Morning Glory Girl

Chapter 1

On a Thursday in March, I made a fortunate mistake. It would take me a long time to see it that way, though.

By the time I looked up from the contract on my desk, it was dark outside my office window and my reflection stared back at me from the glass. My honey brown hair was piled in a bun on top of my head, and the puffy bags under my eyes were a shade darker than usual from last night’s all-nighter.

I straightened the stack of papers and slipped them into my bag. My hand trembled as I closed my laptop. Probably hunger. On cue, my stomach grumbled, and I considered where to stop for takeout on my way back to my apartment.

When I stepped out of my small associate’s office, the light was still on in the corner office down the hall. Great, I’ll quickly let John know I’m almost done reviewing this vendor contract and ask if he got any updates from our client today.

I knocked on the threshold of the office belonging to the head partner of my firm’s private equity department.

“Val, I’m glad you stopped by,” John said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this Brower Capital deal. Give me one second to finish this email.”

My stomach sank. I had a feeling I was about to regret my decision to drop by. As he typed away, my gaze snagged on a picture of his son in a football uniform on his desk. He was probably watching the Thursday night NFL game alone while his dad was still at work.

John spun in his desk chair and barely made eye contact with me before he started speaking. “You need to work on producing contract drafts and other work product faster. I’ve noticed on this tech investment that things are taking us longer than they should.”

What?

My brows furrowed in confusion as I wracked my brain for examples of times we’d missed any deadlines we promised to this particular client and came up blank.

In fact, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d missed any deadline in the last six years.

And even when I had, it was always an internal deadline—telling the partner I’d need a few more hours to finish a draft or a diligence summary. Client deadlines, however, were sacred.

I’d missed my brother’s PhD graduation ceremony but never a client deadline.

John looked at me through his round, black glasses. His full head of gray hair was still coiffed even at this time in the evening, his pleated khakis and navy-blue blazer barely wrinkled. He probably got back from a client dinner not long ago.

“Definitely noted, John. I’ll do my best to make sure we’re getting work product to the client as fast as possible every time. I’m not aware that we missed any deadlines we promised though, right? I’ve gotten the impression Brower has been happy with our services on this deal.”

“No, we haven’t missed any deadlines, but that’s not the point.

” The word ‘missed’ came out as a hiss. “You often indicate to me that more time is necessary for deliverables than it should be. Devon would have gotten the first purchase agreement to the client in less than forty-eight hours. That’s what you need to be doing, too. ”

Shock landed like a blow to the chest, immobilizing me in the doorway with my bag slung over my shoulder.

My junior associates hadn’t slept in weeks, and neither had I.

We had turned things around as quickly as humanly possible without sacrificing the quality of our work, which was important to me, too.

We’ve been doing a great job on this deal, my brain insisted.

Our client, the lead in-house lawyer at Brower Capital, regularly thanked me and the team and complimented our performance.

How could John have anything to critique?

Devon was another seventh-year associate in the private equity group—my practice group.

He was well-respected by the partners, feared by junior legal associates, and definitely going to make partner in a few years.

I’d only ever been compared with him in a positive light: we were peers, colleagues, and both considered the go-to senior associates for the highest profile deals for our most important clients.

Apparently, he got things done faster than me, and John had taken notice. Crap.

How was I supposed to make partner in three years if John didn’t think I completed my work fast enough?

My heart rate climbed, and I wiped my damp palms on my pants.

I tried again to defend myself. “I understand. I’ll work on improving turnaround times and make sure the juniors understand the urgency.

I do think quality of work product is important to Brower, too—you know Jasmine actually reads everything.

And I’m confident we’ve provided really high-quality representation on this deal, and she has noticed that. ”

I held my breath and hoped John would agree, at least on the point of quality.

But he didn’t. Still seated, he used the stern but unfazed tone he normally reserved for negotiations to say, “You’re missing the point, Val. We need that quality, and we need to get things to them even faster. That’s what your peers are doing, and that’s what our peer law firms are doing.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. My heart rate had accelerated so much that now I felt winded. Calm down, Val, I said to myself. Take a deep breath.

I tried, but I couldn’t get the air to move past my throat and into my lungs. And then a cloudiness built at the top of my spine. Oh no.

John went on to say something about helping me out and seeing my potential, but I could barely hear him.

I need to get out of here. Fast. Despite my attempts to breathe deeply, my heart wasn’t slowing down.

It was picking up. A prickle climbed my neck toward the back of my skull.

The panic attack was coming, and experience had taught me that my body won’t stay conscious long enough to ride it out.

I needed to run back to my office, drop to the ground, and put my head between my knees because if I let that cloudy, prickly feeling crest over the top of my head and start sinking down toward my eyebrows, I was done for.

I made something up. “Thanks for the feedback, John. I actually have to run, I have a call later I need to get home for.” I turned on my heel, ready to make a break for the nearest empty office.

It was too late.

The last thing I heard was John’s voice saying, “Val, are you okay?” from a mile away as the world turned sideways.

I came to a few seconds later and blinked. The hallway ceiling came into view, and then John’s concerned face, kneeling beside me on the carpeted floor, his hand gripping my elbow.

Oh my god.

“Are you okay? I caught you before you hit your head.”

No! I am mortified.

“Yes,” I lied, sucking in a deep breath. “Um, thank you.”

“Do you need anything? I hope it wasn’t what I was saying.”

I shook my head. “No, I just probably haven’t eaten enough today.” And I didn’t sleep at all last night, as you well know, I refrained from adding. I straightened my shirt and pushed myself up.

John hovered nearby, apparently worried I might collapse again.

“I’m going to head home.” I was disoriented, but after several gulps of air, the cloudiness cleared. More than anything, I wanted to leave the building. “I’ll get you my comments on that vendor contract by tomorrow.”

“Okay, thank you.” A line formed between his brows. “Take care of yourself.”

“Will do.” I walked as quickly as my wobbly legs could carry me to the elevator bank.

When I got back to my one-bedroom apartment in the Hudson Yards neighborhood of Manhattan half an hour later, I turned on the light with a shaking hand, and then sat on my couch and stared at the wall above my television.

What is wrong with me? I’m so bad at receiving constructive criticism that I fainted at work?

I groaned. Fuck. Six years of killing myself to rise through the ranks and now I’d had this moment of humiliating weakness that would probably follow me. Tears started flowing unbidden.

“You’re missing the point, Val.” John’s stern, all-knowing tone played on a loop in my head.

I’d sacrificed all of my plans and most of my sleep these past weeks for the deal in question, all so that we would be on track to sign the purchase agreement next week like the client requested.

I thought I’d been doing so well. I could tell the client liked me.

I still didn’t understand where the negative feedback came from.

Not bothering to get my breathing under control first, I took out my cell phone and called my mom.

“I fainted at work.”

“Oh, honey. That hasn’t happened to you since college. Are you okay? Are you sick? Have you been eating?”

“I don’t think it’s that. I was just stopping by John’s office on my way home and he told me that I haven’t been producing my work fast enough on this tech deal.”

“He can’t be serious.” My mom knew this deal had taken over my life lately—consistent sixteen-hour days, no time for even a phone call to catch up.

“Oh, he was. He said Devon would have gotten the agreement done faster, and I basically need to match his speed. But I know our client is happy with our work on this deal, and I tried to tell him that, but he really dug in. Said I’m missing the point, and I panicked and fainted right there in the hallway.

” I sped through the summary, hands shaking, voice trembling, cheeks heating by the second.

I still couldn’t fully believe it happened.

“That’s completely unacceptable, Val. He had no right to ambush you like that.”

“I should be better at taking constructive criticism by now,” I muttered. “I might be too sensitive for this job.”

“I don’t see what part of that was constructive. You can’t find more hours in the day. I’m sure the quality of the work this male associate he’s so fond of is producing isn’t as good as yours, either, if he’s doing it so fast.”

I sighed, helpless.

“You’re too hard on yourself, honey.”

“Probably,” I relented. “Please don’t tell Drew.”

“Valerie, he’s your brother, he cares about you.”