“Hey. So, we got comments from Onyx’s lawyers, and they’re a mess. It’s like these guys have never done a merger. Which is . . . annoying. But the bad part is, their timeline is completely out of control. They just moved closing up a month. That means we need to put together the offer . . .”

Jordan instructed me to get started on the stock purchase agreement, and from the alertness of his tone, I gathered that he had no intention of leaving the office anytime soon. He didn’t mention when he would need the draft, but I decided to give myself twenty-four hours, to prove my work ethic. I put my head down and worked through most of Saturday on my couch, struggling to respond politely to Sam as he came and went from our apartment. I sent the documents to Jordan just before midnight, when Sam was already asleep. I woke up Sunday morning to an email with Jordan’s markup attached, his scan showing large blocks of red ink. Does this guy sleep? I wondered, perusing the angry red strike-throughs of the language he wanted removed and scribbles of the language he wanted to replace it with. Did he have a scanner at home, or was he still in the office?

“I can barely read Jordan’s handwriting,” I explained to Sam, who pouted as I dressed in jeans and a sweater and called a car in to the office around ten in the morning. In truth, I needed him not to distract me. The double-wide screens and high-speed printers would help too. I worked through most of the day until the agreement was in good shape.

I made sure to pop in to say hi to Jordan before I headed home that evening, though I wasn’t entirely certain he even knew what day it was when I dropped off a hard copy of the updated agreement for him to review. He barely looked up at me, his fingers disappearing into his hair as he hunched over a large document, dragging a red pen across the page with his free hand. I turned to leave without a word.

“Hey!” he called after me. I spun back on my heel. “Do you get how it all works together? The Exchange Act and the Securities Laws, because the buyer is public?” I nodded slowly, having no idea what he was talking about. “And why we had to carry out the acquisition through a wholly-owned subsidiary of the bidder?” I nodded even more slowly. Jordan stared at me. “You can only do a good job for so long without knowing the substance. I bet you did everything right in this.” He held up the document I had placed on his desk. “But I bet you don’t know why you did any of it.”

I held his gaze, hating him for a moment as I started mentally composing a text to Sam, telling him I wouldn’t be home for dinner after all, but I nodded, turned on my heel and headed back to my office. I started with the original documents, getting the Exchange Act off the Klasko library’s database. I pored over it, actually reading a primary legal source for the first time since I’d started this job.

I entered my apartment after eleven o’clock at night to a note from Sam.

Hey babe,

Tried to wait up but I’m exhausted. I got you a wrap if you’re hungry. It’s in the fridge.

Love you.

I smiled at the note and left it out on the counter, not wanting to throw it away. I was too tired to eat or to analyze why I was relieved that Sam was asleep. I slithered out of my clothes and slipped in between the sheets beside him. I breathed in deeply in an attempt to relax, and don’t even recall fully exhaling as sleep swiftly overtook me.

Chapter 7

From: Lloyd, Kevin

To: Stockton, Derrick; Vogel, Alexandra; Greyson, Carmen

Subject: Date help

Guys, I have a third date tonight with a girl I actually like (new territory!). Stuck on this call so need to change in office. What am I supposed to wear??? Also, haven’t had time to make a reservation anywhere. HELP!

I sat in the windowsill of Kevin’s office while Carmen sat with her legs crossed atop his desk and Derrick stood leaning against the wall, his head cocked to one side, all of us staring at Kevin.

Carmen spoke first. “I like this outfit least of all three.”

“Agreed,” Derrick and I said in unison.

Kevin rolled his eyes.

“I think jeans and the sweater. Seriously. She knows you’re a lawyer. You don’t have to dress like one,” I said.

“So, first outfit?” he huffed as he wiggled his arm out of his blazer and put his tie back on.

“I think so,” I said.

“No suit?” Kevin confirmed.

“No suit,” Carmen corroborated as I nodded.

“Okay. Sweater and jeans. Check. Derrick, where should we go?”

Derrick looked up from his phone. “Why are you asking me?”

“You’re like . . . the playboy. I feel like you’d know how to impress a date. Where do you take girls on a third date?”

I winced inwardly.

“Am I?” Derrick looked at me, and I shrugged.

He stared up at the ceiling. “Umm . . . let me think.”

“Do I try to take her home with me?” Kevin asked. “She’s, like, wholesome. Like you, Alex.”

I blushed as I watched Carmen look down at her manicure, seemingly annoyed she wasn’t being asked dating advice. “I’m not that wholesome,” I protested. Kevin and Derrick both groaned playfully. “And I haven’t been on a third date in so long.”

“Yes! Of course you do,” Carmen instructed Kevin. “It will make her feel wanted. She can always turn you down. She probably should, if she wants to keep your attention. But if you don’t try, she’ll think you don’t like her.”

Kevin nodded, as though he was getting instructions from a partner about a deal.

Jesus. I’m so glad I’m not single, I thought. So many ridiculous rules. But beneath that voice in my head, I had the gnawing feeling of envy of those who got to experience dating in a city like New York, and with bank accounts to play with, too.

“You’ve got a table for two at Il Buco in my name,” Derrick announced, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Yes! I knew you’d have a hookup! You’re the man. Thank you!” Kevin extended a fist to Derrick.

“I used OpenTable,” he said dryly, meeting his fist.

Jordan, Matt, and I worked late into the evenings for one week straight. Saturday and Sunday were discernible from other days of the week only in that my subway car was almost empty and the office was slightly quieter. Monday came, and with it, a deep tissue ache in the small of my back and a kink in my neck. When I looked in the mirror, I saw dull and sunken eyes, and leaned in closer to confirm that they were as dreadful as they seemed. Yup. But I had made it through the first round of negotiations on my first merger and emerged relatively unscathed. I was salivating, thinking of how close I was to splitting a pizza with Sam and taking a warm bath all by myself when the ring of my phone snapped my neck straight. Jordan was on the line.

“Hey.” I rested the receiver between my ear and shoulder while typing.

“I’m here with Matt. You’re on speaker.”

“Hi, Matt.” I stopped typing. Multitasking while on the phone with Jordan was acceptable, but a partner demanded my full attention. I inhaled and put my phone on speaker so that I could apply pressure to my temples and hopefully prevent my brain from seeping out of my ears.

“We have a dinner with Didier and the National Bank guys tonight at Marea. Can you come?” Matt’s tone was casual, but I knew Didier Laurent, the bank’s managing director of M&A, was his best client.

My exhaustion was quickly replaced by a surge of adrenaline. I should say no, I thought. I should have gone home to Sam. We hadn’t seen each other awake in seven days. I needed sleep. But I knew how rare it was to be invited to a client dinner as a first-year associate, and I needed to take advantage of every opportunity to get on Matt’s good side if I wanted the option of a spot in M&A. Additionally, I’d already figured out that nobody senior ever actually asked anybody junior to do anything. Lara wasn’t really asking me to get started on reviewing leases, and Jordan was never really asking me to draft an asset purchase agreement. Senior attorneys told juniors what to do . . . and just added a question mark to make themselves feel better.

“Sure. Count me in,” I said.

“You’re the best, Skippy,” Jordan said. “See you downstairs at six thirty.”

*

I exited the elevator just as Jordan and Matt were stepping out of the one across the bank. We all turned and looked out the lobby windows to see sheets of water flowing outside.

“Shit. It’s pouring,” Matt said. “Skip, can you get us umbrellas? We’ll go make sure the car is here.”

I walked across the lobby to the Klasko security desk. “Hey, Lincoln. Can I grab three umbrellas from you?” The guard didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. “Lincoln?” I finally caught his attention. “Can I please have three umbrellas?”

“Sure, miss, no problem.”

Curious as to what had distracted him, I craned my neck around the security desk. A large flat-screen monitor was split into forty or so boxes, continually rotating live-feed views of the conference rooms, common rooms, and hallways. I took a step forward, centering it in my view, as I moved toward Lincoln.

“Wow. Are these images all of Klasko?” I asked. He handed me the umbrellas, and I drifted farther behind the desk and stood behind his chair, fascinated.

“Yup. I’m always watching.”