Page 8 of The Interns

She pasted on a happy face and decided to take her shot. “Things are going well. I heard about the public arts case you’re taking on.”

“Ah yes.” He turned away from the bar and gave her his undivided attention “Big case. Should be an interesting challenge.”

“It would be such an honor to have the chance to work on that case. I’m not sure if you know this, but I’ve had a passion for the arts,” she dropped her hand to line up with the hem of her suit jacket, “since I was this high. My mom is a professor of literature, so I was always reading. And we would go to the High Museum of Art for all of the new exhibits when I was in high school. That’s what drew me to intellectual property law, the intersection between the arts and—”

“I didn’t know your mother was a professor. Where does she teach?”

His further interest in her personal life caught her off guard. “Um, Georgia State University.”

He nodded with delight. “Great school. I guest lecture for the Patent Law course whenever time allows. Now that you mentioned your mom’s work, I have to know: is your namesake a prominent poet?”

“Yes, sir. My mom wrote her dissertation on some of Maya Angelou’s early works.”

“Well, I can certainly appreciate your interest in the arts. It’s in your blood, clearly.” He paused for a moment. “I’m not sure if Reed shared this with you yet, but I’ve already assigned you a case and I really need you two to take the lead since the arts case is going to take up the rest of the firm’s resources.”

“Yes, I had a chance to review it this morning and it seems like a straightforward criminal case, a week’s worth of work at the most.”

His brow furrowed with either genuine confusion or amusement. She couldn’t tell, but she found both unsettling.

“Is that your assessment?”

She took a small, uneasy breath. “Yes, that’s my impression from the information we were given.”

He nodded slowly as he studied her for a moment. She stood her ground, shoulders squared and chest proud as she waited for a response which came in the form of a lopsided grin and quiet chuckle.

“Fair enough.”

Shit. She was going to spend her summer representing a small-time criminal with Officer Pretty-Boy. She was seriously questioning her decision to place her trust and future in Mr. King’s hands because it felt like he wasn’t looking out for her interests at all. This all seemed tailor-made for Reed. Her shoulders grew heavy, wanting to slump in defeat, but she refused to let them.

“All I ask is that you take ownership of this case and give it your utmost care and attention. If that only demands a week’s worth of your time, then rest assured I will find room on the arts case for you.”

The corners of her lips lifted into a genuine smile. Finally, a glimmer of hope. She could work with that. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

“Please. Call me Al,” he insisted.

Her face pinched as the sound of flutes filled her head and reminded her of one of the many old songs her dad used to blast in the car on road trips. “Like the song?”

Al’s face lit up. “Yes. Love me some Paul Simon. Who says your generation has no sense of music history? Maya when you call me, you can call me Al,” he sang loud enough that everyone within earshot was now looking at them.

There was an awkward pause as she stood there not knowing what to say. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she fought the urge to let out the nervous laugh she was holding back. Al, not surprisingly, had a lovely singing voice so that wasn’t the problem. It was just the sheer spectacle of it all. He kind of reminded her of her dad with his deep voice, salt and pepper beard, and shared love for dad rock.

He tilted his head to the side and gave her a small grin. “Maya, are you enjoying yourself?”

She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. It wasn’t quite the lie it would have been ten minutes ago, but it still wasn’t the whole truth.

“Good. Did you try the Bordeaux?” He turned toward the bar again and raised his hand to flag the bartender over before she could even answer. “Two please,” he said, pointing at the bottle behind the bar.

“No. Since we’re going back to work, I didn’t think—” She stopped herself when he began to chuckle again.

“I threw this party for you and Reed,” he explained. “So let me let you in on a little secret: we always send the associates home after lunch. In fact, I always end up letting the entire office go home early. What’s a few hours of celebration for people who work so hard all year long?” He smiled and handed her one of the glasses the bartender had just set down in front of them. “And I know I said it yesterday, but I’ll say it again. We’re happy to have you here, and you have my word that you will be challenged plenty this summer.”

“Thank you, Al,” she said quietly. She believed him because she felt plenty challenged already, but not in the way she expected to be. Hopefully that would change.

He took his glass and saluted her, then walked back into the private room to mingle with the rest of his staff.

She turned and rested her forearms on the bar, sighing as she finally allowed her weary head and shoulders to drop. She felt giddy and nauseous at the same time thanks to the roller coaster of emotions she’d experienced over the past twenty-four hours. She looked at the glass of wine in her hand and swirled the crimson liquid. Might as well she thought before bringing it to her lips.

“You’re drinking?”

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