Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Everyone clapped.
“Hunter Razaul.”
More claps.
“Malik Hayes.”
Claps and a few cheers. Malik was one of the two I thought should’ve gotten partnership last year. He deserved it.
“David Takashi.”
A quieter round of claps. David could be a real dick sometimes.
“Christian Wendell.”
Oh God. He’d named five of the six new partners and still hadn’t named Ken Bauman, the other attorney I thought should’ve been granted partnership last year. I suddenly felt sick and started to scratch at my chest.
“And last, but not least, congratulations to Sierra Wells.”
My jaw dropped open. You’ve got to be kidding me! I could see losing to Ken—don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have been happy about it—but Sierra? Sierra freaking Wells? Why the hell would they ever pick that woman over me?
I stood in shock as a murmur grew around the room and people formed a line to congratulate the newest partners. I seriously couldn’t believe it. I’d billed eight hundred hours more than she had last year, first-chaired double the number of cases she had, and was granted the Root-Stimson Outstanding Community Service Award by the New York State Bar Association. I didn’t have an ounce more left to give.
After some amount of time—I had no clue how much had passed while I stood there rooted in the same spot—people eventually started filing out of the room. I heard footsteps and murmured congratulations, people talking about going to the cocktail hour that always followed the announcements, but I still couldn’t move. I kept replaying Rich Moore saying the name Sierra Wells over and over, like a record skipping in my mind. Attorneys had to walk around me to get to the door while I stared across the room at the partners. My vision was a bit hazy, almost as if I was seeing everything from underwater—at least until a flash of blond hair snapped my vision back into focus. Everything sharpened as Sierra Wells walked over to Harry Kasoff. She leaned in and gave him a hug, kicking up one of her legs Marilyn Monroe style.
That’s when I saw it.
The So Kate black patent-leather pumps with shiny red bottoms.
Chapter 2
Allegra
UGH. WAS I in some sort of an accident?
The next morning, I attempted to lift my head from the pillow, but the pounding in my skull wouldn’t let me raise it more than an inch. My eyes burned, and my tongue felt thick and useless. I managed to roll over onto my back but winced when light shining through the blinds stabbed at my face. Grabbing the pillow next to me, I yanked it over my head.
What the hell did I drink last night? The throb inside my brain worsened as I tried to recall. I hadn’t wanted to go to the partner reception—that much I remembered. But Cassie had made me. “One drink to show face and we’ll ditch,” she’d said. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.
The entire night was fuzzy. I remembered the feeling in my chest when they’d announced the name Sierra Wells instead of mine. Even now, who knows how many hours later, it felt like my rib cage was being crushed when I thought about it. I remembered standing at the bar at Ophelia and ordering a dirty martini. I remembered Malik coming over to try to cheer me up. He’d said he was more shocked when my name wasn’t called than he’d been when his hadn’t been called last year. I remembered doing a consolation shot with Ken Bauman, who was a year ahead of me and hadn’t made partner again. And then a shot with Cassie. And then my dirty martini glass was empty. The three bleu cheese olives on that second one were the only thing I’d eaten all day. I’m sure that didn’t help the situation.
Things got a lot more fuzzy after that second cocktail. I think I might’ve had a drink with Tom Walker and Evelyn Parsons. They, too, had expressed how shocked they were that my name hadn’t been called. And I remembered Rich Moore coming over to talk to me. He’d basically given me some crap about it being the most competitive year ever, and told me what a valued employee I was. At least I’d managed to bite my tongue.
I kept trying to recall what happened after that, but all I could gather was bits and pieces, flashes of random moments from the evening. Inside the ladies’ room, Cassie’s shirt stuck in her pants zipper, a really loud, obnoxious laugh coming from the far end of the bar—I think it might’ve been mine—and then…then just a feeling of doom.
As much as I didn’t want to get out of bed, I really needed Motrin and something to drink. So I dragged my body to the kitchen. Halfway through chugging a full glass of water, the reason for that feeling of doom came back to me, and I choked mid-swallow.