Page 92 of Two to Tango

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell her. “Rough morning.” I point to my obvious coffee stain.

“What’s going on with the Lorenzo case?” She cuts me off.

“I’m working on it. Why?”

“Are you?” The question is accusatory. One quick jab to make sure I’m listening. “I have to say, you were always one of my most dedicated employees. I never had to worry about you, but these past couple of months have been concerning. Leaving early, not focused, no urgency in responding to any of my emails. You are not the associate you used to be.”

Everything suddenly feels like quicksand. I’m sinking down, my life slipping out of my grasp, and I don’t know how to pull myself out of it.

“Barbara, I can assure you I am dedicated to this job.” My voice might be shaking.

She slams the file down on her desk and it makes me jump. “There's a request for production here. Did you see that? Did you realize there are thousands of documents to review and the deadline istomorrow?”

I might be breaking out into a sweat-induced panic.Howdid I miss that?

“This Lorenzo case is an absolute disaster and not at all the work of somebody who is dedicated to this job. Or to being here.”

I flinch at her words. A lump is forming in my throat. I've never been on the receiving end of her anger like this. I stay uncomfortably silent, a quiet so loud, it's only rivaled by her icy stare.

“Thisis the kind of work you put into this firm?Thisis what you have to show for it? This isshameful,” she spits out. “So, if you want to still be here come tomorrow, I suggest you figure it out andfix it.”

Fuck.Fuck!

This cannot be happening. The voice in my head starts screaming louder about how I should be focused on work. I could lose my job. I shouldn’t be out so late on weekends. I shouldn’t be sleeping in and pushing cases aside. I should be responsible.

I should be fucking grateful.

“It won’t happen again,” I tell Barbara, with as much conviction as I can muster.

I’m abruptly dismissed, and walk out of her office on shaky legs, straight to the employee bathroom where I let the tears run.

Once I’ve collected myself enough to make it back to my office, I call out, “Larissa, come to my office please.”

“Of course.” She stands quickly, with a worried look on her face, following me.

Once we’re in my office, I shut the door and let it out.

“I fucked up. Like, royally. And I know that I’m an asshole for asking you to help me fix my mistakes. I shouldn’t be asking for any of this, but I need you to help me figure this out.”

“What do you need?” Larissa asks with no judgement.

“The Lorenzo case,” I say. “There's a request for production. And the deadline is tomorrow.” I run my hand down my face, frustrated.

“Okay.” She nods, writing notes down on a legal pad quickly.

“We have to review so many documents,” I say apologetically, pacing in front of my desk. “Thousands.”

“Okay,” she repeats, wide-eyed. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” I answer shakily, taking a deep breath.

If she notices my red rimmed eyes and sniffly nose, she doesn’t say anything. She just puts her head down and we get to work.

Larissa and I spend the rest of Thursday working on everything, and then I take the weekend to work some more from morning until night. I tell Logan I’m too busy, I silence my phone, I lock my door.

Now I’m at dinner, practically falling asleep at this table, ready to head to bed.

“Tired?” Cecilia asks.

---