Chapter Thirty-Seven The Offer
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Offer
Dean
“We need to talk.”
Four words that have never meant anything good in the history of practicing law.
Tom Feldstein doesn’t do office visits. He summons. You go. You genuflect. You leave with either a promotion or a pink slip.
I follow him to the conference room—the one with a view that costs more per square foot than most people’s salaries. He’s got that look—the one that made him legendary in hostile takeovers.
“Sit.”
I sit.
“You’ve been here eight years.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve made us a lot of money.”
“That’s the goal.”
He stares at me over his reading glasses, a look that probably makes grown attorneys cry. “The partners have been discussing your future.”
Here it comes. The thing I’ve been working toward since I graduated law school. The brass ring. The validation that all those hundred-hour work weeks meant something.
“We want to make you partner.”
The words land like a verdict I’m not sure I wanted.
“Oh.”
His eyebrow twitches. “‘Oh?’ That’s your response to partnership?”
“I mean—thank you. It’s an honor. I’m just—”
“Surprised?”
Conflicted. Panicked. Thinking about a woman who’s currently planning to move in with me.
“Processing,” I say instead.
“Take your time.” He leans back and studies me. “Though I should mention, we need an answer within the month. The announcement—”
“Actually.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “I need to take some time off.”
Both eyebrows now. “Time off.”
“Two weeks. Maybe three.”
“You haven’t taken time off in—”
“Four years. I know.”
“May I ask why now?”
Deep breath. “I need to drive to California to help my girlfriend move.” It’s the wrong word, “girlfriend,” but it’s all I’ve got for now.
The silence stretches. His face goes through several unreadable expressions.
“Your girlfriend,” he repeats slowly, as if I just said, “my unicorn.”
“Yes.”
“You have a girlfriend.”
“I do.”
“Since when?”
Since I flew to Italy and blew up my carefully constructed life. Since a wedding planner with a chaotic goat showed me what I was missing.
“Recently,” I settle on.
“And she’s moving here. For you.”
“With me. Yes.”
He removes his glasses and cleans them. It’s his thinking gesture. “Dean, can I be frank?”
“Always.”
“When we discussed partnership two years ago, you weren’t ready. Brilliant lawyer, yes. But you were…” He searches for words. “Rigid. Isolated. One of those partners who burns out at fifty and dies at his desk.”
“Flattering.”
“I’m not done.” He puts his glasses back on. “Something’s different now. You seem… what’s the word?”
“Unhinged?”
“Human.” His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “The firm’s evolving, Dean. We need partners who understand work-life balance—who bring more than just billable hours.”
“And you think I—”
“I think a man who takes three weeks off to help his girlfriend move across the country might be just the kind of partner we need.”
I stare at him. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. Take your time. Drive to California. Help your…” He pauses. “What does she do?”
“Wedding planner.”
“Of course she is.” Now he’s definitely smiling. “Bring her back, then give us your answer.”
“That’s… not what I expected.”
“Leadership isn’t about grinding yourself into dust, Dean. It’s about knowing what matters.” He stands. Meeting over. “Three weeks. Full pay. Don’t check email.”
“I don’t know how to not check email.”
“Learn.”
He’s at the door when I find my voice. “Tom?”
“Yes?”
“What if I say no? To the partnership?”
He turns and studies me again. “Then you say no. And we figure out what you actually want. Either way, take the time. She must be something special if she’s got you volunteering for a cross-country move.”
Special. That’s one word for the force of nature currently disrupting my calm existence.
“Yeah,” I say. “She really is.”