The young receptionist gives me an odd look as she fusses with her computer while I glance around.
As if time slows—like in the movies—a man walks to the elevator with his back toward me. I can’t see his face, but something about the color of his hair and how it’s tied up in a bun brings thoughts of a tall Viking into my head. Flashbacks of smiles, laughter, and kisses filter through, echoing around in my head as if they’re happening. My legs go weak, and my breath catches. Even though my body still reacts to thoughts of him, my head and heart remember what he did.
The snapping of fingers pulls me out of my daydreaming, and I turn back to the surly receptionist who hands me a lanyard. “Thirty-ninth floor, second door on the right.”
“Thank you,” I call over my shoulder while making a mad rush to the elevators.
Luckily, one arrives as I approach, and I step on, using the back mirror to smooth down my wayward hair. My makeup has stayed intact, highlighting my cheekbones, and the eyeliner enhances my brown eyes, making them look more hazel. I check my teeth for any red lipstick, but thankfully, they're clean.
I brush a hand down my black pencil skirt and white blouse that I decided to put on today. I needed a power outfit, and this one's my favorite. I’d never been able to afford nice clothes, but the second I won my first big case, I went shopping.
It might not be much to some people, but owning my first—and only—set of designer clothes gives me the confidence boost I need to remember why I’m here, even if I am more nervous than I’ve ever been. I’ve worked so hard to reach this moment, and I want the chance to show them who I really am before the doubt creeps in.
The bright lettering of Sampson and Lowell greets me as the elevator doors open, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve made it on time. Another receptionist sits at the desk in front of me, and the trilling of phones and clacking of keyboards create a soothing symphony while I wait for her to acknowledge me.
Finally, she looks up. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she rushes out, pushing back her chair and holding her hand out. “I wasn’t paying attention. My name’s Aimee. How can I help you?”
“Hi, my name’s Blake?—”
“Blake Adams?” she interrupts. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s an absolute honor to have you here with us. I’ve followed you since your court case with Dawson versus Williams. You made quite the wave.”
I stand there, listening to her ramble with a small smile on my face. Aimee hasn’t paused for breath since she started talking. Her hands gesticulate wildly as she speaks. Her blonde hair falls just below hershoulders, and her blue eyes sparkle. Her stick-thin figure is definitely the opposite of mine—I’ve got a few extra lumps and bumps in places I really wish they weren’t. Aimee seems genuinely nice, though. Not one of those mean girls who pretend to be nice but actually aren’t.
“Erm, Aimee?” I ask, shuffling on my feet.
Whoever thought wearing stilettos was a good idea this morning needs to be shot. Oh, wait, that was me. Never mind.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you so much for your kind words, but I’m kinda running late. Is there any chance we can pick this up later? At lunch?” I feel a bit rude, but I really need to make a good impression today.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry, I get a bit carried away sometimes.” She chuckles. “Let me just grab everything we need, and I’ll take you to your office. Frank’s still in a meeting, so we have some time.”
I nod, the tension easing in my shoulders now that I’m no longer late, and I wait while she gathers the items she needs before following after her.
Everything screams money as I glance around the office. Having the entire top floor in one of the most sought-after buildings in the city must cost a fortune, so it's no wonder the interior matches. Beige walls and cream carpets that don’t look like they’ve ever had a pair of shoes walk over them line the entirety of the office floor.
It’s abundantly clear I’m not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, I think as I spot lines in the carpet—freaking lines. In the last office I worked in, the floors were a murky gray that didn’t look entirely sanitary.
I’m surprised at how quiet it is here. Associates and interns hustle away in their booths, and the library’s full of people silently researching their current cases. My internship was in an office full of pompous older men who liked to shout at each other or mumble crude wordsunder their breath. It was the second worst place I have ever been. The first being my aunt’s.
Shaking my head, I concentrate on following Aimee. She leads me through various corridors with offices everywhere you look. Some doors are closed, some open, and they all have plaques of names I’ll never remember adorned on them.
“Stay away from that guy.” She points to a door labeled ‘Gary Merchant.’ “Sleeziest douchebag you’ll ever meet. Makes out like he’s a great guy but bangs anything that moves.”
“Sounds like you had a fun encounter with him,” I reply, my brow arched.
“Luckily, it wasn’t me. It was another girl in the office. She was going through a nasty breakup, and he took advantage of her. Seriously messed with her head.”
“Men are jerks,” I state, knowing all too well the impact a man can have on a woman in her darkest moments.
“This one here”—she points to another door—“stay away from her as well. Emily Mitchell is a shark. She’ll use you and abuse you for her own gain and twist everything to her needs just because she can.”
I nod. Another person to watch out for… great. “Is there anyone here thatcanbe trusted?”
Aimee purses her lips. “Other than me? No. You’re in an office filled with lawyers.” She laughs. “Some are nicer than others, but most… steer clear of.”
“Good to know.”
