I can hear the fear in her voice. She’s afraid for me. No one gets invited into Mr. Mason’s office unless they’re being fired. I was hoping this announcement would be a public one, so I could watch the emotions change on Jeremy’s face. I know. I’m petty.
“Okay, thank you, Mary.”
She nods and rushes out the door, closing it behind her.
Now that the room is empty and I’m alone, I take a few minutes to get myself prepared. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling a sense of calm settle over me as I do so. I close my eyes and repeat the process. I can feel my heart slow to a steady rate as my breathing evens out. My eyes pop open and I begin straightening my gray slacks and matching blazer. I turn to face the mirror, fluffing my blonde hair that’s curled to perfection. My green eyes are wide with fear, but sparkling with excitement. Lastly, I pull out my tube of MAC lipstick and apply a fresh layer. I want to make sure I look my best when I accept my new position.
As I’m walking out the door, a feeling of doom settles over me. What if I’m not getting a promotion? What if I’m actually getting fired? I shake my head and roll my eyes at myself. No way am I getting fired. I’ve always met and exceeded the goals and expectations set for me by the company. I’ve never lost a case for the firm.
I come to a stop at the elevator and push the button, waiting for the car to return. I look around and find Jeremy standing behind the window in his office. His dark eyes are trained on me and he’s scowling. Maybe he’s heard the same rumor about my promotion. That would definitely cause him to look at me with annoyance and disgust.
The elevator dings and the doors open, giving me little to no time to think about Jeremy and his dirty looks. Instead, I step in and hit the button for the top floor. Riding up, my hands begin to shake and my heart rate spikes again. The calm, quiet moment from my office has worn off. As the elevator comes to a stop, I’m hit with nausea. I’ve been so excited about the possible promotion that I didn’t stop to think about what this could mean. Moving east. Surrounding myself with nothing but dirt, manure, and mountain ranges. No more mid-morning shopping at Gucci. Bye-bye 10 different coffee shops. I feel like I’ll be trading in my Louis Vuittons and fancy dinners for boots and mud wrestling competitions.
The doors in front of me open, leaving me frozen in fear as I lock eyes with the administrative assistant sitting in wait. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears. I can literally hear the blood rushing my body. I can feel my hair growing and my scalp tingling as each passing second ticks away as a reminder of how long I’ve been standing here. This poor woman probably thinks I’m having a stroke. I hear her clear her throat, but even that doesn’t break me free from this fierce panic attack. The elevator dings and the doors begin to close with me still inside.
Finally, I react. I hold my hand out, causing the doors to open as I force myself to step out. As I walk toward her desk, she watches me like someone would look at a flight-risk bride on the day of her wedding. I tell myself that just because I’m being offered this position doesn’t mean I have to take it. I can turn it down. I tell myself to just go in there and see what Mr. Mason has to say. This finally settles my nerves enough that I can speak when I come to a stop at her desk.
“My assistant told me that Mr. Mason was asking for me,” I manage to stutter out.
“Ms. Teller, I presume?” she replies with a lift of one arched eyebrow.
I nod and swallow down the excess saliva in my mouth. “Yes.”
“Please have a seat and I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.” She motions toward a line of chairs pushed against the wall. I turn and have a seat as I hear her talking softly behind me. When I sit and am facing her again, I see her hang up the phone as her eyes lock on mine.
“You know, he really isn’t as scary as most people believe,” she says, trying to reassure me.
I offer a weak smile. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
She peers over the glasses sliding halfway down her nose. “Only a little.”
I want to ask for some tips, but the office door opens and Mr. Mason comes into view. “Thank you, Stella. Ms. Teller?” He motions me toward his office.
I stand and quickly walk across the floor. His cologne washes over me as I step past him. It’s thick and heavy and soothing in a weird way.
He closes the door behind us. “Please, have a seat.” He moves around me to take his place behind his desk. His dark hair is combed back perfectly, and his blue eyes are shining bright. He’s wearing a slight smile, making me a little more certain that I’m not being fired. I mean, what kind of psycho smiles when they’re about to fire someone?
“I’m sorry we’re only just now getting around to having a sit-down meeting, Ms. Teller. I usually like to have monthly one-on-ones with our top lawyers long before this, but I’ve been extremely busy these last few months.”
I smile politely. “No worries, Mr. Mason. I completely understand.” I surprise myself with how even and controlled my voice sounds. I’m usually not a nervous person, but today, everything feels off.
“Let’s get straight to the point, yes?” he asks, clasping his hands together on top of his desk.
I nod and cross my legs as I lean forward slightly. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting for whatever news he’s going to break that could potentially change my life forever.
“I’m sure you’ve heard talk about our Colorado firm.”
“I’ve heard a little, but nothing at the same time,” I say, not wanting to reveal what I’ve heard about the rumor floating around the office.
“Well, John Burns, our top lawyer in Colorado, is retiring, and we’re needing to fill that spot. This branch of the firm has plenty of clients—ranging from your typical small business owner to your everyday, run-of-the-mill nobody. But by far, our top client there is the Slade family. They own the second-largest brewery in North America, with yearly profits in the hundreds of millions. We want you to run it and take over their account. Of course they have their own internal counsel but we need you to handle some concerns they have locally—a neutral party so to speak.”
My mouth drops open, finally hearing these words from him. “I . . . I don’t understand. Run it? Like the entire account? Why me?”
He sits back in his leather chair. “You’re a top lawyer here, and you out-bill and outperform your peers by a mile. You’re young and have fresh ideas. You’re beautiful—the perfect type to get the attention of Drake Slade. You’ve proved yourself time and time again. From looking at your credentials, I have no doubt you’ll be able to complete this job to our satisfaction.”
“Thank you. That means everything coming from you. But I’m curious—is this a permanent relocation situation? I mean, sure, I’ll get to manage a branch of the firm and one of the largest clients, but then what? I’ll take on this client for how long?”
“We’re thinking a year,” he replies.
“Okay, so I’ll manage this account for a year, and uproot my life by moving. And then when the year is up, I’ll just come back here and do what I’m doing now? Is this a promotion? I don’t mean to speak out of turn here, but you should know I have my mind set on partner at this Los Angeles branch.” I have no idea where I’ve gotten the courage to speak my mind like this, especially to Mr. Mason himself, but it’s true. Why should I move for a year only to come back to the same old thing?