Chapter 20
I’m back at the office, hair ironed flat, lips glossed, suit impossibly crisp. I am the perfect picture of a woman who has not wept into a Netflix queue for seven consecutive days.
Nash sees me in the lobby and hesitates. He wants to hug me, probably, but that’s not what we do here, so he gives me a subtle salute instead. It makes me laugh.
We step into the elevator together. He brushes his knuckle against the back of my hand.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and private, “if anyone gives you shit today, text me. I’ll slash their tires.”
I snort, careful to keep it low.
“Thank you. But no tire-slashing until at least after lunch.”
“No promises,” he says, eyes flicking up and down my reflection.
Inside my office, a sticky note is pasted to my monitor: “Welcome back” with a winky face.
Nash’s handwriting, obviously.
My team is already settled into the week’s rhythm, the worst of the post-trial fallout apparently taken care of in my absence.
When Teresa, one of the senior associates, breezes by with her large iced coffee, she pauses to lean in, offer a tight but genuine smile, and say, “Heard you did everything right. Jury just didn’t go your way. Happens to all of us.”
“Thanks, Teresa,” I say, the words more brittle than I’d like.
She nods and moves on, her heels snapping at the tiled floor. She’s gone before I can ask what I’ve missed.
I scroll through my inbox, which is overloaded, naturally, but nothing catastrophic. Just the usual: requests for status updates, a handful of new client intakes, a calendar invite for a team meeting.
I’ve barely begun my work when Nash pokes his head in, mouth set in a line that means he’s trying to look professional and not like someone who spent Saturday morning lying on my lap.
“Ready for the meeting?” he asks. “James wants everyone in the conference room in five. Got your coffee right here.”
I take the cup, feeling the heat curl through my hands, and for a second I want to rest my forehead against it just to let the steam seep into my skull.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
He grins, lets it hang between us a moment, then disappears, leaving the faintest trace of cologne behind. I take a sip of my coffee, then make my way to the meeting.
The conference room is already full. James stands at the head of the table. I take a seat near the end.
James launches right in, voice smooth.
“Let’s get started. First: the regional litigation conference in Nashville. Attendance is mandatory for all attorneys.”
There’s a murmur up and down the table, some amused, some exasperated.
James’s gaze pins me for a fraction longer than it should before he continues.
“This is an opportunity to sharpen skills, network, and make our firm look good in the eyes of our competitors. The conference starts a week from next Monday. Flights are already booked.”
“Dress code?” asks a junior associate, voice thin with hope.
“Business casual,” James says, without missing a beat. “For all sessions and events. I know these things are usually an excuse for attorneys to get drunk together, but this isn’t spring break.”
There’s a deflated noise from somewhere near the middle of the table.
I twist the coffee cup, watching the swirl of cinnamon.
The week in Nashville is nonnegotiable, and I’m already mapping out my own logistics: the suitcase, the shoes, the parade of neutral blouses, how much dry shampoo is legal to carry on a plane.
James is wrapping up, unveiling the new digital case management system, when his phone buzzes on the table. He glances at the screen, then slides it facedown, a tiny muscle twitching in his jaw.
“If there are no other questions, you’re all dismissed.”
I file out with the rest of the herd.
Back at my desk, I watch as the office climate returns to its baseline: the hum of printers, the muffled thud of file drawers, Vanessa’s voice drifting through the open door as she berates a court clerk.
At lunch, I eat at my desk, half a sandwich and a bag of chips that taste like nothing at all. I’m scrolling through Westlaw, searching for case law that refuses to exist in the real world, when a shadow falls across my keyboard.
James stands in my doorway. “A word?”
I stand, heart thudding. “Sure.”
He leads me across to his office, closing the door behind us with a soft click. I perch on the edge of a leather chair, folding my hands in my lap the way my mother taught me years ago. James doesn’t sit. He circles behind his desk, eyes on the window.
He waits until I exhale, then says, “You okay? Missed you in the office last week.”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
A flicker of smile, then it’s gone.
“I’ll be presenting at the conference. ‘Emerging Litigators: Trends and Tactics.’ I want your help in preparing my presentation. You’ll know better than I do what the younger attorneys want to learn.”
The faintest sense of reward hums in my chest.
“Happy to help,” I say, voice even. “Just let me know what you need.”
“I’ll send you the outline,” James says, drumming his knuckles once on the desk. “We can meet later this week to go over it.”
I stand, smoothing my skirt, and reach for the door.
Before I open it, James says, “Avery, no matter what you’re thinking, you did well in that trial. I mean it.”
I don’t know what to do with the compliment, so I nod and make my exit, closing the door softly behind me.
For the next three days, I keep my head down.
I prep for the conference, churn through my caseload, and try not to think about the Nashville trip except in the most professional terms and definitely not how much time I’ll be spending with James, which is hard to do since we’re meeting to go over some ideas for the presentation.
We meet in his office in the late afternoon. James sits behind his desk. He’s got a yellow legal pad out, covered in his chicken scratch handwriting. He gestures for me to sit in a chair across from him.
I settle in, smoothing my skirt, which is too tight to sit in comfortably but makes my legs look good.
“All right,” he says. “The conference organizers want practical takeaways for new litigators. I sent you the list of their suggested talking points. What are your thoughts?”
I’ve read the list. It’s the same generic checklist new attorneys hear all the time: the importance of work-life balance, ethics issues, using technology for efficient legal practice.
“Honestly?” I say, crossing my legs. “It’s pretty lifeless. And not even remotely useful to someone who’s about to be thrown into their first trial. None of us actually know what we’re doing, and we’re all terrified we’re gonna do something wrong and get a bar complaint.”
“I remember that feeling,” he says with a soft chuckle. “It starts as soon as you’re barred and doesn’t stop until you feel like you know how to practice law.”
“Exactly. So teach us.”
“I can’t teach everyone how to practice law in thirty minutes.”
“No, you can’t. But you can give us the basics. A foundation to build on. Give the new attorneys enough information so we can leave the conference feeling a little more confident than we did before.”
He takes a moment, considering my words.
“Okay. What are you thinking?” he asks.
“I’m thinking most of these new attorneys probably don’t know discovery timelines, or the kinds of questions to ask in depositions, or what the hell a motion in limine even is. So let’s start with those.”
He grabs a pen and begins writing a new outline, nodding as I list off the practical skills that actually matter.
By the end, he’s smiling like he’s proud of what we’ve put together.
“Anything else?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.
I think about it.
“Don’t get drunk at networking events,” I say, deadpan, and James actually laughs, a real laugh. It’s a sharp, rich sound and it warms me more than it should.
I find myself laughing with him and the feeling is something foreign.
“Noted,” he says.
“If we’re done for today, I’m gonna head out. I’ve got some shopping to do for this conference,” I say, standing to leave his office. “Don’t worry. Everything will be business casual,” I add with an eyeroll.
He looks me up and down slowly.
“I’d be willing to make an exception to see you in a pair of cut-off jeans and cowboy boots.”
I laugh, surprised by the line, my cheeks warming as I run my tongue over my teeth.
“Noted,” I say playfully.
I gather my things and move toward the door, glancing back at him in time to catch his gaze lifting from my legs. For a beat, he lets it stay there, unbothered by my catching him, and then he looks away, the faintest smirk on his face.
I walk out of his office with a smirk of my own, grab my phone and shoot a text to Mina.
Attorney conference in Nashville in two weeks. Down for a mini shopping spree?
Mina
You know I never say no to shopping, babe!
She’s waiting outside my building in her mid-size SUV, music blasting something foul-mouthed and bass-heavy. She rolls down her window and turns down her music before yelling, “Get in, loser. We’re going shopping!”
With how often Mina and I quote Mean Girls, you’d think we were getting paid for it.
I laugh and slide into the passenger seat.
We peel out, and she talks the whole way, a running commentary on her coworkers, the legal market, the idiocy of the last guy she matched with on one of the dating apps. I guess she and Adam are off again.
I let her monologue run, letting myself be dragged along by the momentum, occasionally chiming in when she pauses to breathe.
By the time we reach the mall, my mood has improved just from being in Mina’s presence. Our first stop is a boutique that smells like expensive candles.
Mina pulls items off the rack with startling efficiency, holding up a green blouse before putting it back without a word.
“So who all is going to the conference?” she asks as she continues making selections.
“It’s just all the attorneys in the office.”
“Does that include James?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“Yes, James will be there, too.”
Mina puts back every article of clothing she had previously picked out.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She starts thumbing through the racks again, picking up entirely different pieces.
“I have a vision. Just trust me.”
“Mina, it’s a work conference, not a fashion show.” I huff a laugh.
She cuts her eyes to me.
“I’m not dressing you for a fashion show. I’m dressing you for James.”
The thought of James’s opinion on my outfits spikes my heartrate, and I realize I want him to think I look good. I want him to take one look at my outfit and decide it would be better off on the floor.
So I let her carry on.
I follow her to the dressing room, where she hangs up all my options. She takes the seat in the corner of the room, tossing out opinions as I wriggle in and out of each outfit. The last outfit being a green pencil dress that stops at the knees, professional but still appealing.
“You look so hot. That’s definitely your color. You need something for after hours, too, you know. You can’t be suited and booted the whole time.”
She thrusts a slinky black slip dress into my hands, and I nearly drop it.
“Absolutely not,” I hiss. “Mina. I cannot wear this.”
“Yes, you can. With strappy heels and a teeny purse and every piece of gold jewelry that you own.”
I hold it up, skeptical. “Where would I even wear this?”
She smirks. “Hotel bar? Or, if you’re lucky, someone’s room.”
I shake my head, but there’s a traitorous spark in my chest at the thought.
I try it on. It’s too much. It leaves very little to the imagination, which usually wouldn’t bother me. But for a work trip? I can’t.
“Holy shit, Ave.” She makes me do a spin so she can get the full picture. “I would fuck you in this dress. Just imagine what it’s gonna do to James.”
“This dress is obscene, Mina. And I highly doubt anything will be happening between me and James on this trip. The other attorneys in the office are going too, and it would be way too risky to be sneaking into each other’s rooms.”
“Ugh, fine. But you’re still getting this dress. You look way too good in it to leave it here. We just need to find a way to make it a little more appropriate.”
She studies the dress for a moment before adding, “What if we pair it with those boots we saw in the window and maybe your leather jacket? I want you to look like a problem.”
I buy the dress, the boots, and everything else Mina picked out.
The conference is two weeks away, but by the time we’re back at my place, we’ve assembled my entire wardrobe, accessories and all.
I hug Mina and say, “What would I do without my personal stylist? Seriously. I think you may have missed your calling.”
She shrugs, mouth curling at the corner, and says, “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.”
I see her out, then spend the next hour working on more ideas for James’s presentation.
The next two weeks pass in a flash of client meetings and legal research. I’ve been so busy that the thought of a week in Nashville, even if it is for a work conference, is actually starting to sound like a nice break.