Chapter 2
Allegra
UGH. WAS I in some sort of an accident?
The next morning, I attempted to lift my head from the pillow, but the pounding in my skull wouldn’t let me raise it more than an inch.
My eyes burned, and my tongue felt thick and useless.
I managed to roll over onto my back but winced when light shining through the blinds stabbed at my face.
Grabbing the pillow next to me, I yanked it over my head.
What the hell did I drink last night? The throb inside my brain worsened as I tried to recall. I hadn’t wanted to go to the partner reception—that much I remembered. But Cassie had made me. “One drink to show face and we’ll ditch,” she’d said. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.
The entire night was fuzzy. I remembered the feeling in my chest when they’d announced the name Sierra Wells instead of mine.
Even now, who knows how many hours later, it felt like my rib cage was being crushed when I thought about it.
I remembered standing at the bar at Ophelia and ordering a dirty martini.
I remembered Malik coming over to try to cheer me up.
He’d said he was more shocked when my name wasn’t called than he’d been when his hadn’t been called last year.
I remembered doing a consolation shot with Ken Bauman, who was a year ahead of me and hadn’t made partner again.
And then a shot with Cassie. And then my dirty martini glass was empty.
The three bleu cheese olives on that second one were the only thing I’d eaten all day.
I’m sure that didn’t help the situation.
Things got a lot more fuzzy after that second cocktail.
I think I might’ve had a drink with Tom Walker and Evelyn Parsons.
They, too, had expressed how shocked they were that my name hadn’t been called.
And I remembered Rich Moore coming over to talk to me.
He’d basically given me some crap about it being the most competitive year ever, and told me what a valued employee I was. At least I’d managed to bite my tongue.
I kept trying to recall what happened after that, but all I could gather was bits and pieces, flashes of random moments from the evening.
Inside the ladies’ room, Cassie’s shirt stuck in her pants zipper, a really loud, obnoxious laugh coming from the far end of the bar—I think it might’ve been mine—and then… then just a feeling of doom.
As much as I didn’t want to get out of bed, I really needed Motrin and something to drink. So I dragged my body to the kitchen. Halfway through chugging a full glass of water, the reason for that feeling of doom came back to me, and I choked mid-swallow.
Harry!
Oh my God, Harry!
How could I forget following him into the men’s room?
My face heated as I coughed and sputtered water all over the floor.
What the hell did I do?
I wanted to climb back into bed, go back to sleep, and wake up not remembering that part of the night again. But of course, I wasn’t that lucky. Instead, more and more solidified in my memory.
Finding him standing at the urinal.
Peeking over the side and telling him his dick would need to be bigger if I was going to suck it for a partnership.
The vein bulging in his forehead.
A man bolting from the bathroom… I wasn’t even sure who had been in there.
And then two words I can’t believe I said.
“I quit.”
Oh.
My.
God.
I quit my freaking job! In the men’s room after telling the senior partner he had a shriveled-up little dick.
And I’d thought my head was pounding already!
A rush of nausea came over me. I slapped my hand over my mouth, sprinted to the bathroom, and violently vomited until every ounce of fluid I’d put into my body had been evacuated.
After, I sat with my back against the cold tile, my hands and face clammy.
I quit my job.
I freaking quit my job!
I’d left the firm where I’d worked my ass off for the last six years. I’d lost or given up everything for it—friendships, boyfriends, sleep. I didn’t even talk to my aunt I used to live with as much as I should.
I dropped my head into my hands, feeling tears threaten.
Oh God. What the hell did I do?
***
The intercom buzzed at four o’clock on Saturday afternoon, and it took all the energy I had to get myself off the couch and press the button to see what the doorman wanted. Even my cat, who’d followed me, looked like she was dragging.
“Ms. Bianchi, you have a visitor.”
There wasn’t anyone I wanted to see. “Who is it?”
“Cassie Norman.”
I took a deep breath and let it out before answering. “You can let her up. Thanks, Ray.”
“Will do.”
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at my apartment door.
I opened it, Cassie took one look at me, and her face fell.
“Oh, honey.” She engulfed me in a hug, and tears again threatened.
Somehow, I managed to sniffle them back and tell her to come inside, rather than making a scene in the hallway for my neighbors.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” Cassie followed me into the living room. “You didn’t answer my texts, and my calls went right to voicemail. I got worried.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.
I should’ve let you know I was all right.
But when I finally got the courage to look at my cell this morning, it was dead.
It didn’t make it to the charger last night, and I thought maybe that was for the best. I haven’t looked yet. I still don’t feel that well.”
She took a seat on the chair across from the couch, and I wrapped myself back into the blanket I’d been hibernating under since I got up for water this morning.
“I’m not sure if I remember everything from last night,” I said. “But I remember following Harry into the men’s room.”
Cassie nodded. “I’d been trying to get you to leave the bar. We went to the ladies’ room together, and you must’ve snuck out while I was in the stall next to you. I didn’t even realize you were gone until a few minutes after I finished washing my hands.”
“Quitting is the last thing I remember.”
“You don’t remember confronting Sierra on the street when we were getting into the Uber?”
My eyes widened. “No! What happened?”
“You called her out about how she earned her partnership offer. Then you told her the shiny tights she had on with her dress and shoes made her look as cheap as she is.”
That was the first thing that made me half smile today. “They did look tacky.”
“After that, I shoved you into the Uber and had him wait outside your building while I made sure you got upstairs.”
I shook my head. “God, I’m not sure what feels more awful, the fact that there are things about last night I can’t remember, or that I can remember some of it. I’ve never blacked out before. It’s scary.”
“You were upset, didn’t eat, and everyone wanted to buy you a drink. Apparently, the only people who weren’t shocked that you didn’t make partner were the partners who did the voting. Seriously, everyone was coming up to you saying they couldn’t believe it.”
I’d thought a lot about that today. Last night, when my name hadn’t been called, I’d started to wonder if maybe I wasn’t as good at my job as I thought, even though my trial record was 39–1. My peers coming up to me had really helped.
I took a deep breath and blew out two cheeks full of air. “I’m going to have to start over—prove myself at a brand-new firm and start at the bottom of the partnership track. It’s like I’ve wasted six years.”
Cassie shook her head. “No, you haven’t.
You’ve gained experience. And once firms hear you’ve left Kasoff, Faust Vellutto, for important clients; and Verde & Vine, when the partners were going alone.
All were within a three-block radius of our East Side office.
Yet Harry had told me to meet him at a place I’d never heard of, which turned out to be on the West Side and thirty blocks north.
Why had he picked a place so far away? The answer could’ve been as simple as he had an appointment in the area right before or after we were meeting, but my gut told me that wasn’t it.
The Ellington Room was a small restaurant with dark wood paneling and portraits of jazz musicians in the entry area.
It was upscale and intimate, not the kind of place I’d expect to meet the boss, especially after I told him off the last time we spoke.
I gave my name to the hostess, who told me the other party was already seated and took me to a booth in the back of the restaurant.
Harry didn’t bother to stand when I arrived at the table. But he probably wouldn’t have on a good day.
I nodded. “Hello, Harry.”
He gestured across from him. “Have a seat.”
I slid in, and the hostess asked if she could take my drink order.
My eyes flitted to the table in front of Harry, where two fingers of scotch sat in a crystal glass.
I really could’ve used a drink to calm my nerves, but after what had happened on Friday night, I thought better of it and ordered a seltzer with lemon.
Once it was only the two of us, I folded my hands on the table. I wasn’t sure why I was here, but the first rule of negotiation was to remain quiet when you hit an impasse—the first party to speak usually loses. Harry didn’t make me wait long before jumping in.
“I’ll make you partner if you sign a confidentiality agreement.”
I tilted my head. “What am I agreeing to keep quiet?”
He grumbled something under his breath before answering. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
I thought about it. Partnership was what I’d wanted all along, but getting it this way didn’t sit right. “What would you tell everyone at the office? Word is out that I quit.”
He frowned. “That you were upset when you didn’t make partner and were going to leave, but we didn’t want to lose you.”
Partnership and the partners groveling. That would work. Yet…something still niggled at me.
“Do you think Sierra deserved partnership based on her legal work?”
Harry’s face heated. “What the hell difference does that make?”
I shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. But I’d still like to know.”
“She’s a decent lawyer.”
“So are the rest of the attorneys at Kasoff, Faust & Moore. You only hire from the Ivys, and you send your recruiting manager to watch potential employees compete in moot court. You stack the deck, so you usually find yourself holding a winning hand.”
“Do we have a deal or not?”
“Why wasn’t I offered partnership? I bill more than anyone and manage a heavy caseload. I also have more trial experience than people who’ve been doing this job twice as long.”
“Maybe it’s because of the way you’re acting right now. Entitled.”
My blood began to pulse in my veins. “Excuse me?”
“Just because you work hard and hustle a little doesn’t mean you deserve a promotion.”
I stared at him, feeling my face light on fire. “I don’t just work hard and hustle. I’m good at my job, and I run circles around most of the people you gave partnerships to. I want the same respect you automatically get just for coming to work on time.”
His jaw tightened.
“And one more thing,” I said. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but you gave partnership to six people—five men and the woman who blows you. I’d say that makes the person who feels entitled you.” I tossed my napkin on the table and stood.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry bit out.
“Anywhere but here.”