After we place our orders with the frazzled waitress, David rolls up his sleeves and rests his forearms on the table. “So, is it everything you thought it was going to be when we were in law school?”
I don’t have to ask him what it is. Lots of lawyers toss this question around. In fact, I think he and I have had this conversation before. “Not at all. You?”
“Nope. Better.”
Good for you.
Our waitress deposits our plates on the table. Ravenous, I pull mine closer and snag my sandwich.
“Are you still happy being solo?” he asks.
I pause mid-chew and set my sandwich on the plate. “It’s hectic, but I prefer it.”
“Really?” His tone drips with disbelief and condescension. “Have you been able to hire an assistant yet?”
I grit my teeth, embarrassed by the answer. “No, it’s not easy to find someone. I’m picky about how I like things done.” And I can’t afford it. Picky doesn’t sound as pathetic, so I leave it at that.
He chews slowly and takes a sip of water. “Your overhead must be killing you.”
I shrug. Marcel keeps offering to take care of the bills but I refuse to have my husband-to-be finance my law practice. “I do okay.”
“Your office is so tiny. And cave-like.” He shudders as if he needs to emphasize my office is beneath him.
“It suits me.”
“Look,” he says, a note of exasperation coloring his words, “my firm is looking to hire someone.”
I pause, holding my sandwich in the air and raise an eyebrow.
“And I thought of you,” he finishes.
I scoff, then realize he’s serious. I set my sandwich down again and wipe the laughter off my face. “So I can represent rich assholes like your client? Hard pass.”
He chuckles and swipes his napkin over his mouth. “No, the senior partners are looking for someone to do pro bono work. You’d be able to represent all the poor schmucks your little bleeding heart desires. All while having support staff, supplies, and overhead taken care of. No worries. Just concentrate on your beloved riffraff.”
God, working at a firm full of smug assholes like David sounds like my worst nightmare. I’ve never fit in with those kinds of lawyers. But the rest of it sounds like a dream come true. “Why me?”
“Uh, you’re a good lawyer.” He raises his eyebrows like he can’t believe he has to explain this. “And I want to look good to the partners so I can get a nice, fat bonus this year.”
“I’m guessing I wouldn’t be eligible for a bonus?”
He snorts. “I have no idea. You can discuss that with the hiring partner. The salary alone will be more than you’re making now. Without the stress of running your own practice all by yourself.”
It’s tempting. I’m probably an idiot for not jumping at the opportunity. “Let me think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?”
“I want to talk it over with my fiancé, for one thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, that makes sense.” I can’t tell if he’s agreeing or mocking me. “We have a generous parental leave policy, you know. If that’s something you’re thinking about.” He holds up his hand. “As a friend, I’m sharing information.”
At a firm like that, I probably wouldn’t be able to come and go as I please like I do now. No long breakfasts with Marcel on the mornings I don’t have to be in court. No skipping out early on Friday afternoons to hang with the girls before a clubhouse party either.
“Would I still be allowed to accept assignments from the county?” I ask.
“Sure. You’d probably be more likely to be assigned cases because the judge knows you’ve got the benefit of a firm behind you.”
It would be nice to have more resources available so I could focus on my clients.