Page 3 of Border Control
Translation: talking over someone junior until they gave up trying to be heard.
He doesn’t sit so much as descend into the chair opposite me, one hand smoothing his tie, the other already pawing through the file I’ve spent hours preparing. No “thank you,” of course.
“John!” he says grandly, like they’re old pals. “How are you?”
John’s face lights up, and I try to shift my attitude. I might be the senior associate doing all the work, but Morgan is the ultimate boss. “I’m doing fantastically, Morgan, how are you? How’s Mary?”
Morgan rolls his eyes, tugging at his collar. “Expensive, as usual.”
John chuckles and I file that away for later; Morgan’s current significant other is called Mary.
I can’t really judge his revolving door relationships as I don’t do long term either. However, to make partner at my job, I’d probably need to show I can hold down an important commitment. Clark and Gibson is a conservative law firm where the partners don’t put pronouns in their emails. If I want to succeed, I have to play the game, old school style.
“So what’s the situation here, then?” Morgan asks, and I prepare to go through my presentation again when John starts talking. Great. He’s the barrister, sure, but this is my meeting.
“And are we representing Accu-care Systems Limited, or the…” Morgan paws at my briefing notes. “The community care nurses?”
“The nurses,” I tell him. Again.
His eyes pass over me like I'm the ghost at Macbeth's banquet. Steady. Don’t snap. He’s the boss. Even if he is a prat.
Morgan grunts, sliding the papers back. “Would be better if we were representing Accu-care; they’ve got deeper pockets.”
Heat flashes up my limbs in a wave, my shirt too tight and too restricting. Fucking asshole.
Thankfully John continues talking, and I smooth my hair down. I hope no one saw anything. What if my cheeks flushed, or I shot him a glare? I can’t be unprofessional and let my feelings interfere.
“Thanks, John,” I say when the barrister stops for breath. “Adding to that, I’m sure the precedents set in Casey vs Insuracare will?—”
“Who are you?” Morgan grunts.
Did someone crank up the AC? The temperature in the conference room definitely drops. The other lawyers look up from their notes, intent on hearing what the boss says next.
I flash him a winning smile. “Laura Thomas, senior associate.”
“Oh, thought you were the paralegal.” His gimlet eyes narrow at me, but I never lose a staring contest.
“I’ve just gone through the overview, so we can pick up at the specific questions for the lead developer,” I continue.
“God, you’re pushy,” Morgan says, with a familiar edge to his voice. One that I've encountered again and again. Half jokey, half critical, it signals what this dinosaur thinks of blondes. Or women in general.
‘You have no idea how pushy I can be,’ is what I want to say. But I must stay professional, even though he isn't. I’m not a helpless child: I can do this.
I carry on talking, calming myself with deep breaths whenever I pause to let John ask questions. Morgan doesn't volunteer anything and gets out his phone, so who knows what he's doing.
At the end of the three hour debrief my throat is dry but my mind is still clear, on high alert. John slams the mug down like he’s taken a shot, even though it has to be empty by now. “Thanks, Laura, I've got it all under control now.”
“Wonderful. I'll be there at the first hearing, and we can adjust the strategy to one of the eventualities?—”
“We've got it handled, Lisa,” Morgan says, finally looking up from his phone.
“It's Laura,” I remind him, voice even and firm.
“Good stuff, John, see you tomorrow!” Morgan says, and he's up and gone.
What a jerk. I file my notes as everyone else leaves, making sure they’re all in order, stroking my plastic index cards backand forth. I keep a small smile in place, but my stomach rolls, like heated snakes are having a wrestling match in there.
John leaves last. At the door, he shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Good work,Lisa.”
