“Okay, shoot,” I tell Clay, eating the cinnamon oatmeal I’d ordered.

I’d decided to switch thing up a bit. It’s breakfast, after all. And a part of me felt guilty for thinking of ordering the same thing I had just eaten when I’d come here with Larson, even though I know logically that makes no sense.

“What is this proposal of yours?”

“I want Makens to open a branch in Albuquerque,” he says, smiling proudly, as if he just suggested an idea worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize. “And I want you to head it up.”

“Me?” I almost choke on a nut in my oatmeal.

What do I know about running a firm? Or even a branch of a firm? Absolutely nothing at all, that’s what.

“I don’t think I’d be exactly the right person…” I say, trying my best to politely turn him down.

“Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up,” is all I can see in my head, written in founding partner Paul Makens’ handwriting on the damn sticky note I’d thrown in the trash but can’t erase from my mind.

“Sure you are,” he says, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “Because I say you are. I want you and only you.”

His hand pat is so eerily reminiscent of what Larson did while we were here that it takes all my energy not to jump out of the booth and run away. But I don’t, because that would officially count as fucking this up. And I know I will lose my job if I do that.

“Okay,” I tell him. “Let’s just say that I am the right person. What exactly do you have in mind for this Albuquerque firm?”

“Oh you know, the usual,” he says, signaling to the waiter that he’d like our check.

This guy wastes no time. I’m sure he’s already envisioning heading back to the office to let them know I’ve agreed.

“Advise me on all my corporate transactions. Be local general counsel for my Albuquerque division. Maybe handle some court matters that come up down there. It gets expensive paying for the Albuquerque lawyers and you guys. I figure I’ll be better off if I can streamline it into all one firm. The New York branch and the New Mexico branch.”

This guy’s such a narcissist he thinks he can re-design the entire structure of the firm just for him. He thinks we’ll open a new branch in an unsustainable market based on the type of law we practice, just for him.

And he’s probably right. Because that’s how much money he brings to the firm each year in revenue. That’s how big of a profit he makes for us.

I open my mouth, but think better of it and close it. I’m about to say, I don’t like litigation. I don’t want to have to argue in court. I also like working in New York City. I don’t want to have to uproot my son.

But I keep quiet. Because I don’t want to admit anything that could be construed as a weakness in my legal skills to one of the firm’s biggest clients. And I don’t want to say anything that dissuades him from his goal.

Let him present the idea to the rest of the firm and see what the partners think, I decide. If they think it’s doable, I can’t be the one to quash the idea.

And besides, working in Albuquerque means I’d get to see Larson all the time.

Stop mixing work decisions with pleasure, I lecture myself. But it’s too late. I’m already envisioning all the things Larson was talking about doing together: Thanksgiving dinner at Riley’s house, the Santa Ride and even Christmas spent under the mistletoe— and under the covers— together.

“I think that all sounds like a great idea,” I tell Clay, as I place my credit card on the table once the waitress brings us our check.

It’s the firm’s custom to pick up the tab when we take clients out to eat. It’s the firm’s credit card, so it doesn’t come out of my pocket.

“I’ll get it,” Clay insists, placing cash on the table that covers the tag and apparently a large tip for the waitress as well. “The man should always pay for a lady’s meal.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at that old- fashioned comment. I do what I have to do, what Paul and Jane and the other partners would want me to do. I smile sweetly and take his arm as we get up.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone else about our new venture,” he says, as we head for the door. “I wonder how they’ll take the news.”

“I’m sure they’ll think it’s… interesting,” I say, and then quickly add, “What an interesting and exciting idea!” because he looks at me as if I’d just offended him a little bit.

“Very well then,” he says, patting my hand again. “I do hope they like the idea or I might just have to find another firm and convince them to hire you as an associate. I’m sure that Makens will go along with my idea, once they realize we’re a package deal.”

My stomach churns at the way he calls us a package deal. But the rest of me is just hoping that this meeting with the firm doesn’t take very long.

If Larson’s not already awake, he will be before I know it, and I don’t want him to think I’ve forgotten about him. I just have to get Clay— and my work obligations— off my back, so that I can once again be on my back for Larson.