Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Emma
“ I mean, of course the partnership is only eighteen percent female. It’s because women leave to have babies. You can’t expect to go out on maternity leave for months at a time and also stay on partner track. It’s not logical. You agree, right?”
I agree this guy is a patriarchal fuck head, and I need to get out of here as soon as possible, that’s what I agree with. I haven’t said a single word, but he just plows right along, continuing his monologue on why women don’t deserve leadership positions in big law firms. As if it’s something I haven’t heard a million times before in the halls of every law firm I’ve interned at, worked in, and visited for my entire career.
“It’s the special treatment, you know? I can’t tell you how often I’ve had to cover for a girl associate who has a baby, and then once they come back it’s all leaving early to put the baby to bed and the baby has a cold and uh oh, the nanny is late again. I mean, it’s a choice, you know? They choose to have babies. They could choose to grind like the men do, but they decide to have babies instead. We shouldn’t have to bend to their will just because a girl wants a family. I mean, you get it. You left big law and started your own firm. It’s because you want to have kids one day, right? You were smart to get out instead of facing the disappointment of not making partner because you decided to have a family and then being all bitter about it when you’re toiling away in some counsel position with no advancement potential.”
He sits back, a smug smile on his face, secure in the belief that he made his point, and he made it well. As if this is a moot court competition he just won.
Fucking tool.
I killed at moot court. They never expected the introvert who rarely speaks to be good at arguing in front of a panel of judges, so I came out of nowhere. I would have wiped the floor with this asshole.
I stand so quickly my chair teeters on the edge of clattering straight to the floor. I’m suddenly afraid if I don’t get away from this table right now, I’ll stab Thad with my steak knife. It would be such a shame to get blood all over his seersucker blazer. Not. What a misogynistic douchebag. He’s everything wrong with the legal profession. Unfortunately, there are a whole lot of Thads out there. I could out-lawyer every single last one of them.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to go freshen up.”
“You go right ahead and do that. It’ll be good to be fresh for later.” His gaze sweeps down my body and back up in a creepy leer, eyes lingering on my chest.
As if. Eat a bag of dicks, Thad.
Without saying another word, I walk straight to the hallway where the restrooms are and lean against the wall outside the ladies’ room. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to try and calm my simmering rage.
“There’s a back exit if you want.”
I turn my head and see our server standing next to me. She’s about my age and shoots me a sympathetic smile.
“I heard what that asshole was saying. I’m shocked you didn’t toss a drink in his face.”
“I considered stabbing him with my steak knife.” I give my savior a small smile.
“Honestly, you would have done him a favor, ruining that god-awful blazer with the bloodstains.”
“It really is awful, isn’t it? I’m Emma.” I hold out my hand to shake hers.
“Steph. It’s nice to meet you. I can show you the back exit if you want to bail.”
“You have no idea how badly I want to bail. You’re saving my life. And his too, probably.”
“My pleasure.” She leads me down the hall where the bathrooms are and points me to the back door.
“Thanks, Steph. I owe you one.”
“You owe me nothing. Women have to stick together. There are too many shitheads out there.” She gives me a final wave as I head out the door, exiting onto the street around the corner from the front entrance where I parked my car.
As I walk down the darkened block, thunder rumbles in the distance and anxiety snakes its fingers around my spine. Fumbling through my purse with unsteady hands, I pull out my phone and open the weather app. My dread deepens when I check the radar. Wall to wall thunderstorms for the next four hours. I’ve barely had a second to digest that information before the sky opens up and rain comes pouring down.
I beeline back into the restaurant and barge into the bathroom, grateful to find it empty. Locking myself in a stall, I close my eyes and lean against the stall door, trying to calm my racing heart. But as thunder shakes the building, it just beats faster. I check the weather app again and there is no end to this storm. I can’t drive in this, and I can’t stay in here forever. I cycle through my options as my heart continues to hammer against my ribs. All my friends are away, and the only thing I hate more than the idea of driving myself in a storm is letting a stranger drive me in a storm, so a rideshare is out.
Call me, okay?
Jeremy’s request from earlier echoes in my head. I don’t relish the idea of calling him to come rescue me even after our mostly pleasant morning, but I hate the idea of hiding in this bathroom for the next four hours, and driving in the storm is a complete nonstarter.
With no good options, I choose the least bad.
Picking my phone back up, I hit Jeremy’s contact and lift the phone to my ear as it starts to ring.