6. Kennedy
6
KENNEDY
MONDAY MORNING
“ D on’t be nervous. If he gives you any weird look, just give him one back,” Harper says, stepping into my room. “Here, let’s practice weird looks. All you have to do is think of something you don’t like. What’s your least favorite food?”
Her eyes light up and before I can say anything she blurts, “I know! Prunes! Nobody likes prunes because of the, um, side effects, you know.”
Unable to help myself, I laugh out loud. Leave it to Harper to talk about something totally gross. “Um, no. I’d end up making a face even I wouldn’t want to see. Not a good look. What about strawberry pizza?” I ask, making a “yuck” face and wrinkling my nose.
“Strawberry pizza? That sounds so gross!”
“Exactly. Can you imagine? It would be lukewarm and all soggy and mushy.”
“And oozy too. Yuck!”
“Spot-on. Just like strawberries on a pizza, he’s the last topping I’d ever want,” I say. “If he can act like there’s no history between us, I can do the same. I refuse to let him push my buttons or get a rise out of me. I’m way too fabulous for that.”
“Yeah. You’ll outshine him. You and your perfect poker face!”
“Yeah.” After all, I’ve perfected it in front of Harper a million times—every time I acted out my fantasies of how exactly I’d behave if I ever came face-to-face with him again. “He’ll never see through me.”
Harper side-hugs me. “Absolutely. You’ve got this in the bag. Now go show him who’s boss.”
I report to the front desk five minutes early, and I’m sent straight to HR to complete my new-hire paperwork. After that, I’m turned over to Carmen Dashnell for an orientation tour of the building.
“There’s a lot of construction going on,” she explains. “So, as you can see, it’s all in a bit of disarray.”
As soon as she utters the words, a drilling sound blasts through the halls, drowning out whatever she’s trying to say next. Meanwhile, we sidestep workers with tools, ladders, caution tape, and plastic tarps.
“Okay, maybe more than just a bit,” she admits as we move farther down the hall. “But all the upgrades should be finished by the end of the month. Your desk will be here, in our paralegal workspace,” she says, ushering me into a library-esque room. It’s decorated in outdated shades of green and maroon. A big mahogany table sits in the middle, surrounded by walls lined with shelves of books. In each corner, there’s an equally old-fashioned desk. “Each of the paralegals has their own station in here. And of course, it will be remodeled in here too, by the end of the project.”
“Understood,” I say in acknowledgment, casting a quick glance around the room. “And where will we work when the renovations are in full swing?”
“Each associate is assigned to a primary attorney and will spend time in their respective offices as they prepare for high-profile cases,” she explains, her warm tone reassuring. “I understand this transition may feel overwhelming, but rest assured, you will have everything you need to start off on the right foot.”
“That’s good to hear,” I reply. “So, each of us reports to one main attorney?”
“Yes. And you’re working directly for our managing partner.”
My stomach drops. “Oh?”
“You remember Mr. Gladwell from your interview?”
“Yes, of course.” And from everything before that. How could I forget? Silly question, I guess, since he’s clearly forgotten all about me. Or pretends he has. That’s a distinction without a difference.
“Is there a problem?” she asks, studying my tight facial expression.
I shake it off quickly. “No! No problem at all.”
“You’re about to learn from the best, and trust me, that is a rare privilege. Mr. Gladwell’s reputation precedes him. He’s not just the best, he’s legendary. You’re a lucky woman.”
Wow, talk about pressure.
“Bring on the legal legend,” I joke, “I’m ready for the challenge.”
“Excellent,” Carmen replies with a chuckle. “You’re stepping into some big shoes, but I’m glad you’re up for it.”
We carry on with the tour. There are quite a few conference rooms and a fair number of unassigned offices, so multiple case meetings and client consultations can happen at once. Of course, it’s hard to memorize the entire ultimate layout with all the construction going on, but I can see how it’ll be a beautiful modern law firm once it’s completed.
“That’s about all of it,” she says as we near the end. “Now that we’re finished, Mr. Gladwell will want to see you. He’ll have his own expectations to share with you. Care for a word of advice?”
“Yes, Carmen, thank you.”
“Mr. Gladwell can be very demanding, but don’t let that throw you. He’s fair and he rewards hard work. I think you’ll love working for him.”
“I’m sure we will find a way to coexist,” I say with a strained smile, relieved that I didn’t outright lie to her, but unhappy that I was unable to hide the hint of sarcasm creeping in. The last thing I’d characterize Cade Gladwell as would be fair .
“Just remember, the only thing you need to bring is your enthusiasm and willingness to learn. Mr. Gladwell will take care of the rest.”
Carmen leads me right back to the lion’s den I became acquainted with during the interview. Cade’s sharp gaze is fixed on us as we enter.
“Mr. Gladwell, good morning,” Carmen says. “Ms. Hayes is officially joining our team today.”
With my heart speeding up, I can’t help but notice that my new boss exudes the same unwavering confidence as before. Impeccably dressed in his anthracite gray d’Avenza suit, he embodies the perfect blend of professionalism and rugged appeal, with his subtle scruff only adding to his masculine charm.
“Welcome aboard, Ms. Hayes.” He nods curtly, gesturing for me to sit.
Carmen leaves us and I lower myself onto the chair opposite his desk.
“Please. Call me Kennedy?” I suggest. I think the least he could do is acknowledge in some way that he’s made me come more times than either of us could count. So, by my standards, we’re on a first-name basis.
“I’d like to discuss my expectations with you,” he begins. “Transparency is key for me. I find it eliminates any potential misunderstandings.”
Transparency is key for you? Ha!
“Absolutely,” I reply evenly, even as I mentally raise an eyebrow at the irony. Crossing one leg over the other, I scan my memories of our last encounter ten years ago for any hint of transparency and find exactly… zero. I meet his gaze with a confident expression, a sly smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I’m also all for avoiding misunderstandings by exercising transparency.”
He pauses, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.
Surprise, because I challenged him.
“Confidence is a bonus, as long as it’s not all hot air,” he notes with a tilt of his head. “But let’s see if you can keep up with your own expectations.”
Yeah, you certainly know a thing or two about meeting expectations , my internal voice chimes in. But I refrain from poking the beast by not verbalizing the thought, opting instead to grab my notepad.
He stands and circles his desk, rattling off a long list of requirements, not even looking at me once. Seems like he’s been able to memorize this little speech that he has probably given to years’ worth of paralegals. “In our firm, flexibility is essential. Paralegals must handle interruptions seamlessly, and be ready to pivot and take on new tasks swiftly, even in the midst of demanding workloads.”
“I understand.”
I keep scribbling notes as he talks, my head spinning with all his instructions. And also, every feeling I swore I wouldn’t let emerge when I saw him again. At one point, I’m doing such a horrible job of taking notes that I actually manage to drop my pen. It lands a mere foot away from me on the elegant hardwood floor. Hastily, I lean down to pick it up, but realize far too late that Lawzilla is bent over to do the same.
My face nearly crashes into his as he rises from his bent position with pen in hand. My throat constricts. There are only mere inches between us.
His cologne wafts over me, a warm fragrance with a bold, leathery base and crisp top notes. But that’s not all I can smell. The mint on his breath invades my sense in a way that’s unexpected and way too intimate. When his brown eyes latch onto mine, old muscle memories feel dangerously close to taking over. How many times had we looked at each other this way while he was buried deep inside me, entirely still for just the shortest of moments, only to continue his powerful thrusts a split second later?
I swallow a hard lump as he holds out the pen, offering it to me.
Poker face, Kennedy, poker face!
Feeling a red-hot flush rising in my cheeks, I mutter, “Thank you.”
He goes right back into his spiel like nothing happened, but I’m feeling more confused than ever. Was there a moment between us? That energy is hardly ordinary between a boss and his new employee, I know that much. He does remember me. Of course he does…
It’s all so weird.
I should have given him that strawberry pizza look, not fallen into the depths of his eyes.
“Any questions?”
I blink, momentarily lost in my thoughts. Questions? There are a million questions rattling through my brain, but none of them have anything to do with the job at hand.
“No,” I answer, trying to shake off my mental fog.
“Very well. Finish settling in. Review G&G’s organizational systems and protocols. Our weekly Tuesday meeting is nonnegotiable. Familiarize yourself with the client files for next week’s meetings. And ensure that Humphries v. Ecclestone is sorted and updated by day’s end.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I straighten up, pretending to smooth out an invisible wrinkle on my skirt. Is he watching me? I glance up, but his attention has already returned to his laptop.
Quietly, I collect my things, ready to make my exit. Just as my fingers brush the door handle, his voice cuts through the quiet.
“Oh, just one more thing.”
I freeze, making sure I have a neutral, professional expression on my face before pivoting slowly. “Yes?”
“Thanks for agreeing to the take the position. I had some concerns after receiving your email about your availability.” He arches a brow in a subtle yet unmistakable gesture of challenge.
Now I’m pissed.
He knows exactly why I sent that damn email.
With a strained smile, I offer a polite nod but choose to remain silent as I turn towards the door.
Why even bother? I don’t owe him anything. My hand hovers over the handle, the pressure inside me mounts as if a dam is about to burst, and I can sense the words bubbling up, up, and up. Till I can’t stop them.
“Actually,” I snap, whipping around. “While we’re at it?—”
He looks up.
Our eyes meet.
I blink, attempting to talk myself out of it.
“Yes?” he prompts, when I stay silent.
Here comes everything I promised I would not do.
He isn’t supposed to have any effect on me, but here I am, feeling more than a little shaken. There doesn’t seem to be a thing I can do to stop it. My only choice is to get it over with, so I spit it out.
“Why are you pretending you don’t remember me?” I blurt.
Unforgivingly, I stare him down, and wait.
And wait.
It feels like an enormous cartoon elephant has been tiptoeing around the room between us. I can see it freezing in place, caught in the act, staring back at me with eyes as wide as saucers. With curiosity. And a touch of insecurity. Sneaky little troublemaker.
But none of that shows on Cade’s face.