#2
I had booked my favorite conference room, the one I used for all of my closings, meetings, and late-night work sessions, the one that afforded the best view of Manhattan, including all of Central Park.
I could even make out the top of my apartment building if I looked hard enough.
Sometimes, alone, poring over agreements and financial statements in the wee hours of the morning, I would stand against the windows, press the full length of my body up against the glass, and look down.
The cool hardness on my forehead and the dizzying vertical effect left me breathless and exhilarated.
Justin had placed a legal pad with PARSONS VALENTINE still, I’d gone straight into my office right after Valerie’s seminar, closed the door, and scribbled down as much of her advice as I could remember.
“So you’re Ingrid Yung,” repeated the cowboy Santa, looking me up and down with a mildly bemused expression. His voice somehow exuded both gruffness and warmth. “I’m Ted Lassiter.” He shook my hand, then gestured toward his companion. “This is our general counsel, Mark Traynor.”
The quarterback’s handshake was pleasantly warm. “Nice to meet you, Ingrid,” he said. He smelled lightly of a good aftershave.
Justin had reappeared by my side, and I gestured toward him.
“This is Justin Keating, one of our Corporate paralegals, who’ll be helping out with the acquisition,” I said.
Justin quickly stepped in front of me. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, with a toothpaste-commercial smile, and shook hands with both men.
“Keating, eh?” said Lassiter. “Where’d you go to school, son?”
“Colby, sir,” said Justin, grinning from ear to ear.
“Fine school,” said Lassiter. “Fiiine school. My son almost went there himself. Finally got off the wait list at Dartmouth, though.”
I suppressed a small smile. It amused me how certain men were able to turn every conversation into a pissing match.
This was especially true when it came to billable hours.
At Parsons Valentine, it was a twisted form of bragging right to say you’d spent all night in the office.
It was an even better badge of honor to miss a scheduled vacation due to work.
The firm paid out thousands of dollars each year to reimburse its attorneys for missed flights and lost deposits on hotels, spas, and rented villas.
One guy up for partner in Litigation had recently upped the ante for all of us by skipping the birth of his first child in order to take a deposition.
There was a swift knock at the door, and Marty Adler, without waiting for an answer, strode in.
You always knew when and where Adler was in the room.
Though short in stature, he had an unmistakably commanding presence.
Some associates—especially the ones Adler routinely passed over when staffing his deals—called it his Napoleonic complex.
I thought of it as genuine leadership quality.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Adler said. Ted Lassiter shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder familiarly. “I’m Marty Adler. Good to see you here. I believe you’ve already met Ingrid Yung, my associate?”
“We have, and I’ve gotta ask you one question,” said Lassiter in a mock-stern voice.
“What the hell kind of show are you running here? You promised to put your best associate on this deal and then you trot out this little lady who can’t be a day older than eighteen! ” Lassiter gave a short, barking laugh.
Okay, now this guy was testing my patience. I pressed my lips together.
Adler shot me a warning look that said, Don’t worry. I’ve got this.
“Listen, Ted, I told you we put together our A-team for this deal. Ingrid’s one of the best associates this firm has ever had, and she’s been running the show on some of our biggest transactions for a while now. Personally, I wouldn’t trust your deal to anyone else.”
“Of course!” Lassiter chortled. “I’m just pulling your leg, Marty. Relax.”
Adler threw an appraising glance in my direction, with a lift of the eyebrows. Are we good?
I gave him a nod and half-shrug. We’re fine. Let’s get on with this. In fact, even though my heart was pounding and I kind of hated Lassiter already, I felt genuinely touched by what Adler had said, defending me so passionately to the client.
Mark Traynor cleared his throat. “Why don’t we get started? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
“Yes.” Adler nodded at Traynor. “Yes, that’s an excellent idea. Gentlemen?” He gestured toward the conference table.
Lassiter pulled out the leather swivel chair closest to him, which was at the head of the table. Traynor quickly settled into a chair to Lassiter’s right, and Adler sat directly across from Traynor, angling his chair so that he could face both of the clients at the same time.
I drew up my shoulders, took a deep, calming breath, and squeezed into a chair to Adler’s left, leaving me off to the side.
Avoiding eye contact, I reached across to the supply tray closest to me and pretended to give careful consideration to the selection of ballpoint pens as I struggled to regain my emotional bearings.
Justin hesitated a moment, then took a seat at my left elbow.
At this Adler looked annoyed, but it only registered on his face for a moment.
Paralegals were expected to sit in one of the chairs lining the perimeter of the room during client conferences, for ease of getting out if something needed to be fetched, faxed, or copied.
No career paralegal would have made this kind of gaffe.
Typical, though, for Justin to assume he should have a literal place at the table.
Ted Lassiter didn’t seem to notice. He tented his fingers and rested his elbows on the dark gleaming wood of the conference table.
“Now, let me preface this meeting by saying that this deal is still highly confidential.”
Adler cleared his throat. “That goes without saying, Ted.”
Lassiter nodded approvingly. “There’s already been some media speculation, of course, and our PR office keeps fending off calls, but no one’s gotten anything specific. We only shook hands with Binney on this about a week ago. We don’t even have a preliminary deal sheet yet.”
“But the purchase price is settled at nine ninety in cash and stock?” asked Adler.
“That’s right. And we’re anxious to seal this deal. That’s bargain-basement pricing.”