Page 11 of Play the Game
“Fucking what?” Her eyebrows slam together, her face settling into a mutinous expression.
I must have a death wish or something because I keep talking. “Austin. You deserve to be in the deposition prep with theclient. It was wrong of him to cut you out. You could have told him that.”
Evan lets out a harsh laugh. “Could I have? Really, Cooper? You want me to tell the king of the Women Don’t Belong in Law Club that Ideserveto prepare our biggest client for a deposition that could win or lose a litigation that’s going to make this firm fifty million dollars over the next six months?”
I shrug. “You do deserve it. It’s not fair of him to cut you out.”
Evan makes a strangled sound of frustration. “Of course I deserve it. It’s definitely not fair, and yet, this is how it is. This is how it always is. I have undergraduate degrees in clinical pharmacology and molecular biology. I graduated summa cum laude from Yale Law School. And I’ve been a BigLaw intellectual property law associate for almost seven years. I am well acquainted with the concept of clawing my way to the top while less qualified men stroll in there like it’s a walk in the fucking park. I don’t need you to remind me about the concept of fairness.”
My usual response to one of Evan’s tirades is to shoot back, but for some reason, now that I know what she sounds like when she comes, what she looks like with joy on her face and pink fuzzy slippers on her feet, our little feud has lost some of its luster. My brain is too addled to try and figure out what that means, so instead I try something new and go for friendly.
“I just want you to know that I see how hard you work. It should be you instead of me.”
Evan narrows her eyes at me, fire shooting from her gaze. “Fuck off, Cooper.”
Scooping up her stuff, she sails out of the conference room, hips swinging and blonde hair flying.
I lean back in my chair and blow out a heavy breath because I screwed that one right up, and I can’t figure why that suddenly bothers me so much.
CHAPTER THREE
EVAN
I’m putting the finishing touches on a motion to compel when my phone dings. Tugging it out, I groan right out loud when I see the text from my mom.
Mom
Evangeline, please let me know if we should save you a seat in the box for your brother’s game next week. Your dad wants to invite the Russels, but if you’ll be coming, we won’t have enough seats.
Sucking air through my teeth, I pray for calm as I type my response.
Me
I can’t make it. I have to work.
I can make it. I was planning on it. I just don’t want to sit in thefucking box.
Mom
Honey, Chris is pitching in the World Series. Surely you can get away from work for a few hours to come and watch him play.
Me
Unfortunately, I can’t. I’m in the middle of the biggest litigation of my career, Mom. It’s important.
I regret the message as soon as I send it, knowing what her response is going to be, and knowing that, even more than the boring as shit motion I just finished, it’s going to set the tone for my entire day. And Kathy Rhodes does not disappoint.
Mom
It can’t possibly be more important than the World Series.
Bingo.
My work is never as important as my brother’s talent and his professional athletic aspirations. It’s a tale as old as I’ve been alive. I should be used to it by now. I should be used to a lot of things when it comes to my family.
Kicking off my heels under my desk, I chug the last sips of my cold latte and pop another Jolly Rancher in my mouth, letting the cherry flavor soothe me. I’m a thirty-year-old woman who really shouldn’t still be seeking out my parents’ approval.
And yet.
