.”
The door barrels open, and startled, I frown at the intrusion, the phone glued to my ear. The only person who doesn’t knock consistently is my redheaded Amazon woman of a paralegal, Leslie.
Still, even she knows to announce herself before strolling in first thing in the morning.
Except it’s not her but my wrinkled seventy-two-year-old boss, Roger Felderman, one of three managing partners of the firm.
His office is one above, but it might as well be on a different planet.
Only the three of them—Roger, Paul, and John—have luxurious suites on the seventeenth floor, their offices inaccessible to the rest of the building. Primarily I see them in monthly meetings or at company galas. They only come down to our level, literally and figuratively, when someone deserves a promotion or royally fucks up.
I think about all the cases I’ve won and how dedicated I am to my clients here. I’ve always wanted to be made partner, but it seems like it will be another five years before that will be possible. Maybe the latest case has shown them how much they need me in this corner office and on a fast track to becoming the first woman partner in the firm.
Maybe it’s time, I think excitedly.
“Roger,” I say out loud, automatically disconnecting and turning the ringer off.
Hurriedly, I scan my blouse and skirt for coffee stains. As always, Roger looks immaculate in his suit and polished shoes, his white hair still thick, his back straight as a steel rod.
I realize too late the empty vodka bottles are lined up on my desk next to my now-empty iced coffee.
“Sibley.” He acknowledges me with a curt nod. “Mind if I come in for a minute?” It seems a silly question since he’s already invaded my territory.
“Depends”—I offer him a big smile—“if it’s good news or not.”
He doesn’t return my smile, which automatically worries me.
“You may certainly come in.” I stand and cross the room, relieved I’ve changed into my heels so my five-six height doesn’t diminish against his imposing figure. “You’re always welcome to visit. I don’t see you enough.”
He doesn’t acknowledge this comment; his troubled eyes simply scan the contents of the desk, narrowing in on the liquor bottles.
Shit. I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt.
It’s too late. I can’t swoop them into the trash, since they’ve already been spotted.
“Mimosas for breakfast?”
“No.” I titter nervously. “I found those in my drawer from our last company mixer.”
In college, I was required to attend sobriety classes as punishment for a public-intoxication ticket. A man there taught me an invaluable trick. As the CEO of a large organization, he spent most of his time with stakeholders and clients, which meant lots of drinks, dinners, boozing, and schmoozing. He recommended I order a club soda and Sprite to keep in hand so that I wasn’t pestered continuously to have another and so I could control my sobriety in a room full of avid drinkers.
This method means I have total control.
Until lately, that is.
Roger motions toward the door. “I didn’t see Leslie at her desk, so I thought it would be a good time to catch you.”
“She’s in at eight.”
“Any potential new cases?”
“I have one in about fifteen minutes.”
“No problem. This won’t take long.” He motions to the other chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
This can’t be good, a managing partner asking me to sit in my own office.
“Fine.” My legs would have given out if not for the chair, so I gratefully settle into the leather. I picked out these chairs because they’re luxurious enough to relax in, and though they mold to fit you like a glove, they have enough support, so you don’t sink into them.
Believe it or not, I learned a lot about furniture and easing clients into tense, lengthy conversations by testing out different seating arrangements. I just didn’t think I’d be on the receiving end. I physically shove my hand under my thigh to keep from bringing it to my mouth, one of my bad habits Roger doesn’t need to see.
“Sibley.” His vibrant blue eyes are fixated on mine. “You’ve been a great addition to the team for the eight years you’ve been part of this firm. You’re a remarkable lawyer with an uncanny ability to get to the crux of the matter, and that’s what I’m going to do right now—just rip the Band-Aid off and get to the heart of it.”
I slowly nod.
“Paul and John and I, we’ve never questioned your judgment.” There’s a slight pause. “Or integrity. Or I should say, we haven’t had to until recently.” His eye contact never wavers. “We take our responsibilities in this field and client relationships very seriously here.”
“Yes, we do.”
“That’s why this is so disappointing to our group.”
I stare at him blankly.
“We received a complaint.”
Spit it out! my brain screams. “Stemming from what?”
“It’s unethical to sleep with a client, Sibley. I don’t need to tell you the legal ramifications or the risk you’re putting yourself at—and the firm.” His hand gingerly touches his impeccable hair. “Not to mention the other
