Practice Makes Perfect (8 page)

Eight

WHEN PAYTON GOT to Ben’s office, she found J.D., alone, sitting in front of the partner’s desk. He had his back to the door, unaware she stood there. She noticed that his leg bounced anxiously as he waited.

She cleared her throat. J.D. immediately stopped bouncing his leg and watched her take a seat in the chair next to him.

“Ben’s not here yet?” Payton asked coolly.

J.D. shook his head. “Marie said he should be in shortly.”

An awkward silence fell between them.

Payton glanced around the room. She suddenly was very aware of her hands; she tapped them against the arms of her chair, then stopped, then folded them in her lap.

More silence.

And then . . .

Still more silence.

“It’s this job, you know.”

Payton had been gazing out the window. She turned her head to J.D.

“We argue with people—that’s what we do. We strategize against them, we try to get the upper hand. Sometimes, I find it hard to break away from that.” He turned to face Payton and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I was very rude to you at the restaurant. I owe you an apology.”

Caught off guard, Payton said nothing at first. Direct and unwavering, J.D. held her gaze.

He really did have the most amazing blue eyes.

Payton had no idea why she just thought that.

She nodded. “Okay.”

J.D. seemed to have been bracing himself for something far worse. “Okay,” he said, and Payton thought she saw him exhale in relief. Then he smiled. Genuinely.

“So . . . do you know why we’re here?”

“I have a guess,” Payton said.

J.D. leaned forward in his chair, his eyes lit excitedly. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you make partner?”

Payton hesitated, still feeling superstitious. Then she thought—what the hell—why not enjoy the moment? They both knew why they had been called to Ben’s office.

“Sleep,” she said. “For a week.”

J.D. laughed. “And no voice mail.”

“Or email.”

“No BlackBerry.”

“No cell phone.”

“No
laptop
,” J.D. said with a wink, knowing there was no way she could top that.

Payton thought for a moment. “Actually, I think I’ll take a few weeks off. I’d like to travel.”

“Where?” J.D. asked.

“Bora-Bora,” she decided.

“Why Bora-Bora?”

Payton shrugged. “I don’t know. It just sounds like someplace I’d like to go.”

J.D. grinned, and it occurred to Payton that she was babbling on about Bora-Bora when someone like J.D. had probably vacationed in places like that his whole life. Hell, his
servants
probably vacationed in places like that. She must’ve sounded very unworldly to him.

But if he thought that, he didn’t say it.

“Bora-Bora sounds great,” he agreed, easing back in his chair. Then he snuck another glance at her. “You know, Payton, now that this is all over, I was hoping we could put aside our d—”

At that moment, Ben walked into his office.

He sat down at his desk. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” he said. “My lunch ran later than I had expected.”

Ben sat upright in his chair, hands resting firmly on his desk. “So. I have great news. Jasper Conroy called me earlier this morning. He’s chosen our firm to represent Gibson’s. He told me he was very impressed by you both. I knew you two would deliver.” He paused. “Which brings me to some other news.”

Payton held her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw J.D. inch forward in his seat.

“It goes without saying that you’re both aware the firm makes its partnership decisions at the end of this month,” Ben said.

“The Partnership Committee’s policy has always been that no one is supposed to leak early information about its decisions. But, in light of your stellar performance in landing the Gibson’s case—and, in fact, the stellar work you’ve both done throughout your careers here—I think you’ve earned the right to a little advance notice. I know how eagerly you both have awaited this.”

Payton’s heart began to race. Holy shit—this really
was
it.

Ben cleared his throat. “Which is why what I’m about to say is going to come as a surprise.”

Payton blinked. Surprise? That wasn’t the word she wanted to hear right then.

“You both are aware of the EEOC’s age discrimination lawsuit against Gray and Dallas,” Ben said, referring to another of the top law firms in the city. “And as you know, one of the claims in that lawsuit is that the firm chases out older partners in favor of younger ones.”

Ben looked to Payton for help. “You’re an employment lawyer. You know how closely all the other firms in this city have been watching that case. Including us.”

Payton answered him cautiously. “I’m familiar with the case, Ben. What I’m trying to figure out is how it has anything to do with me and J.D.”

Ben chose his next words carefully. “The Partnership Committee has decided that we need to strategically leverage ourselves in order to avoid similar intrusions from the EEOC. We simply can’t afford to have too many partners under the age of forty. Now, we obviously aren’t going to take away the shares of anyone who already is a partner . . . so instead there will be cutbacks in the number of associates made partner this year.”

J.D.’s jaw was set tensely. “You still haven’t answered Payton’s question. What does this have to do with us?”

Ben paused to look at each of them. “We’ve decided to name only one litigation partner this year. Only one of you will make it.”

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

Only
one
of them.

Her or him.

Payton finally spoke. “Is this a joke?”

Ben shook his head. “I’m afraid not. You two are lucky you’re hearing this from me now.” He pointed to himself as if expecting gratitude. “
I
insisted on that. I wanted to give the one of you who won’t make it at least some warning.”

“The decision hasn’t been made yet?” J.D. asked, his tone incredulous.

Ben—the cocky bastard—actually had the audacity to laugh. He held his hands out before him. “What can I say? You’re both just so good. You have no idea how hard this is on us.”

Hard on you?
Payton nearly leapt out of her chair and strangled him.

J.D. appeared no less furious. He stared Ben down coldly. “This is bullshit. Just last week you were practically promising that Payton and I were both locks.”

Ben shrugged this off, far too dismissively in Payton’s mind. After all, this was only her
life
—and J.D.’s—that they were talking about.

“So I embellished a bit . . .” Ben conceded with a self-satisfied grin. “We’re lawyers, that’s what we do.”

“How convenient that you tell us this
after
we land the Gibson’s case,” Payton said. “You used us, Ben.”

Ben held up a finger, point of fact. “Technically, I only used one of you. Because one of you is still going to make partner, and that person will lead the Gibson’s trial team as promised. As for the other of you, well . . .” he trailed off pointedly.

Payton didn’t need Ben to finish. She, like every other lawyer there, knew about the firm’s unwritten “up or out” policy. Associates who did not make partner were quickly transitioned off their cases and given a short grace period to “voluntarily” resign and find another job.

“I know this news probably comes as a shock to you both,” Ben said. “And it is extremely unfortunate that circumstances have caused things to end this way, but that is the Partnership Committee’s decision. I want to emphasize, however, that the choice between the two of you has not yet been made. It’s going to come right down to the wire. So for what it’s worth, I urge each of you to give it all you’ve got for these remaining couple of weeks.”

Payton resisted the urge to laugh bitterly at that. Give it all she’s got? What more could she give? A kidney? Her firstborn?

She glanced at J.D., sitting next to her. He looked over and met her gaze, and Payton could tell from the look in his eyes that they shared the same thought.

Only one of them would make it.

After eight years of practice, they were now truly adversaries.

J.D. MANAGED TO maintain an expression of unconcern the entire walk back.

When he got to his office, he stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and immediately began to pace. He was having trouble thinking straight. He took a seat at his desk, ignoring the blinking message light on his phone.

Merely ten minutes ago while sitting in Ben’s office and joking with Payton, he would’ve put his chances of making partner at about 99.99 percent.

Suddenly, those odds had plummeted. To 50 percent.
At best.

He’d been torn, on the one hand wanting to yell at Ben, wanting to tell him what a chickenshit weasel he was, and on the other hand—cognizant of the fact that the decision had not yet been made and that he had not yet definitively lost out on making partner—he had felt pressed to continue playing along, to continue being the good little associate he was.

But the truth of the matter was, he couldn’t fucking believe this was happening.

Through the glass on his door, J.D. could see Payton hurrying into her office. He watched as, like him, she immediately shut the door behind her. It provided him no consolation that she had obviously been as stunned by Ben’s news as he.

After eight years, it had finally come down to this.

Him versus her.

The buzz of the telephone intercom, his secretary’s call, momentarily startled him.

“Yes, Kathy,” he answered in a clipped, brisk tone. He needed a few moments alone to think.

“Sorry to bother you, J.D.,” came Kathy’s voice through the speakerphone. “Chuck Werner asked that you call him as soon as possible to discuss next week’s deposition schedule.”

J.D. pinched between his eyes. He felt a headache coming on and was not at all in the mood to deal with his opposing counsel. “Thanks, Kathy. I’ll get back to him.”

“And one other thing,” Kathy added quickly, seeming to sense his eagerness to get off the phone. “Your father called and asked me to give you a message. He said you would understand.” She spoke slowly, confused by the message. “He said to tell you that he heard the firm was making an announcement today and wanted to know whether your mother just got her new mink coat.”

J.D. closed his eyes. His headache had suddenly gotten much worse.

PAYTON LEANED AGAINST her office door with her eyes shut. She slowly breathed in and out, trying to steady herself.

She wasn’t in her office five seconds before her phone began to ring. She tried to ignore it.

Then her second line rang.

Payton opened her eyes and headed to her desk. Glancing over at her computer, she saw that she had twenty-five new email messages.

There was a knock at her door. Without hesitation, Irma popped her head into the office.

“Oh, good, I thought you were here—you have Mr. McKane holding on line one, and Eric Riley waiting for you on line two. He wants to talk about the Middleton trial.”

Payton couldn’t breathe. She felt as though the walls were closing in around her. A third call came in, and the ringing of her phone seemed deafening.

She needed to get out.

Now.

She slid past Irma. “Tell everyone I’ll call them back. I . . . have to take care of something. An urgent matter.”

With that, she took off in a hurry toward the elevators.

THE FIFTY-FIFTH FLOOR housed the firm’s law library. With grand cathedral ceilings and sunlit stained-glass windows, the library’s grandeur befitted a different era, a time when—egads—lawyers consulted
books
for information. In the post-Internet days of online research, however, it was rare to find a living soul amongst the library’s elegant two-story mahogany bookshelves—save for Ripley & Davis’s lone librarian, Agnes, who had been with the firm since its inception.

Nearly six years ago, getting lost while looking for the accounting floor, Payton had stumbled upon the law library (it wasn’t even included in the new associate tour anymore) and had been charmed by its quiet calm. It was an oasis of serenity amid the chaos and bustle of the firm’s other floors.

Truthfully, it was also pretty much the only place in the entire building to which an associate could escape without being called, emailed, beeped, sent for, paged, or otherwise hounded by ne’er-do-well partners trying to pawn off emergency TROs at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. Not that Payton—the highly industrious associate she was—had ever personally utilized the library for such nefarious purposes. She could just
surmise
that the library would be great for hiding out, if one so happened to be inclined.

Payton burst into the library, relieved to see that it was empty as always. She hurried past the librarian’s desk en route to her favorite “thinking” spot: the Archives shelves in the far back corner of the library.

“Hello, Agnes,” she said politely as she breezed by.

Agnes turned at the sound of Payton’s voice. Eighty years old if a day, the librarian’s vision wasn’t the greatest. She smiled and waved in the wrong direction, addressing the air.

“Hello, Ms. Kendall!” Agnes called out. “Come to practice another opening statement?” It was the excuse Payton had given her years ago, to explain what she did while hanging out by herself amongst the library stacks.

“I won’t be long today,” Payton said over her shoulder. She just needed a minute or two to collect herself. Ben’s news had come as a shock. All of her anger was bubbling up to the surface and if she didn’t get a moment to herself to calm down, she might explode.

Payton headed to the Archives section, and when she was safely tucked out of sight, she came to a stop. She leaned against the bookshelves and took a deep breath. And another.

Keep it together,
she told herself. It wasn’t the end of the world. Yet. She still had a chance of making partner. She still—

Oh,
hell
. Before she could stop it, tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling. No, no, no, she would
not
do this. Not here, not now.