Chapter 4
Iwoke up with a headache and a racing pulse.
Natalie had taken a car home just before midnight.
I fired up my coffee machine and then immediately started incorporating John’s comments into the purchase agreement.
Three cups of coffee and four and a half billable hours later, I sent the draft to our client.
John replied within five minutes:
Thanks for sending it out. Thought you might be able to get it over to them sooner but it’s fine. Please send a calendar invite for first thing tomorrow morning but tell them we can hop on the phone later today if they would like.
I frowned at my computer screen as my body filled with a helpless resignation that made my limbs feel heavy.
I wanted to take a nap or go for a walk or call my mom or do literally anything else besides spend my Sunday evening on the phone with the client.
But John didn’t ask me what worked for me.
It wasn’t acceptable to have personal plans that conflicted with your work at a firm like Peters my parents worked so hard to give me these opportunities.
I have to be successful.
I’d just have to get through this deal and then take a couple of days off to catch my breath. Like every other demanding deal I’d worked on in the last six years.
I pulled on a pair of black jeans, a T-shirt, and a blazer, and then I piled my wet hair on top of my head, securing it with a hair tie before walking out the door.
No one in the office would be able to tell if the puffiness under my eyes was caused by tears or exhaustion, anyway.
On our daily 10:00 a.m. call with the Brower team, Jasmine said, “The other side said they’ll send us the purchase agreement and related documents back by 9:00 p.m. tonight.
Can you guys review it, propose revisions, and send us updated versions by 7:00 a.m., and then we can talk about it at 8:00 a.m.?
” Her tone was businesslike, almost casual, like she hadn’t just asked this entire team to pull an all-nighter.
Besides that birthday party, I hadn’t had a night or even a weekend afternoon off in nearly two weeks, and neither had any of my junior associates.
For the hundredth time that week I considered telling John that, despite Jasmine’s consistent gratitude and positive feedback, her timing expectations were unreasonable, and the pace of this deal was unsustainable.
But I worried he’d think I wasn’t willing to work hard if I said something like that, so I refrained.
John didn’t bother messaging me to ask if we could meet that timing before he nodded and told Jasmine, “Will do.”
I sucked in a breath through my nose and willed myself not to cry right there on the video call.
It would take at least five hours to review and revise all the documents, which meant the associates and I would be going into that client call with four hours of sleep, if we were lucky.
In her little video square, Claire’s face crumpled momentarily, like she was about to cry, too.
When the call ended, I asked her to swing by my office.
“You okay? I know that deadline Jasmine requested is insane.”
“Yes, I’m okay. We’ll get through it.” Her glassy eyes and wobbling lip told me she was lying.
“Please tell me. Do you have something important coming up that you’re worried about?”
Her lip wobbled more. “It’s my anniversary. My husband made us a reservation at this nice place. I know he’ll understand that we need to postpone now. I just feel bad.”
“Go to dinner. The rest of us will handle the documents.”
“But Val, I’m running point on the material contract disclosures. I don’t think Will or Jared will have time to pick that up on top of the parts they’re handling.”
“I’ll do them myself after I finish the purchase agreement. I’m up to speed.” I schooled my face into a smile to reassure her.
“But won’t John—”
“Don’t worry about John; I won’t mention it to him. He only cares that we get it done by 7:00 a.m. like the client asked.”
She still seemed reluctant, but some light returned to her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please enjoy your anniversary. I feel bad enough that you might fall asleep before dessert, but at least you’ll be there.” The encouraging smile I gave her belied the roaring stress in my gut.
“Thank you so much!”
“Thank you for all your hard work. It doesn’t go unnoticed.”
Claire left my office with a tad more spring in her step. Once she was out of sight, I let my mask fall, closing my eyes and dropping my head back on my desk chair. Deep breaths, I told myself. But it was futile.
A few minutes later, I rose from my chair to go to the kitchen and make another cup of coffee.
I wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight.
Sitting in my office that evening, I’d just decided to do this all-nighter at home when a text came in from Natalie saying she got last-minute tickets to a Broadway show we were both interested in.
Technically, I could go and be back at my apartment a little after 9:00 p.m. when the contracts were supposed to come in, but I declined.
I was so stressed out that I wouldn’t be focused on the show, and I wouldn’t enjoy it. I used to be able to compartmentalize, but one too many times getting home from dinner to twenty-seven missed emails had robbed me of my ability to put my phone away and enjoy myself.
Warning bells sounded in my head after I messaged Natalie saying I couldn’t make it. It’s bad if I can’t enjoy the things I used to enjoy, right?
Later that night, as I stared at my inbox waiting for the contract to come in, Natalie told me she went to the show by herself.
“The revisions look great,” Jasmine said on our 8:00 a.m. call. “Thank you so much for getting it done so quickly.”
The documents had come in around 10:00 p.m. the night before.
John sent me an email with his thoughts on the purchase agreement around 11:00 p.m. and left the rest to us.
Will, Jared, and I worked until almost 4:00 a.m. reviewing and revising everything.
Then I sent them to bed and finished the material contracts disclosure review for Claire—sending it all to Brower by 7:10 a.m.—before collapsing on top of my comforter in my clothes for half an hour.
I remembered at the last second to throw on a different shirt before this video call.
Jasmine told us a handful of things she wanted us to change and then said to go ahead and send it to the counterparty when we were done.
After the call ended, I stared at my screen.
The edges blurred and my arms tingled. Despite being seated, I struggled to breathe.
It felt like the air was only reaching the top half of my lungs.
I inhaled deeply—audibly—five times, lifting my chest up with each breath.
It helped, but only for a minute or two, and then I needed to do it again.
I repeated the exercise until I finished the revisions and sent all the documents to the counterparty an hour later.
I was so exhausted I felt physically sick.
Coffee seemed to be making it worse at this point.
I stumbled into my bedroom and fell asleep for an hour.
When I woke up, I mentally went through my to-do list: check in with the juniors about the recent data room uploads, respond to a backlog of emails from a different client, and finally sit down and review the key vendor contract that Brower wanted the tech company to renegotiate.
Even though I wasn’t looking at my phone for once, I nearly collided with the person exiting the bakery next to my building as I entered.
Gripping a paper bag containing a muffin I wasn’t sure I even wanted, I trudged into the office, barely feeling the chill spring wind on my cheeks and questioning how much longer my body could operate on adrenaline and coffee fumes.
At least we were well on our way to getting this deal signed and the client was happy.
By later that evening, I’d somehow managed to finish most of my tasks and review seventy-five pages of the 120-page vendor agreement.
That was when I made the fateful decision to stop by John’s office on my way home.