Page 12 of Breaking the Lawyer

Chapter 3

I'VE ALREADY SIGNED my name so many times the word has lost its meaning and I'm not even halfway through the stack of papers in front of me. A loud voice in the back of my head reminds me I should be actually reading them instead of just skimming, but it's not like I can focus on words when the lady on the other side of the desk sends me polite smiles every time our eyes meet, but deep down wishes I'd scram already so that she can get back to her actual work, instead of babysitting me.

Welcome to the first day of the rest of my life.

"You missed a page," she points out with patience that must be running thin.

Her name is Monica and she's the head of HR, and even though her name is pretty much all I know about her, she's the most familiar face in this entire twenty-three-story building, having been present during three of my seven—seven!—interviews for this job.

"Sorry." I smile apologetically and scramble to find the page I skipped. "Kinda nervous."

"Oh, don't be." She waves her hand in front of her face. "First days are for trying to memorize the office layout and judging your coworkers by their appearance."

I make sure to produce an appropriately dry chuckle, her mentioning appearance stressing me out even more because I haven't exactly thought mine through. Good luck charms may be fun and all, but Tyler's about five inches shorter than I am and so is his stupid tie.

I place my final crooked signature on the last page of a document that might as well be asking me for my firstborn for all I know before sliding the stack across the desk for Monica to check, then lean back and pat the front of my suit jacket to make sure the exact spot where my tie ends and my embarrassment begins remains hidden.

No one will ever know.

Monica nods as she goes through the pages and I turn my head to the left, where an all-glass wall exposes the perfect view of…ugh. The skyscraper next door.

"Perfect," Monica says, separating her copies from mine. "Attorney Johns will give you your orientation," she says, and I nod like it's not the first time I hear the name. Maybe if I spent a little less time having an existential crisis over the weekend and more time going through the company's LinkedIn I wouldn't feel so out of place.

Monica turns the last page, then checks her watch. "In fact, he should be—"

The sound of doors opening cuts through her last word.

"Perfect timing," she says and stands up.

I follow suit, then turn to where a man in a suit—attorney Johns, I assume—is currently closing the door behind him. Then, I keep on turning until I've done a full three-sixty and silently say goodbye to my mom, assuring her that I loveher, because I'm about to have the type of heart attack you don't recover from.

"A bit late actually, sorry about that." A male voice grows louder as he approaches. I remain unmoving, my eyes wide and glued to Monica, although I don't really see her, my attention hyper-focused on the man who's just stopped to my right. "Got held up—" The pause is minuscule, so short Monica has no chance of noticing. It also happens to coincide with the exact moment his gaze rests on the side of my face. "—on a call."

On the off-chance I survive this, I make a decision—starting tomorrow, I'm wearing make-up to work because I don't even want to think about what color my cheeks are right now.

"Christian, meet our new associate, Brooks Lang. Brooks, this is—"

"Christian Johns," he cuts her off, and it takes me a moment to register the hand hanging firmly in the air a few inches in front of me.

I simultaneously swallow, mumble a "Hi," and discreetly wipe my palm on the leg of my pants, trying to somehow get rid of the sweat, then shake his hand and risk a half-second glance at his face.

Yep. I'm fucked.

I keep my eyes on Monica, but all my attention is fixed on the man in my peripheral. He glances at the messy desk and clears his throat. "Alright, so… You're all done here?"

Realizing that's my cue, I gather my share of the papers, crumpling half of them in the process and clumsily shove them into my briefcase.

"I think we're set," Monica says. "Unless you have any more questions?"

It takes me a beat to realize she's talking to me. Not really trusting my voice right now, I summon a polite smile and shake my head, all the while trying to ignore Christian's overwhelming presence. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, I'll somehow jump to a timeline where my career isn't over before it has even begun.

"Great. If you do need anything, you know where to find me. Otherwise, have a great first day."

I mouth a silent 'Thank you' and before the absolute shittiness of the situation fully sinks in, I find myself following Christian across Monica's office.

His hair is tamed now, neatly styled, not a strand out of place. He moves gracefully, broad back shifting under the fabric of a perfectly fitted suit that must be custom-made. We reach the door at the right time because for reasons I can't explain my eyes have just fallen to his ass, and even though I watched him the entire way, don't even try to ask me about the color of his suit.

Well, if it isn't the most fucking Monday Monday to ever Monday.

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