Chapter Thirty-Seven
I didn’t need a Freudian scholar to psychoanalyze what it meant.
I was so unsettled I couldn’t fall back asleep. We were never going to go back to the version of Sam and Charlie from last week. Everything had changed, and there was only one possible outcome. It was either going to work or it wasn’t.
The next morning, Charlie texted he wasn’t feeling well and felt it was safer to work from Brooklyn (don’t worry, NOT contagious). After the dream and now Charlie’s absence, I was starting to spiral.
The second day Charlie stayed home, I got a call from the firm’s managing partner, Andre Adepo, telling me I was one of two first-year associates chosen to work on a high-profile matter involving a conservative senator with very public aspirations for a presidential run.
Overnight, the scandal was on every news outlet, regardless of political affiliation, and it was throwing the Republican Party into turmoil.
Andre and the senator had gone to Harvard together.
Now, decades later, the firm was hired to conduct an internal investigation to prove the story didn’t have legs.
We would have one month to interview everyone on the senator’s staff, then turn around a comprehensive report that would be picked apart by every newspaper and cable news channel in America—and likely determine the fate of his political career.
It took one day to realize I was heading into every first-year associate’s nightmare.
In the typical hierarchy of most Big Law cases, junior associates report to senior associates, who report directly to partners.
There was a glaring hole in my law firm experience, and it was about to be filled by Elinor Baker.
“Stock up on your supplements, ladies, because this conference room is home now.” She made an exaggerated circling gesture around the conference table.
“I know you’re barely lawyers, but I assume you’re aware of the highly confidential nature of this investigation.
Everything stays inside this room, and that includes each one of you unless you’re sleeping.
You are not to speak to anyone about the work we’re doing.
Journalists will be camping outside the building.
Do not utter a word to them. IT is bringing in screen protectors.
Do not ever open your laptop outside this room without one. ”
Elinor’s jet-black hair was pulled into the tightest bun I’d ever seen.
Her makeup was flawless in a way that made me think of the permanent eyeliner I’d read about on The Cut.
She was minimally accessorized with pearl studs, a pearl necklace, and a massive emerald-cut diamond on her left hand.
She smelled like Chanel No 5 and parsley from the green smoothie she drank every morning.
“This may sound unusual, but I can’t ever be in a position where I need something from you and find out you’ve signed off for the evening. So even after you’re dismissed from the conference room, I will expect you to let me know before you go to bed.”
She sipped the smoothie and glanced at her phone.
“You’ll be expected here at eight a.m. sharp every day, and I doubt any of us will be out of here before two a.m., probably later. That includes Saturdays and Sundays.”
The other first-year selected to work on the investigation was a kind and introverted associate named Angela.
The firm was in the final stages of clearing conflicts, and Elinor expected we would be cleared to formally start the following Monday.
“So get in your doctor appointments, waxes, last spin class, whatever, over the next few days. Otherwise, your lives are on hold for at least the next month.”
It was like stepping into a bad Ally McBeal episode.
The only generous thing she said was a begrudging acknowledgment that it was the holiday season, and she’d preapprove one night off (“different nights for everyone, obviously”) for each of us to “shop for presents, see your family, whatever.” I emailed Elinor to request blocking off the night of Emilie’s holiday party and held my breath until she approved it.
Charlie was finally back in the office on Thursday. Since Monday, our texts had mostly consisted of face mask emojis and Seamless tirades, or me paraphrasing the crazy shit Elinor said and explaining how women can be sexist toward each other.
“How in the world did you end up defending that guy? Isn’t he notoriously pro-life?” Charlie asked as I tried getting through an inbox full of emails from Elinor.
We were back in our office like nothing ever happened.
“Um, because the top partner in the firm personally called me and said he’d heard good things from Eddie and Leo and assumed I was free for a nine a.m. meeting.”
Charlie shook his head. “That senator is an embarrassment.”
“He’s a politician. They’re all bad.”
“And now, you’re like, his defense counsel.”
“One of . . . five.”
“That’s a pretty elite number.”
I sighed. “Anyway, you haven’t even given me a chance to ask how you’re feeling. You disappeared for two days.”
“Better. Didn’t realize I’d come back to you switching political parties on me though.”
I rolled my eyes. “We work for this firm. Which means we work for the clients of this firm. What was I supposed to do? Would you have taken the liberal high ground in my shoes?”
“I like to think so.”
“Then I guess we’re different people.” I smirked. “But don’t forget, you’re working for the same firm as me. Not exactly stumping for Bernie right now.”
His face softened. “I missed this.”
“Missed what?”
“You. The banter.”
“To be fair, you’ve been MIA since Monday.”
“I know. Maybe I was just worried things would change.”
I nervously clicked the closest pen within reach. “Things have kind of already changed, don’t you think?”
“I know. I’m not worried, worried. I’m just . . . aware.”
“Okay.”
He came around and sat down on the edge of my desk.
“Want to grab a bite with me tonight?”
I nodded, eager to recalibrate. “Let’s go to our sushi spot.”
I woke up to the alarm I’d set for 7 a.m.
I hit the snooze button on my phone, then glanced over at Charlie.
“Ugh, my train,” he groaned.
“It’s this afternoon,” I reminded him.
He had a three o’clock Acela to Boston. Perry was picking him up, and they were meeting his parents for lobster rolls.
These were the kinds of details I knew because I was his friend, his officemate, and now his lover.
He rolled over to face me. “Well, in that case . . .”
We made love for the fourth time since we’d left the sushi bar, making out in the cab all the way back to my apartment.
I made coffee and checked emails while he showered. I had forty-two new emails since 10 p.m., all from Elinor.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered as I reached into the fridge for half and half.
“You say something?” Charlie appeared in the bathroom doorway, brushing his teeth with a towel around his waist. I felt myself blush. It was all just so intimate.
“They’re calling us into the office over the weekend,” I groaned.
He grinned. “What’s it like to be needed twenty-four seven?”
“We weren’t even supposed to clear conflicts until next week. Now we’re interviewing his chief of staff on Monday morning. Which means I need to read a few thousand emails this weekend to be ready in time.”
“Christmas is canceled.”
I wondered what Christmas in the city would look like if Charlie and I had nowhere to be. Wish fulfillment had worked almost too well. I was living every associate’s high-profile client dream, and all I wanted was to spend the weekend with Charlie.
“What are your plans for New Year’s Eve?” he asked. I felt like he was reading my mind.
“No plans,” I admitted. “I’ll probably be at the office. Elinor didn’t mention anything about having New Year’s Eve off.”
“Well. If you can escape, and I won’t hold you to anything—would you want to go to this horrible house party in Brooklyn with me?”
I laughed. “Who says no to that?”
“It’d be a lot more fun if you were there. We could make fun of all the vegan snacks and mocktails.”
“Your friends are sober?”
“It’s trendy. Just think about it,” he said as he disappeared into the bathroom.
All I could really think about was how quickly I could get to the office.
He reappeared behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Go get ’em,” he whispered.
He put on his glasses, grabbed his backpack, and tilted my chin up. He grazed my lips before leaning in for a slow kiss. I wished neither of us had anywhere to be.
“Hope we get to do New Year’s together,” he whispered.
An hour and a half later, I was the last person to walk into the conference room. On my way in, Elinor had sent an eight-hundred-page PDF that needed to be reviewed and summarized by the end of the day.
I spent the day tagging emails that were relevant to the senator’s chief of staff. At 9 p.m., Charlie sent a picture of the bar from Good Will Hunting, with a beer emoji and the caption Perry’s local watering hole.
I was unexpectedly relieved that Charlie was out of town. It was easier to commit to the pace of work with Charlie in Boston.
By the end of the weekend, I knew everyone in the senator’s inner circle so well I could have written a political soap opera.
The investigation was already a top news story. Andre was booked on five different news shows starting the day after Christmas.
We were going at superhuman speed. Each day, hundreds of new documents and emails came in and needed to be reviewed within twenty-four hours.
Anything pertinent needed to be added to the “Fact Chron,” a timeline of relevant facts that already topped two hundred pages.
If I wasn’t taking notes in a witness interview, I was in the conference room, distilling Elinor’s notes into a cohesive memo, adding information to the Fact Chron, and surviving on saltines, ginger ale, and black coffee. My stomach was in a perpetual knot.