Quit Me If You Can

1. Kennedy

1

KENNEDY

“ T his is ridiculous,” I murmur to myself, glancing up.

A towering building stands in front of me—the home of G&G Law Group, a Fortune 500 law firm with great benefits and better pay than I’d ever dreamed of making. The name hasn’t been changed on the sleek building yet. The company is so newly acquired that my pre-interview research revealed little, and the not-yet-updated website still boasts the photos and titles of the previous lawyers on the team. While I recognize a few faces, it’s only from impressive media appearances, not from any personal encounters.

The reason I applied to this specific law firm in the first place?

Simple.

It’s the Everest of law firms. Also, it’s one of the few that Dad hadn’t recommended or that he didn’t have any connections to. I just hit thirty, and I need to step out of Dad’s shadow. I love him to pieces, but being the daughter of a highly respected, now retired judge can be a lot to live up to. I’m ready to carve out my own path.

Today?Today is my day. Today I’m stepping out. Today changes everything . I can practically taste it.

Even though the job didn’t ask for years of experience or fancy recommendations (neither of which I have), I’m aware the other candidates will probably have those in spades. It feels like showing up to a water-gun fight armed with bare hands and a smile.

Maybe that’s why I wasn’t the least bit nervous about throwing my hat in the ring. My low expectations relieved the anxiety. It felt as if it were a fruitless sort of endeavor, like wishing on a star. Honestly, I had zero reason to think they’d even bother calling me in for an interview.

Imagine my surprise when I got the invite to meet the next day.

Now I’m standing in the lobby, brushing dog hair from my beige pencil skirt (Hansi, you little rascal!) in preparation for the in-person interview.

Only this time, my nerves are rattling through me with a vengeance.

Having chosen to wear my favorite white button-up blouse with said Hansi-hair-accessorized pencil skirt, and a pair of heels with red soles, I’m dressed to impress. “I mean business” is what my outfit screams… oh, and with just enough dog hair to let everyone know I’m a paralegal and an occasional pet mom.

I step forward, ready to face my future.

“Hello, I’m Kennedy Hay?—”

“One moment please.”

The receptionist maneuvers through a swarm of incoming calls, calmly instructing each caller to hold and smoothly transitioning to the next without missing a beat. I assume the relentless calls are from a slew of more qualified paralegals phoning about the job I’m interviewing for. The noise of the construction crew working on what appears to be an extensive remodel doesn’t faze her in the slightest.

Finally, she looks up at me, and I place her somewhere in her early fifties. “How can I help you today?” Her flawless professionalism is matched only by her impeccably styled chignon.

“Hi, I’m here for the paralegal interview,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Name?”

“Kennedy Hayes.”

She types away, her eyes scanning the screen for confirmation. “Ah, yes, Ms. Hayes, correct?” she confirms, looking up at me.

“Yes, that’s me. Kennedy Hayes. In the flesh,” I say, trying for a lighthearted tone.

Flashing a brief smile, she informs me that I’m expected on the tenth floor, then seamlessly returns to her phone calls.

“Thank you.” I nod, trying to mask the nervous flutter in my stomach.

When I step into the crowded elevator and the doors close, I’m hit with a distant memory, the one I’ve been avoiding all day.

Many years ago, when I was madly in love with him —the law student at Columbia ( please don’t ask)—I wanted more than anything to study the law myself.

“Attorney Hayes” has a nice ring to it, I must admit.

I believed firmly I could hustle my way through the financial hurdles by picking up extra jobs and waitressing shifts to earn that title, and I’d make myself and my parents proud. My dad’s old-school. He’s all about the “pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps” philosophy. He thought I should foot the bill for law school and earn my own success, regardless of his own wishes for me to become a lawyer. And, well, Mom’s job as a social worker didn’t exactly come with a hefty paycheck that would enable her to help out.

Not that I’d ever have asked.

I’m too proud and stubborn (I got that from Dad) to be the cause of a brawl between Mom and Dad, if Dad ever found out Mom had been slipping me cash on the sly.

But you know how life throws you curveballs sometimes? Well, mine came in the form of having to take care of my elderly aunt Bertha, along with her mischievous companion, Hansi, a small, furry woolknot of mischief. It all started as a short couple of weeks’ assistance, but after Aunt Bertha’s operation took a complicated turn, those weeks stretched into many months.

You see, my aunt practically raised me when my parents were tied up with work. She was the one who filled the gaps, sharing her wisdom and love with me. When the time came that she needed some help, I couldn’t bear to leave my favorite auntie in the care of a stranger and put Hansi in a kennel. Family comes first, and for me, Aunt Bertha’s well-being was nonnegotiable. My parents tried to balance their schedules to help out, but I could see that the stress was getting to both of them. They could afford a caregiver and would have gladly covered the costs, but I knew that Aunt Bertha was always more comfortable with family. At a certain point, it was the emotional support she needed most.

How could I turn my back on the woman who had been like a second mother to me? I couldn’t. And so, I set my ambitions aside to be there for her, as she had always been there for me.

But as time went on, the dedication needed for law school began to feel like a distant possibility. So, at that point, I made a practical call and steered towards a career opportunity that didn’t require the extensive commitment of law school.

No regrets here. Like I said, family comes first, and not everybody who wants to work in the field of law needs to be a lawyer.

The elevator dings, and I step out.

My heartbeat calms when a brunette approaches me with a warm smile. She’s professionally but fashionably dressed.

“Hi, I’m Carmen Dashnell,” she greets me.

Her trim figure exudes energy, and she looks about thirty-five, maybe a bit older, but it’s her easygoing demeanor that really puts me at ease. She’s the kind of woman I can see myself being friends with, and I smile back and reach my hand out.

“Kennedy Hayes. Hi.”

“Kennedy. Thank you so much for coming in.” She shakes my hand and motions for me to follow her.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I answer honestly, walking beside her. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“As you can see, we’re hitting the ground running with this acquisition, and we don’t want to waste any time in filling this position.”

She shows me into her office.

It’s decorated in minimalist style in shades of black and white, but also touches of lavender that make it feel feminine. It’s rare to find a lawyer’s office that isn’t stuffy and bland, like something out of an office supply catalog. I look around and admire the unconventional yet welcoming atmosphere.

“Have a seat and we’ll get started,” she tells me, wasting no time and adjusting her cat-eye glasses as she sits behind her desk. “So, you were at Sneed’s firm up until recently?” She thumbs through the copy of my resume, though there aren’t many pages to flip through—just two, along with my cover letter. Nonetheless, it’s concise and well-organized, effectively showcasing my relevant skills, responsibilities, and achievements during my tenure at the firm.

“Yes,” I reply firmly, warding off the doubts attempting to creep in. “It was my first job out of college. But I also had an internship before that.”

She flips to the second page, not saying a word.

Quickly, I add, “I know I may not be quite as experienced as some of your other applicants, but I assure you, my work ethic and my determination to learn more than make up for anything that’s lacking.”

She peers at me over the rim of her glasses and smiles. “I have no doubt. No worries about your qualifications. Quality matters more than quantity. I just need to ask you a few questions to ensure that your working knowledge aligns with our needs.”

I sit taller. Working knowledge, I’ve got.

Mr. Sneed practically had me running marathons. Like an athlete, I juggled his workload while he barked orders left and right. Each day was a sprint, with hurdles of paperwork and deadlines to clear. If I could tally up the case victories I’d contributed to, my chances of landing the job at G&G might not be as bleak as I’d initially thought. It wasn’t something I’d documented, but I can talk about it until I’m blue in the face.

“Of course, I’m ready to assist in any way I can,” I say, and give her a rundown of some of the most important cases I’d been involved in.

Ms. Dashnell takes notes, but she doesn’t look impressed. “As you can imagine, especially with this firm being in transition, you’d be stepping into a much more demanding environment. Think you can handle it?”

“Absolutely,” I say, matter-of-factly, trying not to sound too excited. I want to charm the woman, not flaunt myself like a used car salesman. “In addition to the pressure I became so acquainted with while I was handling all those cases at my last firm, I also worked in the hospitality industry through college.” It’s just my polished terminology for being a scantily dressed nighttime waitress in a bar. “Legal work has higher stakes,” I say and smile, “but nobody understands pressure like the only waitress handling ten tables.”

Carmen laughs and puts my resume aside. “I suppose you’re right. Hospitality, huh? That’s interesting.”

Thank God she doesn’t sound sarcastic when she says “interesting.”

“And how do you deal with strong personalities in the workplace?” she asks, focusing in on me. “Our firm has a lot of big-name lawyers, many of whom handle high-profile cases. Things move quickly, and we don’t always have time to ask nicely. The last thing we want is a crying paralegal. It’s not great for morale.”

“Both my previous bosses—at the legal firm and at the bar—were, well, let’s just say, demanding,” I say, glad my experience has at least prepped me for that. “I know everyone’s just trying to get a job done. I don’t take it personally.”

She takes her glasses off and stares me down. “So, that’s not why you quit at Sneed’s?”

Suddenly, the nice Carmen who greeted me has vanished. No-nonsense Carmen has stepped in to say hello.

“No, not exactly.”

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I hadn’t heard much of Mr. Sneed or his firm. I called to confirm your employment there. They provided stellar feedback on your work ethic and said you were an exemplary employee, but they didn’t seem too happy about the way you left.”

“Neither was I,” I admit, feeling my heart pick up its pace.

It’s a slick lawyer maneuver: Lull the person into a comfort zone, then slam them with a dreaded topic when they least expect it. The real question she’s asking is: Why did you walk out, and how do you expect me to believe you won’t do the same here?

I swallow hard. “Ms. Dashnell?—”

“Please, call me Carmen.”

“Carmen. Speaking woman to woman, Mr. Sneed was… well, he was kind of a… how do I put this delicately?”

“A creep?” she proposes bluntly.

I feel my cheeks grow red-hot. “Well, yeah, that’s the technical term, I suppose.” We both chuckle at that. “Now, I’ve dealt with my fair share, and I don’t usually consider myself overly sensitive to that kind of thing. But his behavior? Intolerable. I’m all for enduring a lot to gain experience, but I couldn’t handle those circumstances.”

Carmen nods, her smile tight-lipped. “I understand. He made advances during our phone conversation. He said that my voice could charm the socks off a jury and told me that if I ever wanted to explore greener pastures, to send in my resume. I laughed and told him an attorney who was a Harvard graduate like myself wouldn’t bat an eye at what was likely a pitiful, underpaid position at his rinky-dink firm. No offense.”

I laugh and exhale with relief. “None taken. You have my gratitude.”

“Some men can be a handful.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “Especially in the legal realm. It’s like their huge egos are trying to compensate for… something else, if you catch my drift.” Oh, my gosh. I already love her. “We women have to stick together,” she continues. “If you’re hired, you won’t have any problems like that here. The management at G&G values professionalism and treats all our employees with respect.”

I was already interested in this job, but hearing that, I’m even more excited. “What do I need to do to convince you I’m the right fit?”

“You’re off to a great start. Just a few more technical questions.”

Now that we’ve addressed the elephant in the room, answering the rest of her questions is a breeze. It feels like that flawless interview you practice in front of the mirror. I’m absolutely slaying it.

“I think that wraps up all of my questions,” she says finally.

“Great.” I smile back, feeling certain that the job is in the bag.

“One last thing. Our managing partner, Mr. Gladwell, will want to meet with you before we can make a final decision. I’ll show you to his office and let him know you’re here. Just give me a moment.”

I stop breathing.

What?

Mr. Gladwell ?

Is that what she just said?

No.

She rises from her seat and walks out before she can see the panic registering on my face.

She didn’t say Gladwell. Or did she? It can’t be… him .

No way it’s Cade Gladwell. Not my Cade Gladwell.

With Carmen gone, I scan the room frantically, searching for any sign or clue that might prove my creeping suspicion wrong. Surely there has to be a picture of the firm’s leadership somewhere in her office—but there’s nothing.

I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. It’s going so well that my brain is simply trying to sabotage the first good thing to actually come true for me in a while. Gladwell is a common name. There are thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of Gladwells in the country, and surely a good enough percentage of them are lawyers.

At least enough to make it perfectly impossible for him to be Cade Gladwell. The guy who first sparked my interest in law (sorry, Dad) and stole my heart while he was at it.

Everyone has that one ex who crushes their heart, leaving a hole so great that it ruins them for anyone else. My ex dropped a certain somebody like a hot potato, so suddenly—with next to no explanation—and broke their heart so badly that if they saw them again, they’d undoubtedly shatter into a million little pieces like it just happened yesterday, while everything around them would slow down and fade into nothingness.

That cannot be what I’m about to experience. Because if it is, it’ll mean the dream job I’m about to land will be tainted by the fact that my ex… will be my boss.

“Kennedy?” Carmen calls cheerfully from her doorway, causing me to jump.

“Y-yes?” I snap back to reality, knowing my cheeks are as red as the soles of my shoes, I can feel it. “Yes. I’m coming.”

My cool, calm demeanor has been completely ripped out from under me, and my heart thunders wildly with each and every step we take through the hall.

She leads me past the empty desk where the secretary usually sits, then stops at a closed double door and knocks.

“Come in,” a voice barks from the inside.

I barely have time to process the deep timbre or the nameplate on the door, which could either confirm or dispel all my fears, before she opens it and reveals the man in charge.