“All right,” he says. “The conference organizers want practical takeaways for new litigators. I sent you the list of their suggested talking points. What are your thoughts?”
I’ve read the list. It’s the same generic checklist new attorneys hear all the time: the importance of work-life balance, ethics issues, using technology for efficient legal practice.
“Honestly?” I say, crossing my legs. “It’s pretty lifeless. And not even remotely useful to someone who’s about to be thrown into their first trial. None of us actually know what we’re doing, and we’re all terrified we’re gonna do something wrong and get a bar complaint.”
“I remember that feeling,” he says with a soft chuckle. “It starts as soon as you’re barred and doesn’t stop until you feel like you know how to practice law.”
“Exactly. So teach us.”
“I can’t teach everyone how to practice law in thirty minutes.”
“No, you can’t. But you can give us the basics. A foundation to build on. Give the new attorneys enough information so we can leave the conference feeling a little more confident than we did before.”
He takes a moment, considering my words.
“Okay. What are you thinking?” he asks.
“I’m thinking most of these new attorneys probably don’t know discovery timelines, or the kinds of questions to ask indepositions, or what the hell a motion in limine even is. So let’s start with those.”
He grabs a pen and begins writing a new outline, nodding as I list off the practical skills that actually matter.
By the end, he’s smiling like he’s proud of what we’ve put together.
“Anything else?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.
I think about it.
“Don’t get drunk at networking events,” I say, deadpan, and James actually laughs, a real laugh. It’s a sharp, rich sound and it warms me more than it should.
I find myself laughing with him and the feeling is something foreign.
“Noted,” he says.
“If we’re done for today, I’m gonna head out. I’ve got some shopping to do for this conference,” I say, standing to leave his office. “Don’t worry. Everything will be business casual,” I add with an eyeroll.
He looks me up and down slowly.
“I’d be willing to make an exception to see you in a pair of cut-off jeans and cowboy boots.”
I laugh, surprised by the line, my cheeks warming as I run my tongue over my teeth.
“Noted,” I say playfully.
I gather my things and move toward the door, glancing back at him in time to catch his gaze lifting from my legs. For a beat, he lets it stay there, unbothered by my catching him, and then he looks away, the faintest smirk on his face.
I walk out of his office with a smirk of my own, grab my phone and shoot a text to Mina.
Attorney conference in Nashville in two weeks. Down for a mini shopping spree?
Mina
You know I never say no to shopping, babe!
She’s waiting outside my building in her mid-size SUV, music blasting something foul-mouthed and bass-heavy. She rolls down her window and turns down her music before yelling, “Get in, loser. We’re going shopping!”
With how often Mina and I quote Mean Girls, you’d think we were getting paid for it.
I laugh and slide into the passenger seat.
