Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Mostly, I try not to think about her in her office next door because there’s no doubt in my mind that’s exactly where she is. It’s where she always is.
Katherine’s love of her job over all things? That’s the exact reason why I’m here to buy an engagement ring for somebody else. That much I can readily admit.
Much harder to acknowledge? That maybe, deep down, I know that the real reason I’ve dragged my heels all day in getting to this spot, to pick up this ring?
That reason?
Is Katherine herself.
THREE
KATHERINE
December 23, 11:18 a.m.
I step off the elevator and into the comforting familiarity that is my law firm. Well, not my law firm. Not yet. But, you know. Soon.
My mood lifts almost instantly at the reprieve from the holiday madness on the street below. Now, it’s not a total reprieve because some moron decided we needed Kenny G working that sweet saxophone magic to the tune of “Let It Snow!”
A nod, perhaps, to the doomsday forecast, but personally, I think Kenny G’s a fool to get his hopes up about snow. The weather guys so rarely get these things right.
Still, the song is a marked improvement over the rap version of “Silver Bells.” And even with the current blight that is Kenny G’s holiday album, stepping into my glossy, semisterile office always feels a little bit like coming, well . . . home.
Which probably sounds sentimental, but it’s more about the fact that in the past several years, I’ve spent more time in this office than I have in my actual home.
A reality that hasn’t been without consequences, if I’m being honest. But that’s what life is, right? A series of choices and repercussions. You win some, you lose some, and you just hope that in the end it’ll all balance out in your favor.
I spot Hunter Jett, one of the more promising junior associates, and pretend not to notice when he acts as if he doesn’t see me.
“Hunter!” I call, stopping him just before he can escape into the men’s room.
He almost-but-not-quite hides a wince. “Hey, Katherine!”
Hunter’s one of those twentysomething guys who, despite being smart, handsome, and genuinely likable, also seems like he’s just one tiny backslide away from regressing to his fraternity identity. One minute, Hunter will uncover a genuinely brilliant precedent, only to utter duuuuuuuuuuuuude when he tries to explain it to me in the next.
He has potential. A lot of it. It just has to be sort of . . . wrangled. Lucky for Hunter, I’m a really good wrangler when I have the motivation. And when it comes to my work, I’m always motivated.
“That updated Hallinger brief on my desk?” I ask.
“By end of day,” he says with what I’m sure he thinks is a winning smile. Hell, it is a winning smile.
It’s going to work wonders on a judge someday. But I’m not a judge, and today is not someday.
I lift an eyebrow. “I hope that when you say ‘end of day,’ you’re referring to yesterday.”
Hunter tugs at his blue tie, which I’d like a lot more if it wasn’t covered in snowmen. “I had to make a quick appearance at the stupid ‘winter brunch.’”
“Why are you saying it ‘like that.’” I add air quotes to mimic his.
Hunter shrugs. “That memo HR sent out about appropriate workplace dialogue. Wishing someone a ‘Merry Christmas’ has always been on the outs—”
“Thank goodness,” I mutter.
“But ‘Happy Holidays’ is on the chopping block too. Apparently, it’s disrespectful to people who don’t celebrate any holidays.”
Huh. I suck in my cheeks, torn between disdain for any policy that demands we treat our colleagues like delicate little flowers and delight that I now have justifiable grounds to report anyone who asks me the location of my holiday spirit.
“Hey, wait,” Hunter says with a frown, snapping his fingers. “Weren’t you in charge of the brunch this year?”
I make a sound of derision and flick my ponytail over my shoulder. “Sure. If by in charge you mean I was coerced by Harry and Joe to ‘take point.’”
Strictly speaking, I’m not a big believer in skipping workplace obligations, even stupid brunches. But I draw the line at forced festive camaraderie during December.
Hence the rare “play hooky” move I’ve pulled off today, one I’m likely to hear about from my bosses.
Harry Kaplan and Joe Gosset are the senior partners at the firm, and I’ve got a lot of respect for them. A lot. They hired me right out of law school. They’re mentors, they’re friends, and they’re genuine miracle workers in front of a jury.
But while they’re typically fairly tolerant of my prickliness (their word) and logic (my word), when it comes to the holidays, they, like the rest of the world, seem to have their brain matter replaced with tinsel and gingerbread.
Not only do they insist that each associate—that includes me—host a holiday event—sorry, winter event—every single week of December, we’re not even allowed to outsource it to our assistants. We’re supposed to bring a personal touch to this “festive time of year,” to share a bit of ourselves with our employees.