“I’ll remember you, always,” her voice follows me out, cracking with regret.
I hide a grin. I won’t remember her name come tomorrow. This might have been the best fucking night of her life, but for me, it’s just another client.
Seducing women is my job. And I’m damn good at it.
TWO
KEELY
“I’m good at my job.”
“Try and sound a little more convincing.”
I take a deep breath and say it with determination. “I’m good at my job.”
“Atta girl.” My friend Justine hits the elevator button. She swears by positive affirmations. She takes a gulp of the venti-sized coffee I just bought her and yawns. I’m a paralegal at the firm, not her assistant, but she’s the one who got me this gig, so I try to repay her with lattes. I also do my best to make sure she doesn’t go into work looking like she just got out of bed from a weekend-long sex marathon.
“Your shirt’s done up wrong,” I tell her, as the crowd of businessmen cram into the elevator with us. “And you forgot to brush your hair.”
“Whoops.” Justine laughs. She holds out the coffee for me to hold, and rebuttons her shirt. All the guys around us stare, but she just winks. “Sorry boys, I’m all worn out,” she says, as we reach our floor.
“Justine!” I hiss, as we walk past the reception to Hudgens, Cartwright & Abrams, one of the top law firms in LA. “You can’t say stuff like that, not if you want to be taken seriously around here.”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I bring in a shit-ton of business and my billables are through the roof. They respect me plenty.”
I sigh. I could only dream of having Justine’s reputation as a cut-throat litigator and all round ball-buster. As a paralegal, I’m the bottom of the food-chain around here. It’s my goal to go to law-school and become a real lawyer one day, but that’s going to take a stellar LSAT score and a couple of hundred thousand dollars in student loans I can’t afford.
For now, I’m stuck assisting the real lawyers on their cases: doing all the research while they take the glory. Most of the time, it’s not so bad: I’m learning a lot here. But then there are the lawyers who treat me like their own personal slave.
“Flaws!”
The yell makes me flinch. Carter Abrams IV, son of the senior partner here, and all round jackass. I’ve told him a hundred times my surname is Fawes, but he just likes to make my life a living hell.
“Remember, you’ve got to stand up to him if you want to be take seriously,” Justine reminds me. “Keep letting him treat you like shit, and you’ll never earn his respect.”
I could single-handedly win every case on the books right now, and Carter would still hate my guts, but I give Justine a smile all the same. “Thanks, babe,” I sigh. “I better get to it.”
“Flaws!”
I open the door to his office just as Carter lets out another yell. “I’m right here.” I try to sound like Justine: confident and in control. Carter just sneers.
“Old man Ashcroft is in Conference Room B. He’s got more questions.”
I pause, confused. “It’s a simple will we’re drawing up. I wonder what’s the problem.”
“I don’t give a shit what his problem is,” Carter says. “Go handle it. That old fart rambles on, it makes me want to blow my fucking brains out.”
“But you told me to gather case files for the Montgomery appeal,” I start to reply. I’m buried with work as it is -- not just from Carter, but three of the other associates too.
“So? I’m not your fucking mother. Multitask!” Carter scowls at me. “Now don’t leave him waiting. He’s an important client.”
Not important enough for you to get off your fat ass and work for a change, I silently reply. But Carter is already clicking at his computer again. As I turn to leave, I hear the first moans from his speakers that mean he’s looking at porn again.
“Close the door!” he yells. I shut it behind me with a shudder. One time I walked in on him without knocking and found one of the assistants on her knees. Carter treats the office like his personal playroom -- and because his daddy is the boss, he gets away with it too.
But as I turn down the hall to the conference room, my spirits lift again. Our client, Charles Ashcroft, is a great guy. He made his fortune in paper mills and shipping, back in the day. He’s in his late seventies now, and needs a full-time nurse to wheel an oxygen tank behind him wherever he goes, but he loves to chat and tell funny stories about his youth.
“There’s my favorite future lawyer,” Ashcroft greets me as I step into the room.