The luncheon was a bit of a schmooze-fest, with the new associates stumbling all over themselves to impress the handful of partners and junior partners who had shown up to make us feel welcome. There were several partners from the corporate law division, several along with Phyllis Goode who specialized in criminal defense, and several more who worked with Sam in the marital law department.

The new associates, myself bringing up the rear with my new pal, Eric Huffman, walked down a flight of stairs and into the company dining room, which was basically a room large enough to hold six round tables with six chairs each, and a steam table with food provided by a restaurant catering service downstairs.

There was a podium at the front of the room with a microphone. Phyllis Goode stepped up to the mic, welcomed us all again, and told us to dig in and eat like it was our last meal because it could very well be for a long time. She said it jokingly, but I knew she was serious. Tiffany told me that first-year associates at CBG were supposed to work their asses off twenty-four hours a day if that’s what was called for. Other less important things, like eating, drinking, and taking a crap, were all much lower on the priority scale and only done after the work was finished.

After we ate our fill of the rubber chicken and rice, along with a big slice of chocolate cheesecake for dessert, the partners, and junior partners assembled at the tables by their specialty. Phyllis and the defense litigators sat at one table, Sam and the divorce attorneys at another, and a man who was introduced as Eben Reed, second in command of the corporate law division, held court at another.

“Wonder where Barry Bangham is?” Eric asked as he finished the cup of coffee that came with the dessert.

“Rumor is he cracked up and they have him locked in a room somewhere,” the guy sitting on the other side of Eric said. “The guy has been slowly going off the deep end for years.”

Eric clicked his tongue. “Dammit. He’s the one I wanted to meet.”

“Are you going to specialize in corporate law?” I asked, letting my eyes drift around his handsome face. I had been eyeing Sam Collins since we came into the dining room (he was like a magnet my eyes were drawn to), but now I couldn’t see him for the associates standing around the table where he was holding court.

“Probably corporate law,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “It’s the highest billing arm of the firm, so I’m thinking that could be a fast track to junior partner. Especially if Bangham checks out soon.” He gave me a sideways glance and looked down at my employee badge to recall my name. “What about you, Abigail Walsh from Harvard? What’s your specialty going to be?”

“I haven’t decided,” I said. “Guess I’ll go through the rotation and see what strikes my fancy.”

“That sounds fun,” he said with a smile. “Striking your fancy.”

Before I could decide how to react to his blatant flirtations, the microphone at the podium crackled on and I looked up to see the lady from HR standing there holding a brown paper bag in one hand above her head.

“All right everyone, listen up,” she said happily. “The way we decide which department you will be assigned to first is by drawing your name from the bag when it’s that department head’s turn to draw. I know, it’s a little old-fashioned, but that’s how we do it here at CBG to keep things honest.” She giggled at herself, though no one else did. “Um, so, Miss Goode, Mr. Collins, and for Mr. Bangham, Mr. Reed, would you please come to the front of the room?

They lined up in order from left to right next to the HR lady: Phyllis Good representing criminal law, Eben Reed representing corporate law, and Sam Collins representing marital law.

“I’ll let each of you draw one name at a time until you have your four new associates,” the HR lady said, apparently thrilled just to be part of the process. She held out the paper bag to Phyllis Goode, who stuck in her hand and plucked out a folded slip of paper and handed it to her.

The HR lady made a grand show of unfolding the slip of paper and reading the name into the microphone. “Bishop Smith from Yale,” she said in a tone that made her sound as if she was announcing the winner of a church raffle. Her eyes scanned the room until the associate named Bishop Smith raised his hand.

She waved the little slip of paper at him and smiled. “Bishop Smith from Yale, you are assigned to criminal law for your first rotation. Congratulations!”

“Do we clap?” the guy sitting to my right whispered, his hands held at the ready.

“This is like Harry Potter getting assigned to a dorm,” Eric said, bumping me with his elbow and leaning in to whisper in my ear. His breath on my cheek made me blush.

The HR lady held out the bag to Eben Reed to pick a name. She went through the same raffle winner routine, then to Sam, then started again with Phyllis. I held my breath each time a name was picked and waited to be called. When it came down to just three names left in the bag, the blonde from NYU, Eric, and I were the only ones who had not been chosen.

“What are the odds that we’d still be in the bag together,” he said, this time leaning in close enough to almost touch his lips to my ear. I didn’t mind a flirt, but he was really starting to cross the imaginary line that was supposed to keep guys like him away. Plus, his breath smelled like ranch dressing and coffee.

“Yeah,” I said, scooting away from him a little. “What are the odds.”

“All right, there are three names left and one more round to go,” the HR lady said, shaking the bag like she was breading chicken in a Baggie (okay, I’d seen my mother do it). When she held out the bag to Phyllis Goode I found myself holding my breath again. I had noticed her staring at me a couple of times and her expression was anything but friendly. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to offend her, if anything. Maybe there was a strict “one redhead at a time” rule that no one had bothered to tell me about.

I didn’t exhale until Phyllis’ hand came out with the slip of paper and the HR lady read into the mic. “Eric Huffman, Yale. Eric Huffman, Yale. Congratulations, Eric, you’re assigned to criminal law.”

She glanced immediately at Eric, knowing he was the only male left unattached. I heard him swear under his breath, though he held up his hand and smiled.

That left me and the blonde. Now, let me be perfectly honest with you. I’m not a religious person. I mean, I believe in a higher power and all, and I have no idea if it’s a man or a woman or an alien from another planet. I did not come from a churchgoing family, nor did we say grace at dinner time or our prayers before going to bed. But at that moment, as I watched Eben Reed shove his pudgy hand into the bag and pull out the slip of paper, I was praying like mad to whoever would listen.

Please let me be with Sam…

Please let me be with Sam…

Please let me be with Sam…

I know, it sounded silly to me, too, but it’s what kept running through my mind, right up to the point that the HR lady opened the slip and looked directly at the blonde.

“Olivia Munson, NYU, corporate law,” the HR lady said flatly with far less fanfare than she had for the others. I got the feeling that the fact that Olivia Munson’s boobs were trying to break free from the top of her shirt didn’t sit well with the lady from HR.

“Fuck,” Olivia Munson huffed, loud enough to be heard at the front of the room. Sam glanced at the floor before anyone saw him smile. Mr. Reed took the hint and did the same. The HR lady looked horrified while Phyllis Goode’s expression didn’t change, though it was clear what was going through her mind. Olivia Munson’s tenure at CBG would probably be over before it even got started.

“That means there’s only one name left,” the HR lady said, holding out the bag to Sam, who was already looking my way. Rather than sticking his hand in the bag, he took it from her and wadded it into a tight ball.

He looked at me and smiled. “Who’s left? Stand up.”

I glanced around to find everyone looking my way. I pushed myself up from the table and held up my hand like a child asking to go to the bathroom.

“That’s me,” I said weakly, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

Sam held out his hands with the bag in his right fist. “What is your name and alma mater?” he asked.

“Abigail Walsh,” I said. “Harvard.”

“Welcome to marital law, Abigail Walsh from Harvard,” he said with a welcoming smile that made me feel warm all over. Without warning, he tossed the balled-up bag my way. It was a perfect throw. I plucked the bag out of the air with one hand.

“Good catch,” Eric huffed, rolling his eyes.

I smiled at Sam and he gave me a thumbs up. Phyllis Goode’s expression didn’t change. In fact, she didn’t even look my way.

“Okay, that’s it everyone,” the HR lady said. “Again, welcome to Collins Bangham & Goode.”

Phyllis stepped forward and whispered in the HR lady’s ear. She cleared her throat and looked at the blonde, who was sitting with her arms crossed over her boobs still fuming that she hadn’t been placed under Sam.

“Miss Munson, I’d like to see you in my office. The rest of you please follow your designated junior partner and they will get you settled in.”

We all watched the blonde as she plucked her purse off the table and followed the HR lady out of the room. I wondered if we would be seeing her again. Somehow, I doubted that we would.

“Miss Walsh.”

I turned to find Sam Collins standing less than a foot away from me. The breath caught in my throat. He was devastatingly handsome, even more so up close.

“Mr. Collins, thank you for the opportunity to work under you, sir. I mean, I look forward to learning from you.” I realized what I’d said and how it sounded the moment the words left my lips. His quick smile told me he caught it, too, which made my cheeks flush red.

“You’re welcome, Miss Walsh,” he said, taking the wadded-up bag from my hand. He unwadded the bag and opened it up, then held it out so I could peer inside. The bag was empty. My name was never inside.

“Lesson number one, Miss Walsh,” he said, reaching into his inside jacket pocket. His hand came out holding the slip of paper with my name on it between two fingers. “Always know what’s in the bag. And what’s not. Now, let’s go to work.”