“Yes. No problem in change of control,” she confirmed. I furrowed my brow, wondering why she wasn’t mentioning the recapture rights I had found in the leases and bolded and underlined in two separate emails I’d sent.
“Good,” said the associate, who’d introduced himself as Jordan Sellar. He then paused as though he was making a note. Should I assume that Lara didn’t think the recapture rights were an issue? Or should I just play it safe and . . .
“Oh, um, hi,” I said. “Sorry. This is Alex. I don’t know if this is relevant, but two of the properties have recapture rights for the landlord. And they actually stipulate that the right remains with a change of control. Sorry. I don’t know if that’s relevant.” I winced as I heard myself repeat the apology.
There was silence on the other end of the line. I cursed myself for thinking I could say anything remotely intelligent aloud in my third week of work.
“Who was that?” Jordan’s voice came through the speaker again.
“Oh, sorry. Alex Vogel. I’m a first-year—”
“That is relevant. We’ll need to get that waived, Lara. Or worst case, we can structure around it.” He sounded unruffled, and I allowed myself to appreciate a small victory in adding value to the call.
“Of course, Jordan. I’ve already begun the process. Was just getting to that. Will keep you posted,” Lara responded quickly. I looked up to see her glowering at me. Should I not have said that? Or waited until Jordan was off the phone to tell her?
When the call ended, Lara took a prolonged inhale. “Alex, when you disagree with somebody here at Klasko, you should do so only within the team.”
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I thought Jordan was on our team.” Should I remind her that I did flag the issue for her? Twice? “It won’t happen again.”
She nodded slowly. “Can you please resend me the information on the properties that have those clauses? I need to make some calls.” She had already turned away from me and back to her computer. Apparently I was dismissed.
I walked back to my office, cringing as I replayed the encounter in my mind.
Anna looked up at me from above the top of her cubicle wall as I came in. “One moment, please. I have Jordan Sellar for you. Would you like to take it or return?”
My breaths grew shallow, but delaying the pain wasn’t going to help. “I’ll take it.” I walked briskly into my office and closed my door, steeling myself for a takedown.
“Hey, Alex. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself. I’m not sure if you’re at all interested in M&A, but I’m getting lunch with another first-year associate next Tuesday to talk about our group. Care to join?”
“Sure!” I was so relieved not to be in trouble that I answered even before checking my calendar. As soon as we hung up, I went to the firm’s internal Facebook and pulled up Jordan’s profile to see the tanned, attractive, dapper young man I’d spotted in the conference room and at the bar on my first day. Jordan Sellar. All-star M&A associate.
* * *
The nervous blond girl whose name I could never remember sat next to me, in the same white cardigan and black skirt she’d had on last week. I might have broken the dress code, I thought uncharitably, but at least I change my clothes. There was an awkward silence as we scanned the restaurant, willing our food to come. Our waiter approached the table, carrying only two plates. As soon as he placed her Caesar salad in front of her, she picked up her fork and stabbed a crouton, plopping it into her mouth. Jordan watched her carefully, his lips tight but his expression otherwise blank as his steak sat untouched before him.
I had asked around before our lunch, and it seemed that everybody at the firm knew who Jordan Sellar was. My guess was that this was due in equal parts to his attractiveness and his legal talents. He wasn’t just handsome compared to Klasko’s pallid pool of lawyers—he was unarguably handsome, J.Crew-model handsome, good-genes handsome, with broad shoulders and thick black hair he wore just long enough to tuck behind his ears. And he was known to be one of the most promising associates at the firm, one who exuded calm and control in a setting where others seemed to always be panicking into phone receivers and scrambling into their next meetings. And for some reason, even though I hadn’t yet listed M&A as an area of interest, he had asked me to lunch.
Jordan flipped his blue tie over his right shoulder, looking for a brief moment as though he were hanging from a noose, adjusted the large face of his Rolex, rotated his bull and bear cuff links, and cracked his neck. He seemed to be making a production of waiting for me to be served before diving into his steak, and the blonde finally noticed, looking up from her plate and her eyes growing wide at the sight of his untouched meal. She placed her fork down and blushed, covering her mouth as she finished chewing.
“So sorry, I didn’t realize that Alex didn’t have her food!” Her voice sounded painfully saccharine.
The scarlet hue rising from her neck to her cheeks aroused my sympathy. “Oh gosh. Please! Eat,” I insisted.
“You wouldn’t want your salad to get cold,” Jordan said with a wink, though he seemed only half kidding.
Mercifully the waiter arrived just then with my salmon, and Jordan picked up his steak knife and fork.
“So, Jordan, did you always know you wanted to be an M&A lawyer?” the blonde asked.
“Since I was in diapers,” he said dryly, his mouth partially full of T-bone.
I snorted and covered my mouth. He swallowed and grinned, revealing a row of Chiclet-white teeth. I glanced at his left hand, just to confirm there was a wedding ring on it, to assure myself that he wouldn’t take my laughing at his jokes as flirting. The girl whose name I couldn’t remember looked as though she was about to cry, though, and I felt bad. For the first time in my entire life, I was grateful that I had grown up an only child, constantly taken to restaurants with cloth napkins and waiters in bow ties where I was bored out of my mind by adult conversation. My parents had unintentionally taught me to navigate work lunches.
“Come on! Valid question!” I said to Jordan, trying to deflect. “Did you want to be in M&A when you started at Klasko?”
“Look,” he said, pointing from her to me with his fork and leaning forward to put his elbows on the table, “this is one of the best law firms in the world. But the truth is, all of our revenue comes out of two practices. M&A and capital markets. Every other group is here for support. Litigation and bankruptcy just exist for diversification, you know?” I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. “They all work for us. But we’re supposed to pretend we’re all equal, just to be PC.”
I cocked my head to the side as I thought about my real estate assignment for Lara, and the perks of being in a “support group,” as she had explained them to me, while my fellow associate busied herself with nodding enthusiastically.
“I mean, we can’t say it out loud, but they compensate us accordingly,” Jordan continued. “Senior partners in M&A make five to six million a year. Real estate makes one. Tops. Nobody chooses to do anything other than M&A around here.”
What about people who want a work/life balance?
“What about people who want a work/life balance?” the blonde asked.