Page 3 of Behind Frenemy Lines

Loretta said: “Oh my God, Charles.”

She’s not wrong. Iamgoing to die alone.

CHAPTER ONE

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

Kriya

I paused outsidethe entrance to Swithin Watkins, gazing up at the building’s sandstone façade.

I was waiting for the traumatic flashback to hit. I hadn’t been here since the day I interviewed for a training contract, in the summer of my second year at university.

That had been more than a decade ago. I was coming to Swithin Watkins now as a senior lawyer, with a track record of court cases won; matters brought to a successful close; difficult clients wrangled into contentment. But the memory of that interview still made me cringe.

I took a deep breath as I stepped through the revolving door, stale apprehension shivering over my skin. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed Arthur here.

When my boss pulled me aside for a chat, a month ago, I didn’t think anything of it. Arthur and I spoke, on average, three to sixteen times a day. I assumed he wanted to talk about the class action we were defending for a car manufacturer, or the business development trip we were planning to Hong Kong.

Or it might just have been a check-in. Arthur was goingthrough a divorce with his wife of twenty-five years and it was making him especially alive to the issue of workplace well-being. We’d had more pastoral chats in the past month than we’d had in the preceding eight years total.

“Kriya, I wanted to ask you something,” he said. He shut the door to his office and sat down.

He looked nervous, but that was part of Arthur’s vibe. He was lean, silver-haired, and high-strung, with piercing blue eyes and the kind of nose you’d find on a Roman coin. Trainees always had guilty crushes on him, until they started working with him.

“I’ve accepted an offer to join Swithin Watkins,” said Arthur. “And I’d like you to consider moving with me. It would be a step up in terms of pay. More importantly, it would be on the understanding that you’d be promoted to Of Counsel within the year.”

“Oh,” I said. I was so taken aback I felt winded.

I hadn’t been thinking about promotion. I knew I should—I’d made senior associate as early as the firm allowed, four years after qualifying, and I was now eight years out from qualification. I needed to start preparing for the next step, or be marked as lacking ambition. But my attention had been elsewhere for the past few months.

I’d gone too long without saying anything.

“What do you think?” said Arthur.

I didn’t know what I thought. For lack of anything better to say, I said, “You know I interviewed for a training contract at Swithin Watkins? I didn’t get an offer.”

“Their loss.” Arthur tried to smile, fidgeting with a pen. “Joining them as their top new senior associate would be the best revenge.”

His nervousness was starting to infect me. I pushed away the temptation to say yes just to calm him down.

“Can I think about it and come back to you?”

“Yes, of course,” said Arthur. “It’s a big decision. Take all the time you need.”

He leant back in his chair. “So what—I mean, do you have any questions? I don’t have details of the compensation package to hand, but I can dig them up. Give me a moment.”

He started scrabbling around in the chaos of papers on his desk.

“Your phone’s on top of that filing cabinet,” I said absently. “Can I ask…?”

Arthur sat up. “Yes, of course. Fire away.”

“Why move?”

It was the obvious question. Arthur was prepared for it.

“You know I have issues with some of the ways we work here. I want to do things differently, but there isn’t scope for that here. We’re losing clients to firms that are willing to be more innovative, more flexible. Swithin Watkins recognises how the market is changing. I’ll be able to be more entrepreneurial, tailor our offering to what clients are looking for. It’s a great opportunity. And,” said Arthur, “and I have to say, you know, I’ve been at this firm for more than fifteen years, and I’m ready for a change.”

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