Page 34 of For the Plot
“And for the record,” I add, “I didn’t come here to cause drama. I needed a job. You offered one. That’s it.”
He nods once. “Understood.”
“But,” I say, tapping my chopsticks against the container, “if the universe is trying to mess with both of us… I kind of respect the creativity.”
He leans back in his chair, finally relaxing a fraction. “Is that how you explain everything? Cosmic chaos theory?”
“Only the parts that don’t make any sense,” I say. “And this definitely qualifies.”
Another silence settles. This one’s… not uncomfortable. Like we’ve wandered into territory we’re both pretending not to notice.
Finally, he shifts the topic. “How are you finding the team?”
I smile at the sudden subject change, letting him have the out. “Everyone’s been great. Leo’s been showing me around. Jen terrifies me a little but in a fun, ‘please don’t fire me’ kind of way.”
“She terrifies me too.”
I laugh. “Good to know it’s not just me.”
“She’s also the reason this firm still runs, so… tread lightly.”
“Copy that.” I grin. “I’ll bring her baked goods next week.”
He watches me for a beat. “You’re settling in faster than I expected but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering your jovial personality.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
I smirk. “I’ll take it anyway.”
Another beat passes. Then he says, “I was impressed with your résumé. You’re overqualified for the role.”
I shrug. “Overqualified and unemployed is still unemployed.”
“You could’ve gone right back into your old field. Chicago isn’t exactly a city without opportunity.”
“Sure.” I toy with the condensation on my cup. “But I didn’t want to. I was burnt out. Sick of the hours. The pressure. The constant measuring of value by how many meetings you survive in a day.”
He nods, like he understands that better than most.
“I wanted to feel like what I was doing mattered. Or at the very least, like I wasn’t slowly dying inside.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s a low bar.”
“Maybe. But it’s honestly how I felt at the time.”
He studies me again, his expression softer now. Curious. “I get it,” he says finally. “It’s why I left my last firm before I started this. I had everything I thought I wanted and still couldn’t sleep at night. So I built my own business.”
I lean back, sipping the last of my iced tea. “Wow. Look at us. Trauma bonding over lunch.”
He shakes his head in exasperation. “Let’s not call it that.”
“Okay. Mentally stable reflection time?”
He actually laughs, low and quiet. And holy hell, it’s unfair how good that sounds.
For a few seconds, we just sit there, eating lukewarm noodles. Pretending we’re not two people with a tangled history and no roadmap for where this is going.
