“Skippy doesn’t care. She’s cool,” Didier insisted. “She’s one of us.” He turned to me. “I blew coke up a stripper’s ass.”

I felt my jaw drop open. I looked from Didier, who was smil ing broadly, to Matt, who was nervously gauging my reaction. I laughed nervously.

Jordan slapped his forehead. “Fuck, Didier! I meant tell her about the new deal we got!”

“What new deal?” I asked, eager for a new topic.

Matt started in on a story of how they were at dinner at Carbone next to the M&A team from our biggest private equity client, and as he rambled on, I picked up my phone pretending to see what messages had come in.

“Yo! Skip! What the fuck?” Didier said. I looked up from my phone. “What are you typing? Who are you emailing?”

“Nobody! I’m not.” I put my phone down.

Jordan grabbed it out of my lap before I had a chance to lock the screen.

“Stop! Give it back!” I pleaded.

“What was she typing?” Matt asked anxiously.

“Don’t worry, Matt, Skippy’s not telling anybody. She’s doing a Google search for ‘cocaine up butt,’” Jordan said, doubling over. Didier and Matt burst out laughing.

“I don’t understand! I didn’t even know that was something people did!” I held my cheeks in my hands as I felt them grow hot.

“She’s ze cutest,” Didier said to Matt, then turned to me. “You should have seen this girl’s asshole.”

“Ugh! You people are pigs. So what deal did you get?” I asked.

“We’re doing the Hustler acquisition!” Didier said.

“Like, the magazine?” I asked.

“We got it last night when we were doing coke with the private equity guys,” Didier said proudly.

I took a moment, then shrugged. “There’s no one way to bring in new clients,” I said, leaning back. “Put that in your business development training, Matt. By the way, who did you staff as the junior associate?” I asked. They shot awkward glances at one another.

“Carmen,” Matt said. “But only because we had to—she was there with us last night!”

My shoulders slumped. Going to a strip club with our clients? She was pulling out all the stops to get into M&A.

“You’re getting good reviews with the partners you’ve been working for,” Vivienne said matter-of-factly at lunch the following week. I gloated inwardly.

This lunch was going like all of our others had: she typed furiously on her phone, her elbows on the table, while I discreetly did the same on my lap. We ordered. We spoke about the weather—we were both so glad that we were having a warm spring.

“That’s so nice to hear,” I said. “I’ve been working hard.”

Vivienne looked at me. “Are you happy here?”

The question took me by surprise. She and I had yet to speak about anything substantive—we had grown accustomed to pleasantries, not eating carbs, and keeping our phones on the table during these lunch meetings.

I looked at her, wondering whether she wanted a real answer. “Very,” I said cheerfully.

“Good,” she said. “I don’t believe anybody ever asked me that when I was an associate. And it seems people would like you to stick around for a while, so I thought I’d ask.” She took a piece of bread from the basket. “The first months here, before you match into a group, are the worst. It’s all about politics. But soon it’ll be all about the work.” I watched her pluck out the soft interior of the roll and pop the crust into her mouth.

I wondered what had changed to make her eat carbs, and took a piece of bread as well. “I’m okay. I think that ‘happy in my career’ doesn’t exactly look the way I thought it would,” I said, chewing.

She looked up at me, something raw and honest passing between us. “Nothing looks the way I thought it would,” she said wistfully, then caught herself immediately. “We’re practicing corporate law at the biggest firm in the entire world. Whether we know it or not, we’re blazing a trail for women in the future. The key to having it all is redefining what ‘all’ is. I wanted three kids. That means I have two nannies. I want them to eat home-cooked meals every night. That means I have a chef.”

I squirmed in my seat. Was this what trailblazing for all women looked like? Doing coke with clients, betraying my gender by lying to a colleague’s wife, and last but not least, having sex in my office with a partner?

“I can count the number of dirty diapers I’ve changed on my fingers. Not kidding,” she continued, holding up her manicured hands to me.

“My idol.” I brought my palms together in front of my chest and gave a slight bow of my head.

“Should we get wine?” She took her phone off the table and placed it in her gray Moreau, the same one I had eyed at Barneys on bonus day.

I nodded eagerly, and as she ordered a bottle, I had the fleeting thought that I was somehow becoming just like her. Despite our friendly chatter and the smile I kept plastered on my face, the feeling remained until I shoved it down to a comfortable distance with my first glass of wine.

*

I walked into the presentation late.

“. . . and because of this volatility, our busted deal arrangements have become a crucial part of engagement arrangements.”

I really didn’t want to go, but I had to. First of all, it was a mandatory training for corporate associates. Second of all, I intended to support Jordan. Third, I still couldn’t resist the opportunity to put myself in front of Peter, as though doing so would somehow remind him that he was attracted to me.

I took a seat next to Carmen, but she barely seemed to notice me as she stared up at Jordan with a slightly stupefied expression. I wondered exactly what was going on. I know Jordan had said that his ending things with Nancy was what had triggered her reaching out to Jessica, and that he regretted that anything had ever happened, but I found it difficult to believe that the infidelity I had caught him in was the one and only occurrence.

“You’re so obvious,” I whispered to her, testing my theory. She looked over at me with an alarmed expression, so I winked. She laughed and put a finger to her lips.

“Shhhh.”

Jordan was standing at the front of the room in a perfectly tailored navy suit, one hand resting in his pocket while the other moved the clicker through the slides. Peter sat beside him, affording the younger attorney the spotlight, but then made a remark that precipitated an eruption of laughter, and I blinked myself back into the room.

“We’re going to need to be perfect . . . PERFECT . . . from here on out. Which means I’m going to be leaning on all of you a lot, because my wife is honestly going to divorce me if I ruin another vacation, and I’m out of here next week,” Jordan added.

The room burst out into laughter again. I looked out of the side of my eye at Carmen, expecting to see hurt on her face at the mention of Jordan’s wife, but she appeared unruffled. I punched in my code and pulled up my email.

From: Peter Dunn

To: Alexandra Vogel

Subject: Tonight

Dinner at Cipriani?

At the end of the presentation, I watched as a crowd of male and female associates flocked to the front of the room to introduce themselves to Peter and Jordan and ask whatever questions they thought might make them stand out.

From: Alexandra Vogel

To: Peter Dunn

Subject: Re: Tonight

Early? Need to come back to the office after, I’m getting crushed.

I watched as Peter checked his email, taking twisted pleasure in the finger he held up to the young female associate speaking with him, signaling to her that my email was more pressing. He frowned slightly, and I worried for a moment that I had pushed my luck.

From: Peter Dunn

To: Alexandra Vogel

Subject: Re: Tonight

Done. 6:30. We’re on.

A rush of nerves and adrenaline swept over me as I smiled down at my phone.

That evening, as Peter and I walked silently out of the elevator into the lobby, we ran into Carmen, who was exiting a different elevator bank.

“Hi!” I said, waving at her. When I looked back, Peter was already outside.

“Hey.” She was pale, and focused her attention on a stray thread of her scarf.

“What’s going on?” I asked, but she just shook her head.

“I’m just waiting in here until . . .” She looked over her shoulder. “I have a dinner. Are you going to dinner with Peter Dunn?”

I felt waves of judgment emanating from her. “Yeah,” I said casually, “and four bankers. But yeah.”

Why did I just lie about that? Peter and I worked together. We could go to dinner together.

She just looked at me.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Just boy stuff,” she said, so softly I could barely hear her.

“Is the mystery man making you sad?” I asked. Carmen had never actually admitted to me that she was dating somebody at work, and she certainly hadn’t admitted it was Jordan. But she had stopped denying it, too.

“He’s just being a jerk,” she said.

“Can we do lunch tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yes, please.”