Chapter 8
The noise hits me instantly as I step into the bar. Bodies swarm around tables, drinking and laughing. I’m looking out at a sea of suits when my colleagues spot me, waving me over to a U-shaped booth at the back. I weave through the crowded bar, careful not to bump into anyone.
When I reach the table, Charlotte, a junior associate, scoots over to make room for me, and I slide into the booth.
“Avery, we’re so glad you could make it. You’ve been so busy since you started, we haven’t really gotten a chance to get to know you.”
I force a smile. “Yeah, I’m starting to wonder if feeling like I have to prove myself every day is ever gonna go away,” I joke.
“For some of us, it does. For others…not so much,” Teresa, a senior associate, chimes in.
“Speaking of…we were just about to take bets on whether Sterling was going to show,” says Kevin, another senior attorney.
“Oh, I figured he was coming since he invited me,” I say, trying to sound casual as I fidget with my necklace.
Teresa shrugs. “He said he was busy. Probably working on the Clifton deal.”
We all place drink orders, and dive into cases and gossip. After ten minutes of idle chatter and stealing glances at the door despite knowing he’s probably not coming, James walks in.
He spots me immediately and starts toward our table, people parting for him as he makes his way through like he owns the place.
The easy confidence in his stride is enough to quiet even the loudest pockets of the room, turning heads as he closes the distance to our table. People pause almost mid-conversation to watch him pass, some nodding in acknowledgment, others casting fleeting, curious glances.
Somehow, in this crowded bar, he commands the kind of attention that silences everything else, as though the space around him shifts to accommodate his presence. It’s mystifying. He seems immune to the chaos that surrounds him, and everyone else seems to fall under his spell.
And then there’s me, trying not to stare too obviously, while simultaneously watching every step he takes.
My eyes drift to his rolled sleeves, those beautifully inked forearms on display.
Even without his full suit on, James projects an air of authority that’s nearly impossible to ignore.
It should be disarming to see him without all of his usual layers of formality, but it isn’t.
His shirt stretches across his chest in a way that draws even more attention to how well-built he is.
And those pants. I can barely keep from shaking my head at how absurdly well they fit him, tracing the strong lines of his legs like they were stitched onto him personally.
Which, knowing James, they probably were.
Every article of clothing, from the expensive watch on his wrist to his shoes that must cost more than everything in my closet combined, seems to echo the same sentiment: even without the professional armor of a full suit, he’s no less imposing, no less of a presence that demands attention and respect.
He approaches, drawing the focus of everyone at our table, and says, “Room for one more?”
“Thought you couldn’t make it,” Teresa says.
“Plans changed,” James replies as he slides in next to me. The brush of his arm is startlingly warm. He nods a hello, and my awareness of his proximity leaves me a little breathless.
I wonder if everyone else can tell.
The drinks arrive, and the table settles into conversation. The Clifton deal comes up, then dissolves into other cases. Minutes slip past, drinks slowly taking the edge off the first round of conversation.
Someone shares news about a new hire. Another drops a rumor about a partner retiring.
“They’re saying that memo is coming out next week,” Charlotte says, directing the comment to the table but mostly at James.
He shrugs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I watch James out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious about it. The brush of his knee against mine sends my focus reeling. I sip my gin and tonic, more aware of the pulse in my wrist than anything else.
I catch the tail end of a story that Teresa is animatedly telling.
“So then, to his face, I said, ‘Do you really want to make an ethics argument with the evidence literally right in front of you?’” She shakes her head. “And he backed down like that,” she says, snapping her fingers.
The table erupts in laughter. I join in, hoping it sounds genuine.
“So, Avery,” Charlotte leans over, “Any big plans this weekend?”
“Not really. I was thinking about hitting the farmer’s market on Sunday. But other than that, I’ll probably just hangout at home while my cat judges me for watching true crime documentaries and ordering takeout for the millionth weekend in a row.”
The rest of the table fills in the laughter my comment draws out, including James’s soft chuckle next to me, and I feel a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with the crowded bar. I steal a glance at James, wondering if he’s always had this effect on me or if it’s just the gin.
We trade more stories and jokes, and I breathe a little easier thinking about how different these coworkers feel compared to my last job. There’s no judgement, no pity. Just people who want to get to know me. It feels nice.
The noise level at our table starts to drop as people peel off, coats over their arms, the length of the week catching up with them.
By 6:00, the only attorneys left are me and James.
I pretend it’s not weird being here with him, remembering how he was standing at my apartment door the last time it was just the two of us alone outside of work.
I’m about to suggest another round when I see Mina walk in. The relief is instant. She makes a beeline for our table, hair wild and free.
“Hi babe!” she grins.
I spring up from the booth, greeting her with a hug and whispering in her ear, “Thank God you’re here,” low enough so James doesn’t hear.
I slide back into the booth and motion for Mina to sit.
“James, this is my best friend from law school, Mina. Mina, this is James Sterling.”
“Boss man,” she says with a small nod.
“Nice to meet you, Mina,” James says.
“Mina works at a public interest firm downtown,” I explain. “She’s changing the world.”
“Someone has to,” she says with a laugh. “We can’t all sell our souls to these money-hungry firms.”
The jab doesn’t go unnoticed. I brace for the same awkward silence that usually follows when my work friends and my real friends mix. But James laughs, surprising me.
“Believe me, I have days when I’d trade for your side,” he says, and there is a humility to it, an unexpected earnestness, that I can tell intrigues Mina.
“Hmm,” she says, considering him.
This is starting to feel a lot like when your best friend meets your new boyfriend and gives him the third degree.
Our conversation is interrupted when a guy wheels a speaker by our table and other bar employees start moving tables to the sides of the room to open up a dance floor.
“M’kay, well, I’m gonna run to the restroom and you two can order another round and debate the difficulties of our respective jobs.”
I nudge Mina to slide out so I can exit the booth, but before she can move, James is already up. As I’m sliding out of the booth, Mina asks, “Want me to order you something?”
“No, I’ll just grab something from the bar on my way back,” I say over my shoulder as I’m already heading toward the restroom.
In the quiet of the bathroom, I lean against the sink, watching my reflection. I take a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh.
“This is not awkward,” I whisper to myself.
“This is fine. Everything’s fine. You’ll get back and he’ll probably be gone already, and it’ll just be you and Mina.
” The words are meant to comfort, but they sound hollow in the echo of the tiled space.
I straighten my blouse, fluff my hair, and give myself a small nod in the mirror. “You’ve got this.”
The noise from the bar floods back as I push open the door. It’s louder now, the music thumping through the speakers, reverberating in my chest. People cluster around the bar, the hum of conversation mingling with laughter and the clinking of glasses.
I walk up to the bar, finding a group of suited and booted attorney types sitting and talking with their backs turned to me. I squeeze in to order a drink.
“Gin and tonic, please,” I say to the bartender.
The guy closest to me shifts, glancing over his shoulder before turning fully around to face me.
Pierce.
I lock eyes with him, stunned to see him here, especially considering he’s not an actual attorney. Not that you need a license to practice to get in here, but James said this place is frequented by attorneys, not nepo baby assholes that didn’t pass the bar.
“Avery. I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he says like we’re old friends.
“Have you?” I say flatly.
“Of course. Failing the bar was a real wake-up call for me. You know, I’m actually taking it again next week.”
He’s talking as though we were already in the middle of a conversation.
I glance back to my table where Mina and James wait for me.
I look at Mina with my best “Are you seeing this?” eyes.
She glances at Pierce, and her eyes widen in disbelief before she leans over to James, telling him something.
His head snaps up in my direction, eyes meeting mine, a look of irritation flashing across his face.
“I’d love to take you out and catch up after,” Pierce says, and I can’t help but be completely bewildered by his audacity. I barely register James as he walks up behind me.
“Everything okay here, Anders?” James asks, looking Pierce over.
I look up to meet his eyes, and with the sweetest smile I can muster, I say, “Everything’s perfect, James. I was actually telling Pierce here that the time to realize what he had was when he had me.”
I turn my attention back to Pierce, watching his practiced smile falter.