Page 9 of Dr. Bad Boy

So all I need to do is climb out from under the covers, shower, dress, and drive to work.

Except my nose is cold, so I stay where I am.

My alarm beeps again.

I peer over at it. Quarter to seven. I really need to be at the office before eight, so I should hustle.

You know those remote-starters for cars? I need one for my shower.

In the kitchen, my coffee maker hisses to life. Maybe my shower could have a timer.

I’d take either.

I roll out of bed, taking my blankets with me, and pad into the bathroom where I crank on the shower. I wait until steam is billowing out from behind the curtain, then toss my blankets back in the direction of my bed and throw myself into the warmth.

From the second I arrive at the office until a very late lunch, it’s non-stop work.

Early next week I have a cancellation proceeding at the Trademark Office I need to prep for, and my client is beyond anxious. I spend more than thirty minutes on the phone with him, reassuring him we have a solid argument for voiding the trademark registered by a scummy internet marketer—the other party had demonstrated multiple elements of bad faith and inaction, while my client had been building his business in good faith for nearly a decade.

But it's his life, his livelihood. I understand the stress, so I let him talk it around and around until he feels confident again.

This is what I love about the law—building protections for my clients, and finding the loopholes left by others that I can make work to my advantage.

I flip to my next case. As an associate, I do a little bit of everything. I like the intellectual property stuff best, and as I gain more experience, that will probably be where I end up focusing my work. Others find the federal courts and Trademark Office proceedings dry, but I’ve never been one for the flash and spectacle of a crowded courtroom.

Which makes my next case my least favourite kind: defending a client against a defamation action. There will almost certainly be a heavy media presence when we wind up in court, and there isn’t any doubt that is where we are headed, because neither side is interested in settling.

I only need to clock one billable hour on the case today, reviewing a letter we received earlier from the opposition counsel and drafting a reply.

But before I can get started, Derrick Carr, the junior partner to whom I report, knocks and walks right into my office.

I don’t mind Derrick. But I don’t like that he doesn’t wait for me to invite him in.

He launches straight in. “Novak has a new VIP client he’s handing off to you."

That has my attention. Each junior associate only gets the chance to prove themselves with a marquee account once or twice a year. "Name is Max Donovan, and he’s a former child star who’s moved to town.”

I nod, trying to ignore the now-familiar tremor that runs through me every time I hear the name Max. But my Max lives in Vancouver, and is a doctor.

He’s also not mine.

And he thought I was a hooker.

So it’s a complicated thing, my reaction. And I need to get over it, especially when one of my clients also has that name.

Derrick dumps a thick folder on my desk. “No time to review, unfortunately, but the client doesn’t like to talk about the actor thing. He’s really just here to meet Novak.”

I nod and wait for Derrick to leave before I roll my eyes. No, the client is here to meetme, because I’ll be the one that holds his hand when shit hits the fan. And most clients understand that in a way partners, both junior and senior, seem to have forgotten from their own associate days.

I open the folder, but I barely make it halfway through the first page before there’s another knock at my door.

“Did you get Max’s file?” William Novak asks in his slick, booming voice. “Great stuff. He’s waiting in the boardroom. Follow me.”

I scramble to catch up to him, grabbing a notepad and three pens as well as the thick folder on our client. So it’s going to be this kind of afternoon. I’ll write that letter when I get back to my desk, and order dinner to be delivered, because I’m sure I’ll have some billable hours for this file, too.

And there’s nothing I hate more than starting a day behind on my to-do list.

“Here’s our client,” William says as he leads me into the glassed-in conference room in the middle of our office. It’s like a fishbowl, and that’s deliberate, but I didn’t get a good look at Mr. Donovan because I didn’t know he was our client until five minutes ago.

---