Page 25 of The Fall

I set my heavy bag down next to the chair the host pulls out for me, thanking him as I sit down. Once he closes the curtain, Harrison sits back down.

“You look great.”

I glance down at my blouse. “Oh, thank you.”

He’s wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a light-blue tie. He probably didn’t have a chance to go home and change after work.

He takes a bottle of wine from an ice bucket in the center of the table, about to pour some into my glass when I put my palm over the rim.

“I can’t, but thanks.”

He furrows his brow, looking disappointed. “I think you’ll love this wine. Just give it a try.”

I don’t want to offend him. Retaining the Sundrift account has been my biggest accomplishment since starting my job. I relent.

“Okay, I’ll have a small glass.”

I’ll just sip it very, very slowly. Alcohol and contract drafting are not a good mix. It’s enough that I already worked all day and now I’m working away the evening; I don’t want to be here until the place closes.

I can’t show signs of impatience, though. It’s usually the firm’s attorneys who wine and dine clients, and I’ve seen Kathy in action a few times. She’s always completely engaged with the client, never distracted, and always starts off with personal talk, never going straight to business.

“So how are things?” I ask. “Is your family good?”

“My daughter is loving Stanford, thanks for asking. Now that I’m divorced, she’s the sum total of my family.”

“Stanford, wow. Good for her. What’s she studying?”

“Engineering. And she plays lacrosse.”

I’ve never seen a lacrosse game in my life. Or do they have matches? I’m a Southside Chicago girl and I know zero things about lacrosse. It’s these conversations with the firm’s wealthy clients that make me feel like a giant fraud, playing at understanding their world of luxury.

“That’s amazing.” I try to come up with more small talk, but I’ve got nothing.

“And what about you?” he asks.

“Oh, you know. Just the usual. Work and my kids, my kids and work.”

“You have two kids, right? High school age?”

I laugh. “I have nine-year-old twin boys.”

“Oh.” A flicker of something passes over his face, but it’s gone quickly. “They must keep you busy.”

“Always.”

We both speak at the same time, each of us stopping after a few words.

“Go ahead,” he says, smiling.

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you had a chance to look over the questions I sent in my email yesterday.”

“I did, and I’ve got answers for you.” He runs a hand through his short salt-and-pepper hair. “But, uh...before we do that...I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for a while now.”

I gape at him, shocked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. You’re beautiful and you have a contagious laugh. But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I thought I’d ease into it with this working dinner.”

I’m supposed to say something here, but I’m staring at him like a deer facing oncoming headlights. What should I say?

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