“Next time, you should feel free.” I beckoned him into my office, where I dropped my bag and hung up my coat. He closed the door behind him and then took a seat. “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I just . . . nothing. I just wanted to say hi. See how you were,” he said, then looked above my head and out my window.

“Good. I’m good. What about you?” I asked, forcing enthusiasm into my voice.

“No, I’m really asking.” His eyes met mine. “You seemed . . . off . . . that night at the bar with Jordan.”

“It was just a bad day,” I assured him. “It’s a bad few months before we match. Anyway, we’re in the final weeks now. Come the end of April, we’ll all know where we belong.”

“It didn’t have to be that stressful. This place makes you think you need to—”

“No offense, but M&A isn’t like other groups,” I told him, calling my computer to life. “I don’t expect you to understand, but trust me, it actually is more stressful in M&A.”

“I disagree,” he stated plainly. I turned my gaze back to him as he continued. “I do M&A too. Almost exclusively. That night I saw you, Jordan was taking me out to celebrate a really rough deal we had just closed.”

I stared at him, feeling betrayed. “Why didn’t you ever mention this?” And why didn’t Jordan or Matt?

“I didn’t not mention it on purpose. Or maybe it was on purpose, I don’t know.” He smoothed his hair behind his ears, looking more and more like Jordan with every motion. “I like you, and I want to be your friend. I saw how you and Carmen treated each other, and I didn’t want any part of it.”

My cheeks flushed. “Carmen is my best friend in our class!”

“Really? When you got an invite to Miami, she told the whole class you got it because you were sleeping with Jaskel. With friends like that . . .”

I sat there stunned for a moment before forcing out a short laugh. Part of me had always known she was the source of the rumor. But the other part of me was crushed. I wondered how many more lessons in the ugliness of human nature I’d be forced to endure.

“Alex, you know how much work the group has. They have room to take on at least five new associates a year. And they do want associates who will go out and party with them. But they need associates who are good lawyers.”

I stared back at him, recalling the countless times Didier, Matt, and Jordan had told me that all that mattered was my work. “You should have told me you were ranking M&A,” I grumbled. I needed to be angry at something other than my own behavior.

“Maybe you’re right. But we’re both going to match, so who cares?” He coughed, then changed the subject. “More importantly, how are you doing?”

“I’m okay. Really. Just going through some personal stuff right now, but I’m hanging in.”

Kevin nodded, seeming to accept my brush-off. “Yeah. Okay. Good. We all feel the pressure. I mean, I took the not-so-subtle free gym membership as a hint and gained thirty pounds of muscle. I changed my hair. And my clothes—”

My phone rang. “Peter Dunn” flashed on the screen. “I have to grab this,” I said apologetically, and Kevin stood to go. “For what it’s worth, you look good,” I called after him.

“Hi, Peter,” I said, feeling a new sense of calm and control after my conversation with Kevin and a weekend with my parents. I wondered if Carmen had gone to management about him. Maybe I should go. Start putting up my own boundaries. Making my own rules.

“Hi. I’m swamped, but can you send a few NDAs to Gary? I just updated them for the year and made some changes. They’re saved on the system. And can you call Quality to make a pickup at Starlight?”

He sounded like business as usual. I guess Carmen either hadn’t talked to anyone yet or no longer planned to. In the past two weeks I had performed all associate tasks on my Stag River deals flawlessly. But I knew I would have to speak up eventually if I was asked to do any work directly for Gary. I closed my eyes, readying myself for the speech I had rehearsed on the train back from my parents’ house. I would prefer to no longer work for Gary Kaplan directly in any capacity. Though I’d like to continue working on Stag River matters he’s not involved with. If this means I can no longer work on Stag River deals more generally, so be it. I will find replacements on all my active matters. I . . .

“Sure,” I said hesitantly, still playing out an idea that had started percolating in my mind.

“Great. Thanks.” He hung up, and I stared at the phone for a moment before deciding not to call Quality. Instead, I grabbed my coat.

“Anna!” I called, and she popped her head up. “I have some appointments uptown this morning. I’ll be on email.”

I hailed a cab as I wriggled into my thin trench coat and slid into the back seat. “Seventy-Second between Park and Madison, please,” I instructed the driver, then leaned back, the edges of the duct tape covering the leather’s tears sticking to my back. Anxiety coursed through me, and my rational brain insisted I’d see Gary Kaplan waiting outside his building. But every instinct I had told me I’d find something different.

The Starlight Diner awning was a well-worn navy canvas, with faded gold stars dotting the background. As soon as I entered the small restaurant, I saw a rotating cylinder displaying a carrot cake dotted with walnuts and the obligatory carrot made of frosting, pillows of meringue atop a bright yellow gelatin filling, and a variety of chocolate-based confections. A stocky gentleman with his neck draped in a large gold chain and cross and a thick black mustache greeted me.

“I’m meeting somebody,” I told him. I’m just not sure who. I smiled politely and scanned the restaurant. A few of the red leather booths were filled; I saw an older couple bent low to their soup bowls, two young moms tending to their children while struggling to carry on a conversation, a beautiful young woman with soft, strawberry-blond waves, and three teenage boys huddled around one of their phones, laughing. But Gary Kaplan was nowhere to be seen.

I looked back at the young woman, who sat wrapped in a pale-blue oversize pashmina as she stared out the window. Her face was placid, but the fingers on her right hand picked nervously at a cuticle on her left. I focused in on her and noticed that her posture was awful—she was hunched over the table in a way somebody dressed that expensively would have been taught not to be—and she seemed to be fighting tears. I watched as she grabbed for her water glass, which shook so wildly in her hand that she placed it down again without taking a sip.

I nodded to the host and made my way to her, then stood next to her booth for a moment as she looked up at me expectantly. She was radiant, with delicate features and the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

“Are you waiting for a Quality car?” I asked softly. I prayed she would have no idea what I was talking about, but I saw a muted terror behind her eyes before her expression went studiously neutral. Shit. It was her. I didn’t know who she was or what she was doing. But this was who I was looking for. To bring myself to eye level with her, and hopefully reassure her, I took my coat off and slid into the booth opposite her.

She stared at my waist rather than my face as I sat, craning her neck over the table as her face filled with panic, her eyes darting wildly.

“It’s okay,” I said, and held my hands up. I had never in my life elicited such fear in another human. “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. I’m just waiting for a car.” She looked off into the distance, her legs still on the seat.

“I’m just . . . say anything about what?”

“You’re with Klasko,” she said accusingly.

I quickly realized what had frightened her and ripped my Klasko security badge from the waist of my skirt before tossing it into my purse.

“No,” I said quietly. “No. I’m not . . . Not right now. I’m here . . . I want to help.”

She allowed a sarcastic laugh to escape her lips. “I’m sure you do,” she hissed, rising out of her seat. “Klasko! That name is all over those fucking NDAs I sign.”

I slid across my seat and took a step toward her. When I placed a hand on her shoulder, though, she visibly winced, and I instantly pulled it back. She opened her pashmina quickly to rewrap herself, and I spotted an angry red bruise with purple borders peeking out from the top of her shirt. It was the kind of mark that made me swallow hard and lose my breath—the kind that would be black in a week and green the next and yellow the one after.

She saw me notice it and retreated deeper inside the plush blue cashmere, sitting again. I slid slowly into the seat next to her.

“I’m Alex,” I said, not knowing where else to begin.

“I’m just waiting for my car,” she said, and I gave a small shake of my head to communicate that her car wasn’t coming. Her shoulders slumped.