It is her office only for now, and still she offers the chair like she is receiving me.
I like that too.
I take the seat across from her desk instead of the chair near the window.
She reaches for her notebook.
“Do you record interviews?” I ask.
“Not unless a client prefers it.”
“I do not.”
“Then I’ll take notes.”
She picks up her pen.
Her fingers are slim, nails neat and short, pale polish that does not draw attention. Practical. Everything about her says practical until I remember how her pulse jumped under my hand yesterday.
She hid that well, but not well enough.
“What would you like to know?” I ask.
Her eyes lift to mine. “That’s a dangerous question to ask an attorney.”
My lips do curve this time.
“I assume you have a list.”
“I do.” She opens her notebook. “I’d like to start broadly. What are your priorities for this engagement?”
“Efficiency.”
“That’s broad.”
“You asked broadly.”
She holds my gaze for a beat.
“Efficiency in what sense?” she asks.
“I do not want to spend six months creating papers no one reads and policies no one follows.”
“That’s not what I do.”
“I know.”
Her pen pauses.
“I researched you.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and I know she caught the phrasing.
Not her firm. I researchedher.
Her pen starts to move again.
“Then you know what I can offer,” she says.
