I squeezed in between two large men in suits standing right in the entrance to the bar, who were too engaged in a heated conversation about a potential trade war to pay me much attention.

“Ahhhh! You’re here!” Carmen said, hugging me. She was standing with Kevin and two men I’d seen around the office. “I totally thought you were going to bail.” She turned back to the men around her. “Guys, this is Alex—I was just telling you about her.” She looked at me. “I told them you were my best friend at the firm!” I smiled back at her and then at them.

The two guys, who I guessed were fourth-year associates, maybe, looked like twins whose mother dressed them in different-colored shirts to help tell them apart. One wore a blue collared shirt, the other a pink collared shirt. Other than that, they looked identical: pale-skinned, with chests indicating long hours at the gym (where did they find the time?), close-cropped dark hair, and smooth, clean-shaven faces. They were good-looking, but in a completely unremarkable way—barely distinguishable from the other men in the bar.

As I took them in, they both scanned me up and down. I squirmed under their gaze, but smiled.

I then turned my attention to Kevin, who now blended in too. His no-longer-gelled hair now fell easily over his brow and into his cartoonishly—but like one of those very attractive male cartoon characters from Disney movies—large brown eyes. His loosely knotted pink tie rested easily on his chest, which was far more defined than it had been in September. I didn’t know when he had found time for the gym either, but he looked good.

“Hi!” I hugged him. Seeing him had spurred nostalgia for my first-day jitters, which now seemed so very long ago.

A warm smile spread across his face as we released from the hug. “Hey.”

“So, you’re working for Jaskel?” Pink Shirt asked, while Blue Shirt gulped at his drink. I felt an odd vibe coming from them.

Why were they staring at me? Were they trying to flirt? Or had Carmen told them that Matt had invited me to Miami? I couldn’t even tell if they were impressed or judging me. Or is it that I have something stuck between my teeth? The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I ran my tongue along my teeth.

“Yup!” Screw it. It didn’t matter what they thought of me—I knew how to deal with these kinds of guys, how to win them over. The past few months had taught me nothing if not that. “Guys, I have some catching up to do. Let’s get me drunk!” I commanded, pointing a finger in the air.

“Yaaaaaaas.” Carmen threw a solitary fist toward the ceiling, and the three boys grinned. I peered into their short glasses. “What are we drinking?”

“Johnnie Walker Blue,” Pink Shirt responded.

“Oh no no no,” I said, then shook my head and pursed my lips. “Gross. I’m going to stick to vodka.”

Blue Shirt protested. “It’s good! Try it!” he said, shoving his glass at me and looking briefly down at my chest, which was luckily covered by a collared shirt I’d buttoned right up to the neck.

I felt Kevin tense, about to interject on my behalf, but I leaned into Blue Shirt’s glass playfully, inhaled, and then scrunched up my nose. “No way. That smells like battery acid.”

The Shirts both laughed as Kevin relaxed back on his barstool. “The most delicious battery acid in the world,” Pink Shirt said, holding his glass up to me and taking a long sip.

“I didn’t get your names.”

“Scott.”

“James.”

“Scott. James,” I repeated as I pointed, knowing I wouldn’t remember them.

“Excuse me!” Kevin said as he hailed a passing waitress. “Can we get my friend here a drink?”

“I’ll have a vodka rocks, please,” I said. She looked at my wrist.

“Are you with Klasko?” I nodded. “You’ll need a wristband, honey. I’ll bring you one with your drink. What kinda vodka?”

“Tito’s, please.”

She took off toward the bar as I looked around the room.

The bar was clean and casual, with dark wood floors and deep red leather booths, high-top bar tables, and steel stools. Other than a male bartender, the staff was entirely female, and all dressed in black Lycra. I scanned the crowd of maybe forty people, vaguely recognizing most of the faces—though I had never exchanged words with the vast majority of them. There were a few exceptions. I spotted Derrick, who stood heads above his shorter comrades, taking shots at the bar, and Jordan perched on a barstool, surrounded by his fellow senior M&A associates. As usual, he was typing furiously on his phone, brow furrowed.

When the waitress reappeared with my drink, it shifted my attention back to my immediate surroundings.

“Cheers,” Kevin said, extending his glass. I clinked with the other four glasses, then took a long, slow sip with my eyes closed. When I opened them, they were all watching me, probably stupefied by the length of my first swig.

I grinned sheepishly. “Here we go, boys,” I said, and laughed.

“I like this one,” Blue Shirt said to no one in particular. That’s because you like anything that flirts with you. I felt the warm liquor hitting my empty stomach—I hadn’t had time to eat since breakfast—and attempted to will it into my bloodstream. I pulled out my phone to check my work email one last time, sensing I’d be committing malpractice if I answered any messages once I’d chugged this drink, and saw a text from Sam on my home screen.

Hey babe! Working late?

“Should I invite Sam?” I asked Carmen.

She frowned. “No boyfriends allowed!”

Just finished! But got roped into work drinks. Kill me! See you soon!

“You have a boyfriend?” Pink Shirt asked. I looked up from my phone and nodded, noting an almost imperceptible sideways glance between the three boys.

They were rapidly losing interest. The problem with flirting to connect with men was that they assumed it meant I was available. But why did I even care? It wasn’t like they were clients.

I took another, longer swig of my drink and slammed it down on the table.

“So much for not drinking tonight!” Carmen threw an arm around my shoulder and leaned into me. I was already feeling the liquor, but I ordered another drink, and by the time I was halfway through my third, Carmen and I were leaning into one another, somehow remaining vertical. “You’re totally gonna be a partner,” she slurred, her shoulder pressing into mine. The boys had turned their attention to the basketball game on the television above us.

“Nooooo.” I shook my head vehemently, thus concluding my opposing argument. I turned my head to the bar to see that Derrick hadn’t moved but was now chatting to the bartender. Jordan’s facial features had started drooping, and his drunk eyes were fixed on somebody across the bar, whom he winked at. I followed his gaze. Nancy. Nancy? When had they done any work together? She returned his look with an expression I couldn’t quite identify.

I suddenly had to use the restroom, so I gently pushed Carmen’s weight off mine, making certain her hand was firmly on our bar table before drifting away. I wavered slightly on the waxed wood floor as I made my way through the room. There were fingers shoved into one ear canal while cell phone receivers blared into the other. There were iPads open on tables as people screamed into the air with little white buds in their ears. Suits. And knee-length pencil skirts. And the occasional too-short, too-tight, too-colorful, not-from-corporate-America dress. I passed the not-so-occasional date a male associate from Klasko had invited to happy hour; the three I saw glowed with the honor of having been invited. My colleagues who brought dates looked pleased that the firm was paying for the drinks they’d otherwise have had to buy. Knees were being slapped and bills being peeled out from silver money clips. Ferragamo ties with dogs. Ferragamo ties with flowers. Ferragamo ties with elephants. Debates over the best bespoke tailor from Hong Kong, and when he’d make his annual visit to NYC. The inevitable ragging on the guy whose suits were off-the-rack.

I burst into the tiny ladies’ room and nearly slipped on the tiles, which were slick with what I hoped was sink water. I pulled up my skirt and collapsed onto the cracked toilet seat as the main door opened and I heard a few women enter.

“I don’t even get her appeal.”

My ears perked up, and I leaned farther over my knees and toward the stall door.

“Me neither. But guys love her. She’s busted. She’s like a five in the real world but an eight in BigLaw. And she’s totally in love with Jordan, but he’d never touch her.”

They must be talking about Nancy. I actually felt a little sorry for her.

“It’s pathetic how she hangs out only with male attorneys. I don’t know how she lives with herself, sleeping her way to partner.” Nancy’s voice. If she was there, then who were they talking about?!

“Uh, yes. And she thinks she’s so cool with the nickname Jaskel gave her.”