Chapter Nine #2
I snap my jaw closed and try not to squeal when I respond. “Yes! I’d love to. What do you need from me? I’m happy to help with anything.”
“Wonderful,” Sandra stands up and takes a step out of the cubicle, “I’ll have Claire set up a time to brief you,” she says leaving me stunned and agape.
I want to pull out my phone and text Miranda and Will about my news, but instead I decide to play it cool. I take another sip of my coffee and log into my email as I wait for Claire’s meeting invite.
The invite comes about ten minutes later.
The meeting time is scheduled for 11:45 am, over three hours away.
I don’t know what Sandra was thinking coming in here and dropping this bomb on me, then making me wait over three hours to know any details.
I’m jittery and nervous and excited all in one.
I haven’t even processed yet that Sandra knew me well enough to know if I’d be a good fit on a case or not.
I need to calm down, I am full blown fan girling over Sandra Fray right now.
Okay, be normal, I tell myself as I review my list of tasks for today. When all else fails, I pull out the timer. It's guaranteed to help me focus and block out all the background noise; both literally and metaphorically.
I set a timer on my phone for 90 minutes and put in my ear buds with my lofi jazz playlist and get to work.
Here at my internship, in the words of my mom, I live and die by the timer.
When the timer is going, I don’t get up from my desk, I don’t go to the bathroom, I don’t even refill my water.
Unless there is an emergency I’m firmly planted in my cubicle, completing task after task.
And when I don’t have anything else to do administratively, I study for the LSAT.
When my timer goes off, I’m in the middle of reading about a divorce case the firm represented a few weeks ago.
I've already scheduled the mediation sessions I needed to schedule and I’ve made ten copies of a deposition transcript for Jessica.
I set my timer for fifteen minutes of rest time and stand up to stretch my legs.
I take a lap around the floor, keeping an eye out for any particularly good outfits.
I was surprised that more people don’t wear killer business outfits to work, but like most things, TV lies.
About 70% of the office wears what I would describe as frumpy clothes.
But there are a handful of women who work here that own my dream closet.
After a lap around the floor with no outfit inspiration, I head back to my cubicle. The rest of my morning is uneventful as I wait for my briefing with Claire.
Claire’s waiting for me when I round her cubicle entrance and double check I’m not late. “Hey, girl," she says, smiling at me from her chair, wearing an adorable blazer and pant suit combo.
“Hey.” I take a seat next to her, happy that we’re finally going to be working together on something again.
We met a while back when I first started working here, she’s the one who trained me on all the administrative stuff I do.
We hang out every now and then, but I think she’s really cool, and I want to be better friends with her.
“So Sandra wants you to help me with all the really tedious stuff. This is a big case, so she’s got a few others on this case with her too–don’t freak out too much.
Even the,” she makes air quotes with her hands, “important stuff,” she drops her hands again and continues, “will be double and triple checked by her team.”
“Alright, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
She side eyes me before saying, “You say that now, but just wait until you’re fifty emails deep in an email thread between Jackson Schuyler and Natalie Miller and how much he likes her ass.”
I can’t help it, but a little gasp does escape. “This is the Miller divorce case?”
She nods her head, “Ummhmm.”
My mouth is literally hanging open. I heard rumors that Sandra took on Natalie Miller as a client around the office, but I didn’t have the guts to confirm with anyone for fear of sounding like an idiot or appearing as the office gossip.
Jackson Schuyler is a Detroit mega millionaire.
Apparently he married his 24 year old personal assistant without a pre-nup.
She’s refusing to sign a post-nup and, according to what’s trending on social media, it's getting nasty.
Getting to intern on a case this high profile is the experience of a lifetime. I could cry I’m so excited. “So when do you want me up here?”
“Can you grab your stuff now?”
It takes all my self control not to jump up and down as I let her know I am more than able to join her now. I head down to my usual cubicle, gather my things, and practically skip my way back to Claire’s cubicle.
“I sent you some of the preliminary emails. Take a look at those and then let me know when you’re done,” she says as I unload my bag and open up my laptop.
The emails Claire forwarded are already at the top of my inbox, detailing what kinds of things Sandra wants Claire to be researching and a few links to some cases the firm has done in the past on high profile and large money divorces.
I pop in my ear buds and set myself a timer for 90 minutes.
My eyes feel dry and my stomach is grumbling when my phone lets me know my 90 minutes are up. This is a lot of information to internalize. I take my ear buds out and spin around in my chair.
“You might be the most focused person I’ve ever seen in my life,” Claire jokes.
My cheeks heat up, “I do this thing called the pomodoro method. It helps me focus.”
“Yeah,” she says in a way that makes me feel self conscious. “Did you even notice that like three people stopped by in the last hour?”
I can feel the warmth of embarrassment spreading down my neck and over my chest, “Uh, no, not really,” I admit.
“I think I might have to try it,” she says, making me feel a little better about how locked in I was on my readings. She continues, “But, I actually only work until 2:00 pm today, so I’ll see you later this week?”
I understand what she’s asking: please go back down to your cubicle. So I gather up my stuff, and once more, head down to the first floor.
My phone lights up with a text notification from Will. Today has been a whirlwind of a day and all I want to do is tell him all about how Sandra Fray personally asked me to work on the Natalie Miller case, but I can’t, that’d be breaking the ironclad NDA I signed when I first started working here.
Will: Tell me something good
Uh oh, that means Will either had a bad day, or a bad practice, which to him might be one in the same. He’s done this since he was really little. If he’s upset, he likes to ask everyone around him to tell him something good about their day.
I can’t stop myself from over analyzing the fact that Will texted me personally instead of the mega Taylor/Brooks family group chat like usual.
I literally just talked myself out of telling him about the Miller case, but letting him know Sandra personally asked me to work with her isn't technically breaking any part of my NDA, and it is something good.
Kennedy: Sandra Fray personally asked me to work with her on a high profile case
Kennedy: I’m kind of freaking out
Will: You’re incredible
I re-read his message multiple times, commanding myself to once again stop over thinking every interaction I have with Will, he doesn’t like me and he’s extremely off limits! I want to ask him about his day today, but I don’t.
Instead briefly text back and forth about astronomy class. I lock my phone and put it in my bag before starting another timer where I’ll spend the next 90 minutes absorbed in the world of Jackson Schyler and Natalie Miller.
◆◆◆
Serendipity is packed, per usual, but I’m craving a hot coffee before class today and decided it was worth the risk of being late to astronomy.
Today is the first day where it no longer feels like summer to me.
The weather is cool enough for a sweater and I took full advantage of the opportunity.
I’ve got on a white cable knitted top and a black skirt.
I couldn’t stop myself from wearing a red lip, and sue me for wanting a pumpkin spice latte.
I’ve been waiting for a few minutes and feel a little awkward hanging out by the front counter, so I take one ear bud out and find a seat at a table nearby.
Every few seconds or so I glance up from my phone and skim my eyes around the room.
Will loves people watching, it's his favorite way to procrastinate.
I find myself looking around for anything funny or weird to report back to him.
Will once caught a guy repeatedly stink his hand in his buttcrack and sniff it, then successfully get a girl's number from the study desk one over. It was all he could talk about for a week. The most interesting thing I’ve seen people watching on my own is someone picking their nose and eating it.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I abandon the phone entirely and start people watching with full abandon.
There's a line of people waiting to place an order and there seems to be some weather confusion.
Almost every girl in line is wearing some cute fall weather look while almost every boy is wearing shorts and a tee shirt.
From the tables I can see from my seat, it looks like there’s a couple on a first date.
Cute. There’s a girl reading a book in the corner booth, and I wonder how much of her book she’s actually reading right now, versus how much is she just sitting like me, people watching, using the book as an excuse.
There’s a really hot guy watching a video out loud, yuck. And Carter.
The knot in my chest goes so tight my eyes feel watery. My ears are ringing and I’m caught between pretending like I don’t see him and running away, coffee be damned.
I pick my phone back up, then put it back down, flicking my eyes back in his direction.
He’s not looking at me, thankfully, but what the fuck?
This is supposed to be a place where I don’t have to worry about running into Carter.
He hates it here. He told me relentlessly how much this place sucked and grossed him out, so him being here makes no sense.
“Kennedy!” the barista at the pick up counter shouts out and my heart drops out of my chest and onto the floor. I turn my head toward Carter, who looked up at my name and we lock eyes. Holding eye contact with me, he nods, then picks up his coffee in a pink china mug and takes a sip.
I snap my body forward, stepping toward the pick up counter and gripping the two pumpkin spiced lattes I ordered. I walk carefully and slowly out the side door, keeping my eyes forward no matter how much I want to turn my head and check to see if he’s watching me.
I’m several hundred feet away before I can slow down enough to take a full breath. I swallow, lungs heaving, blinking back the hot sting of tears under the bridge of my nose.
No, no, no, no, no! I will not cry. Carter does not have that kind power over me anymore. Especially not now, not from just seeing him. We didn’t even speak!
I shake my head, trying to physically shake Carter out of my mind.
I’m having a panic attack. I’m fine.
The leaves, the bench, that patch of dead grass, a guy locking his bike to a bike rack, a squirrel.
A car door closing, wind rushing through branches, leaves crunching, a woman laughing.
The scratch of the tag against my neck, two hot coffees in my hands, the seam of my sock under my left big toe.
The smell of coffees in my hands, my perfume.
The lingering mint of my toothpaste.
I take a few steps away from where I was frozen in place on the walking path, forcing people to go around me, and take a seat on the coated metal bench. It's cold, seeping through my clothes and into my skin. I close my eyes and inhale, taking a quick inventory of myself.
The knot in my chest is much looser, Carter is nowhere to be seen, and I have class in less than five minutes.
Miranda taught me that grounding trick in the immediate few days after my nudes went mega viral. It works surprisingly well. Miranda says it's the only thing that helps her clear her mind during a golf tournament.
I check the time: 10:47am. My entire panic attack lasted three whole minutes. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
I double check that I have everything: headphones, coffees, keys, backpack and then head to class where Will is, no doubt, already waiting for me.
I walk into the lecture hall and look around for Will.
I spot him in our usual spot with his backpack sitting on the seat next to him, laptop already out with a blank document open.
His head is down and his phone is open in his hand, typing.
I feel it vibrate in my pocket right before I start to shimmy my way down the aisle toward him.
I hold up both fists of coffee as a silent excuse for being nearly late, and hand him one of the lattes. His eyes go wide and he takes a sip. Will can pretend all day long that he doesn’t love the girly coffees and face masks and cute water bottles, but I know the truth. Will is basic.
I get out my notebook and pens and try to focus on the lecture, but can’t. I feel pent up and fidgety. I’m readjusting my skirt when Will leans over and whispers, “Are you good? You’re being weird.”
“I’m fine. This skirt is just itchy,” I lie.