Big Law (23 page)

“Right,” he nodded, looking amused. “Kinda like how someone just gets used to constant physical pain.”

“Something like that.” I smiled and took another swig of my drink, trying to think of something to say to change the topic, but I
couldn’t think of anything. It’s not like I had any free time to engage in any other activities or even read a newspaper. The result was that I’d become an incredibly boring person with nothing to talk about except my job, which not even I wanted to hear any more about. “Sorry, I haven’t always been this boring.” I gave a nervous laugh. “There was a time when I read books for pleasure, kept up to date on politics and current events, listened to music …” I had to stop myself from recollecting everything I had relinquished for this job. I really was developing serious disclosure issues.
Shut up, Mackenzie!
I urged myself.
You’re going to bore this poor guy to tears with your gloominess
.
And you’re descending into TMI territory again. Next thing, you’ll be telling him how Tandoori chicken from Bombay Palace gives you the runs. Just stop speaking!
“But enough about that.” I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s like exhaustion and uncontrollable over-sharing go hand in hand with me. Your turn—anything totally unbecoming or overly personal you want to share with me?” I joked, hoping to keep the mood light.

“Personal? Let’s see …” He shifted in his seat. “Well, does the fact that I shower daily count?”

“No, no, that’s getting off waaay too easy. You need to say something cringe-worthy. Here, I’ll start you off—I told you about my job, so what is it that YOU do?” I was relieved to be moving the conversation away from myself.

He leaned back in his chair. “I have an idea. Let’s not talk about our current jobs. I’ll tell you about the BEST job I’ve ever had.” He gave me a wry look and paused for effect. “Dogwalker.”

I laughed in surprise, nearly spitting out the gulp of beer I had just taken.

“Seriously! It was the perfect job. I was in college and new to the city and it combined two things I love. Dogs,” he said, planting his elbow on the table and lifting his index finger, “and exploring the city.” He lifted a second finger and I noticed his fingernails looked perfectly manicured. Or what is it they call it? Handshake maintenance? His fingernails were perfectly … maintained. “I’d take a different route every day,” he continued, “and I got to know streets I would never have thought to walk down. I learned so much about
the city doing that.” He paused, looking reflective. “Did you know that the only wooden townhouses left in the entire city are on 92
^nd
Street in the Upper East Side?”

“I did not know that,” I answered.

“It’s true, just a few blocks away from where the Marx brothers lived. Their house is still there too. Just a little bit of trivia for you.” He gave a confident, charming smile. “And I’ve got many, many more pieces of useless New York City trivia too. Thanks to my favorite job. Okay, now you.” He leaned in. “Let’s hear about your favorite job.”

“Hmmm …” I paused. I was considering how much I wanted to reveal to someone I’d really just met. For some reason it felt easier to talk about F&D than other things in my life—like my job wasn’t personal; it wasn’t really
me
.
But, then again
,
this guy has already witnessed me drooling in my sleep
, I reasoned. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Okay,” I said. “Like you, it was my job in college—I worked at a bakery close to campus called ‘Sweet Muffin.’” I leaned back in my seat, getting comfortable. “I loved it from the start—the smell of freshly baked cookies when you opened the door, the cupcakes frosted in pastel pink, the happy customers coming in for their morning indulgence. The atmosphere was always festive. It’s just impossible to be unhappy in a bakery, you know?” I couldn’t help smiling at the memory. My mind flashed to sitting on a couch with Kim during our Bachelor nights, listening to her rave about my latest creation and insisting I add it to the menu at Sweet Muffin. She was always my biggest cheerleader, even when all there was to cheer about was my homemade Heath Bar crunch cookies. “That association always stayed with me. When I was stressed in law school, the process of baking just soothed me. You take ordinary ingredients—eggs, flour, sugar, milk, and voilà—something delicious. The satisfaction of pulling a pan out of the oven and knowing if you put the right ingredients in, it comes out delicious every time. There’s something in the science of it, I guess …” I trailed off, remembering how good it used to feel arriving at Sweet Muffin for my shift. “Okay, here’s one for you—did you know the busiest day of the year at a bakery is Christmas Eve?”

He gave an appreciative full-wattage grin. “I did not know that,” he exclaimed in mock amazement.

“Just a little bit of bakery trivia for you.”

The next hour flew by as we flowed from one topic to the next. We talked about everything
but
our careers. I learned he was the youngest of three children, raised by a single mother, and the most difficult part about not having a father in his life was not having someone to show him how to put on his equipment in his first year of football.

I talked about my parents and how I used to be embarrassed when they would hold hands in public, how I realize now how lucky I am to come from such love, and how I enjoy living in New York but miss my family every day. We talked about favorite places we’d traveled to, books we loved, and TV shows we recorded. The conversation was just … effortless.

Lawrence was one of those rare people who listened with his full attention, making me feel like everything I said was interesting. And he was absolutely hilarious—he made me laugh in a way I hadn’t for a long time. The type of laughter that makes you grip your stomach and leaves your cheeks actually hurting. I felt buzzed in a way that I knew had nothing to do with the alcohol. I let the world of abusive partners, inhumane hours, and bitchy mentors slip away. For the first time in years, my mind was remarkably, delightfully void of any thoughts of F&D and it felt fantastic.

Lawrence’s cell phone rang just as he was starting in on a story about the time his two older sisters used him as a makeup model. His face turned serious as he peered down at the caller ID. “Sorry, I have to take this,” he said, standing.

“Oh … yeah … you probably should get to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing tonight.” I tried to mask the disappointment in my voice. I’d been having such a good time I’d forgotten that we didn’t actually plan this—I’d basically hijacked his evening. “And I should probably get going, too,” I added, not wanting to sound like I had nothing else to do tonight. Which I didn’t, now that I was apparently being ditched by Alex.

“This,” he pointed at the table, “is what I want to be doing tonight.” He smiled and held my eyes long enough to make it clear that some
thing was happening in this bar. “Why don’t you order us another round and I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay, sure.” I nodded, feeling a surge of happiness.

“Hello?” I heard him bellow into his cell phone as he made his way through the crowd.

I reached into my purse to fish out my BlackBerry. I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten about it this long. I saw the red light blinking and felt a wave of relief that it was just an email from Alex. He said he needed to take a rain check—Russ’s one hour “project” was going to take him most of the night. I smiled and returned my BlackBerry to my purse. For once, I was thankful for Russ’s random, needless projects.

Lawrence and I were on our third round when I finally told him about the Sarah and Jason saga. I hadn’t planned on it, but there was something about Lawrence that just made me relax and open up. I felt unedited with him. Two months ago I wouldn’t have been able to tell the story without my eyes welling up. Tonight, I felt like I was telling a story from years ago that I’d long since put behind me.

“Wow—that’s just messed up. I mean, sex in the office? On the
desk
?”

I nodded, realizing just how ridiculous the situation had been. “Total cliché, isn’t it?”

“Does that even
happen
in real life? I mean it’s so … Mad Men.”

“Except instead of a voluptuous redhead with a cigarette, it’s a neurotic, semi-anorexic woman with OCD.”

We laughed, and how I felt in this moment was easily the happiest I’d felt in a long time. Lost in conversation, we ended up closing down the bar.

Lawrence suggested hitting a nearby diner for a late dessert, but my exhaustion was starting to catch up with me. I didn’t want the night to end, but I was feeling like if I put my head down on the table, there was a good chance I wouldn’t wake up for days. And falling into a sleep coma was probably not a good thing to do considering I’d already fallen asleep on this guy once. As much as I wanted to keep the night going and get to know him better, I knew I had to take a rain check.

“Understandable—rain check it is.”

He insisted on at least putting me in a cab, which I gladly accepted. After years of leaving work at odd hours, I was no longer anxious being alone on the sidewalks at late hours, but it was chivalry I appreciated. He put his hand on the small of my back as we exited the bar into the chilly night air. We stood on the corner outside of the Pig ’n’ Whistle, each waiting for the other to speak. He broke the silence first.

“I really would like to see you again. Any chance you’ll be sprung from prison Friday night?”

My insides did a giddy happy dance.
Be cool, Mackenzie
. “Friday
should
work …” I answered, wondering what lay ahead of me now that the Highlander deal had closed. “Work dependent, of course,” I added lamely.

I longed to be type of girl that could just say, “Sure, Friday works for me,” and not worry that some thoughtless partner was going to screw it up. Would Lawrence understand the unpredictable hours that I had to work?

“Wait a sec,” I said, realizing I didn’t know what kind of hours
he
worked. “You never did tell me what you do.”

“Guess you’re just going to have to go out with me again to find out.” He grinned, reaching out his hand. “Now let me see that ball and chain of yours for a minute.” I reached into my purse, pulled out my BlackBerry, and handed it to him. He punched at the keys with his thumbs. “I’m emailing myself so I’ll have your email.”

A cab with a lit-up medallion number came barreling down Third Avenue and Lawrence stuck out his hand to hail it. “Your chariot,” he said, turning back towards me. Confidently, he pulled me towards him and, looking straight in my eyes, leaned in for a kiss. A delicious jolt of pleasure coursed through me and I felt like my body might actually levitate. His kiss was soft and sweet with the perfect amount of passion. Amazing. The best kiss I’d ever had.

He opened the taxi door for me and gallantly gestured for me to slide in. He handed me back my BlackBerry. “I’ll email you, since I know you have that thing attached to your hip.” He grinned and closed the door.

I gave a quick wave from my seat as he stood on the corner. “Ninety-first and Third, please,” I instructed the driver. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Had that night really just happened? I looked down at my blinking BlackBerry and giggled when I opened the email:
Stop checking your BlackBerry and get some sleep! Lawrence

Still smiling, I leaned back in the seat and gazed out the window. Despite the late hour, the city looked alive.

I was beaming as I stood in the salad line at Toasties on Tuesday afternoon, pecking out an email to Lawrence. We’d been emailing each other all morning and I was dying to see him again. My whole body felt light, airy, and for the first time in months, well rested. Last night after I’d met Lawrence, I went home and fell into the kind of sleep that is so revitalizing you’re sure you’ve added years to your life, erasing the bags under my eyes and giving me the kind of energy that made me feel like I could sprint around the Central Park Reservoir. I hit send on my flirty email before firing off a quick email to Kim.

I think I was actually humming as I replayed my evening with Lawrence. I’d never clicked with someone so fast. And the kiss. It was such an incredible kiss …

“Ma’am? What kinda lettuce you want, ma’am?” An impatient voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Oh.” I snapped back to reality. “Mixed greens, please.” I moved down the line as the server tossed a handful of lettuce into the large bowl. “Chicken, carrots, croutons, onions.”

I scanned the crowded deli for an empty seat. Nothing. I grabbed a plastic-wrapped sour dough roll from a basket at the register and the clerk threw it in the paper bag along with the salad and a fork.
“$10.42,” he grumbled and pushed the bag across the counter. The ten dollar salad—only in New York. I paid for the over-priced veggies, did one last check for an open seat and, seeing none, headed out the door.

The sun was shining as I made my way back towards the office. I briefly considered having lunch outside, but the Death Star was smack dab in the middle of an outdoor space dead zone, and my Derek Lam A-line skirt made perching difficult, so I quickly dismissed the idea. I pulled my BlackBerry out of my pocket as I entered the revolving doors, anxious to see if Lawrence had replied. But what I saw in my inbox was the exact opposite of an email from Lawrence.