Was it up to me, I wondered, to remember the name of the deal I was supposed to be on? Would Jordan take care of it? Should I ask him if he needed me to do anything?
The waiter placed the check down, and I watched out of the side of my eye as Jordan left a 30 percent tip and signed his name, adding an “esq” after. I groaned inwardly at his need to tell the waitstaff he was an attorney. I was unable to imagine a universe in which my father would sign “M.D.” to a bill, but decided to dismiss it.
As soon as we were back in our lobby and had said our goodbyes, I waited with Nancy, pretending not to notice her discomfort.
“I can’t believe I started eating before everybody got their food,” she said, widening her eyes as though it would create more surface area for her imminent tears to evaporate.
“Oh my god, Nancy! Don’t be silly. Jordan was just kidding.”
“I know, but that was so stupid. I’ve been practicing and everything.” She threw herself through the elevator doors as soon as they opened, and I followed.
“Practicing . . . lunch?” I asked. She nodded, and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile. “You were great!”
“Ugh. M&A is such a boys’ club,” she whispered, even though we were alone in the elevator.
I shrugged. “I like boys.” I’d always gotten along with men better than women, but I knew adding that would do me no favors.
“Well, it’s tough to get in the club. I hear they only take one woman a year at most,” she added.
That couldn’t be an actual rule, could it? I wondered if Carmen had already been staffed on an M&A deal, though. What if there really was room for only one of us?
“That can’t be true.”
Nancy sighed. “They can’t afford women. Women get pregnant and go on maternity leave, and the group is too busy to absorb all the work of another partner when they do. Or at least, that’s what people say.”
* * *
That evening I ordered dinner delivered to the office so I could pore over a stack of land surveys. I probably would have been home in time to eat with Sam if lunch hadn’t lasted so long, but it had felt like necessary networking, and I was glad I’d gone. As I munched on a spicy tuna roll, trying to keep my eyes open and not spill soy sauce on the large map on my desk, an email pinged into my in-box.
From: Courtney Cantwell
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: Assignment
Alex,
Matt Jaskel and Jordan Sellar have requested you on the Stag River merger. Please be in touch with Jordan for details. Peter Dunn has also put in a work request for you—more to come on that in the next week or so. Congratulations!
Best,
Courtney
Congratulations. I smiled as I read the word, feeling that I had been invited to an elite party.
I had just finished reading the email when the metallic ding signaled another new email, this one from Jordan to the entire Stag River team regarding the diligence review timeline and cc’ing all thirteen people who would work on the deal, me included.
Just as I was wondering if and how I should be starting on diligence tonight, I heard another ding.
From: Jordan Sellar
To: Alexandra Vogel
Cc: Matt Jaskel
Subject: We’re just keeping you in the loop . . .
So you can get up to speed, we’ll start cc’ing you on everything. Nothing to do yet. We’ll get access to the online data room any day now, and I’ll walk you through what to do.
I stared at my screen, feeling both exhilarated that I was significant enough to be on an email with one of the most important partners at the firm and guilty for reneging on my agreement with Sam to avoid M&A. I picked up my phone and dialed.
He answered after one ring. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey!” My voice was a decibel higher than it should have been. “Worst news.”
“You were asked to work on an M&A matter?” Sam snorted sarcastically. I was silent. “You’re working on an M&A matter?”
“Yeah. Sometimes they just need a warm body, and I had time in my calendar. Shouldn’t be too bad, but I’ll be here late tonight.”
“Yeah. Totally. The deal has to end sometime. Won’t be forever,” Sam said, his tone aiming for supportive but approaching annoyed. “Who knows, maybe you’ll like it.” His words rang lightly in my ears but weighed heavily in my mind.
“Maybe.”
After we hung up, I sat alone in my office, avoiding the clock and trying not to think about the sleep I’d miss while learning just enough to keep from making a fool of myself tomorrow. All the while, replaying Sam’s words in my mind. The tension in his tone made them sound like a warning, or maybe a threat. Maybe you’ll like it.
Chapter 5
Sam’s alarm went off at seven o’clock for his run, and I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head. I had left the office at three in the morning after finishing the property review and reading all the emails that Jordan and Matt had cc’ed me on, which only stopped rolling in around two, and looking up every single legal term I didn’t know (about 80 percent of them).
I thought about going back to sleep, but my eyelids wouldn’t settle in the morning light, and my anxious eagerness got me out of bed. I stumbled into the kitchen and rested my elbows on the cool granite countertop as I waited for my coffee to brew. The final grunt of the steam filtering through the grounds forced me upright. I poured myself a cup and made my way to the refrigerator without blinking to grab milk. I shut my eyes, inhaled, and sipped, allowing the sleep to slough off my shoulders.
“You shouldn’t drink that.” Sam was standing in front of me, grabbing his foot behind his backside to stretch his quad. I just stared at him.
“It’s full of hormones,” he said, switching feet. “I just saw this insane documentary on Netflix yesterday. I swear I might go vegan.”
I wish I had time to watch Netflix documentaries, I thought, but to avoid a possible fight and a definite blow to Sam’s ego, I bit my tongue.
“I’m pretty sure coffee is vegan,” I said flatly.
“I mean the milk. It comes from these cows that are pumped full of—”
“Sam!” I cut him off, holding my palm up to stop him. He laughed with a conciliatory nod and continued to stretch. I turned my attention to my work phone, and blinked as I registered the one hundred and thirty-seven new emails in my in-box, spitting a mouthful of coffee onto the wood floor.
He jumped back to avoid the splatter. “Al! My god, so dramatic. I just meant try to cut it out of your diet! Have a good day,” he shouted over his shoulder.
I was too busy panicking to respond. “Shit. Shit shit shit.” I ran into the bedroom and threw on work clothes. Skipping a shower, I jogged to the subway in my heels, then tried and failed to apply eyeliner on the crowded subway car. I scrolled frantically through the messages, not knowing how to prioritize them, and they just kept rolling in. I raced to my office, shut the door, fumbled with the digital directory, and dialed Jordan’s extension.
“Morning,” he said. I paused, surprised by his lack of urgency.
“Sorry. I mean . . . sorry,” I stammered. “I was sleeping.”
Silence.
“As one does . . .” He trailed off as though wondering where I would be taking the conversation. There was a click as he put the phone on speaker, as if to indicate that my call wasn’t worth his full attention. I could hear him typing in the background.