Page 131 of Love Is an Art
I stare at the framedWall Street Journalclipping on my wall and then at the thank-you note from the grandparents.
I leave a message for Zeke on his voice mail that FLAFL offered me the job. One week to decide. And in four days, I’ll hear about the bonus, unless I tell White & Gilman now.
Am I going to actually accept the job?My stomach feels queasy.
My assistant knocks on my doorframe.
I look up.
She comes into my office. “Jack asked if you were free to go to his office. Immediately.”
“A new case?”
“I couldn’t tell. He was very abrupt. Not like him at all.”
A crazy M&A case? That’s one of the few reasons he’d need a litigator.
I take the elevator down to his office. A new case right now is not exactly perfect timing, if I’m going to quit.If.I need to tell Jack if I’m going to quit.
I walk into his office. He swivels around to face me.
His face is stern and unsmiling. “Please close the door behind you.”
This must be a hot mess of a case. I pull back the chair in front of his table.
“Are you leaving us for FLAFL?” he asks.
I drop into the chair. My mouth opens. But nothing comes out.
His eyes are hard. This is the man who negotiates billion-dollar contracts.
“Are you?”
“I haven’t accepted yet,” I manage to get out. “I was only offered the position today.”
His eyes flicker.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.” My whole body flushes with cold. “I just applied. It’s a position that would be perfect for me … one that rarely opens up.” Please understand.I didn’t want to not tell you.
“You plan to accept it?” His voice is still cold. Distant. Not the voice of my mentor.
I nod. I wasn’t absolutely sure a few minutes ago, but I know, deep down, I’m going to accept it. My stomach clenches.
“I can’t support you for the bonus if you’re about to leave.”
I look down at the floor and take a deep breath. My hands feel shaky. “I understand that.”
“I’m also personally disappointed that you didn’t tell me. I’ve been telling my partners that you deserve it—that you’re the type of lawyer we want to keep at this firm, that we want to make partner. And then you would have received the bonus and left.”
I played this wrong. He’s looking down at the desk. His shoulders curve a little down. He’s getting older. For five years, he’s been the guy I’ve gone to whenever I had a question or wanted to discuss a legal point, and he has always taken off his reading glasses and made time for me. I justified not telling him by lying to myself that this was business. But it’s not.
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “I made the wrong choice. I’ve worked hard, and that bonus would pay off my law school debt so I could go debt-free to FLAFL. But you’ve been a tremendous mentor to me. I should have valued our relationship more than the bonus. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you that I was applying. And I guess that makes it worse—that I thought about telling you but didn’t. But I planned to tell you if I accepted the offer.”
His lips compress into a thin line. “Even without the bonus?”
No bonus.All that hard work.AndI’ve hurt Jack.
The shelf above his desk is filled with all the deal toys. A miniature Delta airplane. A crystal triangle. A globe with some movie characters. To the right is a framed newspaper clipping—his first case reported inThe New York TimesandTheWall Street Journal. He was the one who’d inspired me to frame mine.
