Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (7 page)

Libby nodded slightly at the loss, which had been delivered with a wicked twinkle by Dan Howard, an Assistant US Attorney. She’d met him a few times when Uncle Jack invited her to his office. Such visits—usually on days Jack argued before the Court of Appeals—were rare and distinctly unsubtle efforts to get Libby to go into public interest law. Chatting with Dan, even for a couple of minutes, made a change from all that concentrated Blackjack McIntyre energy.

Libby wanted to glare at Dan. So much for the kindly man who’d whisked her into his office and let her play with the executive toys on his desk. Dan smirked as though he was enjoying her moot court defeat far too much. She mock-scowled at him, causing him to chuckle.

“Where did you get the case law for that last argument?” Libby turned to ask Meghan, who was packing her notes and cases into a battered backpack. “I thought I’d read every single applicable case.”

“It’s actually a quote from a letter James Madison wrote in 1832—I just had to find the obscure Supreme Court case that used it.”

“Using original source material,” Libby said. “That’s dirty pool.”

Meghan grinned at her. “Wikipedia.”

Libby just laughed.

“Great job,” Dan said as he walked over to shake hands. “It was a tough decision. Both your briefs were excellent.”

“And nepotism did me no good,” Libby teased him. She waved a hand and introduced him to Meghan. “Dan’s waiting for my uncle to run for public office so he can become the US Attorney.”

Dan and Meghan began an animated conversation that didn’t quite include Libby. Dan always seemed happy to talk about the law. This time, something in his gaze suggested he was particularly happy to talk to Meghan. In a man-woman way. Which was odd because Meghan clearly didn’t give off that sort of vibe to anyone in their class, and Dan didn’t seem to be the type to chat up women. Libby wandered out to the hallway, sure neither of them would notice her leaving.

At the reception following the oral arguments, Libby got a paper cup of whatever the punch was. She sipped. Vaguely fruity. Nobody could accuse the law school of wasting money on their catering budget.

Meghan joined her after a few minutes, and they speculated on who would make the final moot court teams. When their male colleagues on Law Review suggested heading out to a bar for a celebratory drink, Libby passed.

“I need some air. Want to go for a run?” Libby asked Meghan.

“Sure.”

Meghan was waiting for her on the sidewalk outside the law school. What a relief to be out of panty hose and into sweats and running shoes. They stretched in silence.

“I found a route through Woodlands,” Libby said. “That okay with you?”

Meghan nodded.

When they reached the stone gates to the cemetery, they started running a slow steady pace around the circular drives and roadways. Libby got into a rhythm and felt her muscles responding to the effort.

“Did you know that Campbell, of Campbell Soups, is buried in Section C?” Meghan said.

Libby laughed. “No. It never occurred to me that any of these people were famous.” She ran on for a bit. “Or that there even was a Campbell of Campbell Soups. I guess someone had to think of cutting up all those teeny carrot cubes.”

They ran past The Woodlands house, with its stunning facade. Libby never failed to marvel at this architectural gem nestled in a cemetery, tucked away behind a law school. Most people drove past and never even knew the place existed.

“Did you decide where to work this summer?” she called to Meghan over the sound of the traffic on University Avenue.

“Fergusson and Leith. How about you?”

“Myer and Hogg.”

They ran in silence, then Meghan closed the distance between them. “Libby, have you heard the rumors about Myer?” she asked, the syllables landing in rhythm with her pounding feet.

Libby thought Meghan might be making a lame joke. A lot of people referred to the firm as “Admire a Hog.” She looked over. Meghan’s face was serious. “No. What gossip?”

“I work in the Placement Office, part time. Someone came in last week. One of Myer’s first year associates. He wanted help in case he needs to look for another job. I gather people are speculating that Myer is in financial trouble.”

Suddenly, Libby’s heart was pounding from fear, not exercise. Meghan had to be wrong. One disgruntled first year associate was nothing, just gossip. No reason to panic.

After a few days of crazy shit at the Cork, Libby couldn’t stop her anxiety. Not this too. Not her M and H job. She slowed to a walk. Meghan dropped back to walk with her.

“What gossip? How credible is it?” Libby asked, fighting her panic.

Meghan turned her palms up. “Who knows? After WolfBlock dissolved a few years ago, everyone’s been skittish about the financial health of local law firms. It sounds like M and H people are already looking around.”

Libby stopped walking. She put her hands on her knees and bent over, concentrating on her breathing. A metallic taste coated her tongue and her skin went clammy. Nausea and panic warred for control of her body. How could this be? The firm was famous—Gretchen Myer had argued over a dozen times before the Supreme Court. It took a tiny number of summer associates and had the pick of top-ten law school grads. Libby’d been thrilled when she got the offer—it was her dream job, her future. She loved the firm’s iconoclastic low-rise style, with its offices in a mansion on 19th Street near the museums. She was so sure she’d be happy there.

Meghan put a hand on Libby’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” But Libby wasn’t sure.

“Look, call them. Talk to the person you interviewed with. The lawyers who hired you might be able to make a deal with their new firms, bring along a talented prospect like you.”

Libby just shook her head. If they’d wanted her, they’d have gotten in touch already.

She stood upright and blinked against the tears. “Thanks. I’ll call my dad and see what he says.”

“He’s a lawyer?”

Libby nodded. They started walking again, and then running slowly.

“Where does your dad work?” Meghan asked.

“Bradford Wayne. Tax law. He was a partner here, a decade ago. When I was fourteen, my mom got a job with a museum in Boston, so he’s in their Boston office now. He’s still got friends here, so he has to have heard something if Myer’s in trouble.”

“Maybe he can get you a job at Bradford for the summer?”

Libby ran for a while, trying to think how to explain why that prospect repulsed her. Her reservations sounded so elitist. Even worse, they were the truth. “That’s the problem. He
would
get me a summer job at Bradford. And everyone would think that his pulling strings was the only way I could get a job there.”

“Not after you told them you’d had an offer at Myer. Jobs at Myer are like hen’s teeth,” Meghan said.

Libby looked over. Meghan was the ace student of their year…or at least everyone assumed she was. Some students in their section had worked out the distribution of As, Bs, and Cs in their first-year courses. Only a few students had gotten all As, and Meghan was thought to be the best of that lot.

“Did you apply to work at Myer?” Libby asked.

Meghan didn’t blink. “Yes.”

“So you got an offer…?” Libby said.

Meghan’s face didn’t change. This woman had an unshakable calm. “Yes.”

It was a shot in the dark, but Libby had to say it. “I bet they only asked me when you turned them down.”

“Meaning I was smart enough to see that Myer was going under and that’s the reason I turned down their offer? I actually just liked Fergusson better.”

Libby felt her cheeks flush. “I still feel like an idiot taking a job you knew to pass on.”

Meghan laughed at Libby. “Yup. It’s all a big conspiracy to ensure you don’t have a job this summer. Hey, stuff happens for a reason. You just need to figure out what that reason is.”

Suddenly Libby could hear Lissa’s voice in her head.
“Then you should go on The Fishbowl. It would be a hoot.”

Not even funny. Libby grimaced and went on running.

When she got home that evening, she found a letter on thick Myer stationery.
Dear Ms. Pembroke
…
We regret to inform you that Myer & Hogg is formally rescinding your offer
…
the firm is dissolving the Limited Liability Partnership
…
The partnership regrets the economic necessity
…
We feel certain a candidate of your caliber will have no trouble finding an alternative summer associate position
…

Right. In some fantasy legal market not already glutted with candidates, maybe. Libby crushed the letter in her fist.

She called her dad, who only confirmed what Libby now knew, that the firm had announced its own demise effective May first.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “Do you want me to call the Philly office and get you a job at Bradford?”

Libby panicked at the idea. “No, Dad, that won’t be necessary. I—” She heard Lissa’s voice again.
“It would be a hoot.”

Libby took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I may have an alternate job for the summer after all.”

Then she called Lissa, who didn’t seem surprised about Myer.

“Yeah, I saw that,” Lissa said.

Libby blinked twice. “Then why didn’t you warn me?”

“You mean you don’t subscribe to the automatic updates for PhillyLawLife.com?” Lissa teased.

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Libby admitted.

The silence had that annoying know-it-all quality that Lissa adopted from time to time.

“Okay, so you’re totally dialed-in and I’m a clueless idiot,” Libby admitted. “Since you’re so smart, what do I do now?”

“You go on
The Fishbowl
, of course.”

“I can’t. I should try to get a law job for the summer,” Libby said.

“It’s nearly April. It’s a crappy economy and you’ll be competing against associates laid off from places like Admire a Hog. Why put yourself through that when you can make a nice bit of money on
The Fishbowl
?”

“Because I need to show I got a job for the summer?”

“Where? To whom?”

Libby rolled her eyes. “On my résumé. Duh.”

“Oh, that. Can’t you go through recruiting again as a third year? If you show them the letter from the pig firm, everyone will know you’re good enough to go anywhere, but not when your job dumps you. Plus, your grades are too good not to get something.”

Libby chewed her lip. It wasn’t the way she wanted to do it, but it made sense. And it beat bartending for the summer, although at least that was a paycheck…

“I can’t gamble on winning the money,” Libby said. “I’m not cutthroat enough. How am I going to pay the rent?”

“Who said anything about winning the million dollars? You make money just being on the show.”

“They pay the contestants?” Libby asked. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s not exactly advertised, but yeah, they don’t want you to get evicted for non-payment of rent, so you get some money every week you’re on the show or in the Holding Tank.”

Money. That would be a relief, not to have to take some minimum-wage job for the summer. When she got fished out, she’d come home and work at the Cork.

“I dunno. I’ll have to think about it,” Libby said.

“You told Dad you might do it,” Lissa said slyly.

“How the hell do you know that? I only got off the phone with him.”

“He just texted me, wanting to know what this summer job is that you have lined up.”

“Crap. He never could keep a secret.” Libby rubbed her forehead. “Well, don’t tell him anything. I have to figure out how this would work.”

Lissa laughed. “I’ve got it all figured out. You’re going to say you got work in L.A. at a firm he doesn’t know. I’ll be you for the summer, which’ll be easy as you’ll be unavailable because you’re working too hard.”

“I have to think about it,” Libby said slowly.

“Okay.”

Crap. Libby knew that tone. It was Lissa’s “I know I’ve won so I can afford to be generous” voice.

“I said I’ll think about it,” Libby insisted. She didn’t like being managed by her sister. Yeah, right, like that ever stopped anything.

“And I said okay.” There was a little laugh, then Lissa hung up.

Crap. She was actually going to do this, wasn’t she? How did her life get so complicated in just three days?

“So, show me the tapes,” Debbie whispered.

Rand looked up from his laptop. He glanced around the room, then up at the clock. Wow. Later than he’d realized.

“Everyone’s gone. Show me. I want to see,” Debbie urged.

Rand let her tug him into a small conference room with a big screen at one end. He cued up Susie, the cute Texan with the secret career as a dentist ahead of her.

“Wow, the accent really scrapes away the IQ points, doesn’t it?”

Rand shrugged. “Actually, that’s my editing more than anything. She talked about how hard her Animal Physiology class was and she sounded plenty smart then.”

Next was Jim, the entrepreneur who was rattling around his home bored with nothing to do. Rand had excised all talk of the IT firm Jim had sold, leaving just his remarks about being out of work.

“You make him sound nearly homeless,” Debbie said. “That is so cool.”

“Not too much? You think the Monster will worry he’s two steps away from eviction and not want him?”

“Nah—that’s desperation. She loves desperation. Also, I happen to know he looks a bit like a guy she dated a few years ago. She’ll want him, don’t worry. What about the Sophisticate?”

Rand cued up Kai’s tape. She looked cool and elegant, with high cheekbones and long dark hair. All she talked about was how she wanted to be on the show because her family needed the money.

“I removed the bit where she explains that her ‘family’ is the entire Navajo nation,” Rand said modestly.

“I guessed. Marcy will take her solely on the basis of her looks. Okay, let’s see this bartender, then.”

Rand was so proud of even getting this footage. Lissa had dragged her feet until suddenly he got a call and she said she’d do it. He’d arranged for a conference link with her at the network affiliate in Philadelphia and him in L.A.