It was easy, rigging the associate selection process so Abbie Walsh would end up under me. I had no idea who came up with the stupid “put the names in a bag and take turns pulling them out” routine, but it’s what we did every quarter and was a breeze to corrupt. I guess it was Vera Bush, our VP of HR. It was Vera’s way of making sure the selection process was fair and that the partners had not recruited and approved candidates just because they wanted to fuck them, as if there was anything wrong with that.

Anyway, I knew the bag was beneath the podium and I knew how things would go. All I had to do was distract Vera while Janice pulled the redhead’s name from the bag and gave it to me. Then all I had to do was to be the third one in line and the math would work itself out. I grabbed the bag before Vera could look inside to see that the redhead’s name was gone.

Easy peasy, fresh and greasy.

Abbie Walsh was mine. I’d start the campaign to get her into my bed the next day.

* * *

When I walked into my conference room Tuesday morning at nine, there she was, sitting at the end of the table wearing a black pants suit with her long red hair pulled back on the sides and clipped above her ears. Christ, she reminded me of Phyllis back in the old days, when I’d look across the crowded classroom to catch her smiling at me. She could make my dick hard with just a glance. It would be interesting to see if Abbie had that same power.

Abbie Walsh was one of six attorneys assigned to work for me on the Lilian Verone divorce. Lilian was seventy-years-old and had been married to her billionaire husband, Lester, for fifty years. Lester was a spunky seventy-five-year-old who had just discovered the wonderful world of Viagra and was divorcing Lilian to marry his twenty-two-year-old physical therapist.

Ah, true love is a wonderful thing.

It’s what makes the world go around.

The death of true love is an even more wonderful thing in my book. It’s what buys me a new Lamborghini every other year. I could buy a Lambo every year if I wanted to, but that would be ostentatious.

Now, Lester was trying to enforce a fifty-year-old prenuptial agreement that would give Lilian a thousand dollars a month in alimony. Lilian, an old woman more pissed off than hurt, wanted half of everything she and Lester owned; or at least half of everything we could find.

“I wouldn’t bend over to pick up a thousand dollars,” Lilian said in a huff during our first meeting. “I want half of everything, including his balls.”

Yes, Lilian even wanted one of Lester’s shriveled up balls. While I told her that probably wasn’t going to be possible, I would be happy to help her get half of everything else that had actual value in the real world. If we won, it would be one of the largest divorce settlements in history; and CBG’s fees would make me one rich motherfucker. Make that one richer motherfucker…

I quickly reviewed the specifics of the case for Abbie, and went around the table for updates from the three other associates and two junior partners. We were digging deep into Lester’s finances and real estate holdings, looking for money he had socked away offshore and in Europe. Then there were his business interests, which were varied and spread across three continents.

One associate was digging into the new girlfriend’s past, looking for anything there that might drive a wedge between Lester and his new love. We had already uncovered a dozen hidden bank accounts and several dozen past girlfriends that Lilian knew about but had never threatened her marriage and livelihood before.

“Keep digging,” I said, tapping a stiff finger to the table. “It’s our duty to bury this motherfucker and take half of everything he has before the funeral.” I glanced at Abbie to see if the harshness of my words had any effect on her. New associates are often horrified when they learn what really goes on inside of most law firms. She seemed unfazed.

“Abbie, since you’re new to the case I want you to work with Constance.” I nodded at Constance Olson, the junior partner charged with digging into Lester’s finances. Constance gave me a stony look, then worked up a polite smile and directed it at Abby. Phyllis and Constance were pals. I’m sure they’d chatted about my machinations toward Abbie. I wondered if Phyllis had any idea I’d laid the pipe to Constance more than a few times over the years. Probably not. Phyllis wouldn’t buddy up to someone she considered a rival for my attention. She didn’t want me, but she didn’t want me to have anyone else. The woman frustrated me to no end.

“Anything else?” I asked, holding out my hands. Heads shook all around, so I told them to go to work. Abbie closed her laptop and started to get up. “Abbie, let’s chat before you get started.”

She blinked at me for a moment, glanced at Constance, then nodded her head and waited for the others to exit so she could follow me out the door. She trailed a few feet behind as we walked to my office.

“Have a seat,” I said, going to the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

“No thank you,” she said formally. She sat in one of the high-backed chairs with her laptop resting on her lap and her hands folded on top of it, patiently waiting for me to sit behind the desk.

“So,” I said after taking a sip of coffee and licking my lips. “How’s it going so far?”

She gave me a nervous smile and said, “Um, great so far. Though I really haven’t done much yet.”

“Don’t worry, you will.” I took another sip of the coffee and set it aside to let it cool for a moment. There was a folder on my desk with her name on the label. It was her personal file from HR and contained her resume, application, transcripts, and CV. I picked up the folder and leaned back in the chair to open it up.

“I have to say, Abigail Marie Walsh, you are extremely impressive on paper,” I said, holding up her brief resume. I gave her my best smile. “You’re impressive in person, too, I just meant…”

“Thank you,” she said, her cheeks flushing. I let my eyes drift over her beautiful face, down her long neck, to the open top button of her shirt. When I glanced back up to her eyes she was staring at me.

“So, tell me something that I won’t find in this folder,” I said, tucking the resume back inside the folder and setting it on the desk.

“I’m not sure I understand the question, Mr. Collins,” she said, giving me a timid look.

“Sam,” I said. “Call me Sam.”

“I’m not sure I understand the question, Sam,” she said. “Tell you something you won’t find in the folder?”

“The first lesson I teach new associates is this,” I said, holding up a single finger. “The truth is rarely found on the surface. That folder contains lots of surface information about you, but it tells me very little about the real you. That’s why we ask lots of questions as attorneys, to get to the truth, to the real you.”

“Um, okay. The real me. Well…”

She gave me a blank look that made me smile.

I held up my hands and smiled. “Okay, sorry, enough of my Yoda routine. The point is this: as an attorney, it’s your job to not just examine the apparent and available facts, but to look beyond those facts, to look inside and under and over and around. You win cases by knowing what’s not there, does that make sense?”

A little smile curled at the corner of her lips. “Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you’re practicing family law or criminal law or corporate law. The facts are on the surface, but the devil is in the details.”

“Look beyond what’s in front of your nose,” she said thoughtfully. “You win cases by looking past the apparent.”

“Exactly,” I said, spreading my hands. “Don’t be satisfied with what’s on the surface. Dive in. Dive deep. Ask the questions nobody else has thought to ask. That’s how you win cases and get to know people. Intimately.”

“Thank you, Sam,” she said, exhaling through her pursed lips.

“So, I’ll ask you again. Tell me something about you that I won’t find in that folder.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Something fun. Something that gives me insight into you as a person.”

“Well, let’s see…”

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked.

“I love chicken and waffles.”

“Favorite movie?”

“The Notebook.”

“Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re a girl. Favorite book?”

She smiled. “The Notebook. Duh.”

I smiled back. “Favorite place to vacation?”

“I’ve only been to Florida on vacation and that was when I was a kid with my parents.”

“You’ve never taken a vacation without your parents?”

“No. Pathetic, I know.”

“Why didn’t you go on vacation while you were in college.”

She held up two fingers and cocked one eyebrow. “Two reasons: time and money.”

“Ah, yes, the lack of time and money, the two great killers of fun.” I held the smile for a few seconds, then let my shoulders go up and down and sighed. “Well, Abbie, I can guarantee that you will not be taking a vacation anytime soon because all your time belongs to me.” I said it playfully, but truthfully. “As for the money, well, if you work hard and learn, I can assure you that by the time you get the time to take a vacation you will be able to afford to go anywhere you like for as long as you like.”

“That’s something to look forward to,” she said, a hopeful look on her face.

I leaned forward and stared into her eyes. “Seriously, Abbie, if you work your ass off for the next few years and listen to me and Phyllis and the others, you will be rich one day. There is no doubt in my mind. You will be a partner in this firm and rich beyond your wildest dreams. Listen. Learn. Execute. Can you do that?”

“I can definitely do that,” she said. Her eyes went around my face for a moment. “What’s your favorite food, Sam?”

I smiled. “Steak and lobster.’

“Favorite movie?”

“Braveheart.”

“Of course. You’re a guy.” She batted her long lashes at me. “Favorite book?”

“Catcher in the Rye,” I said. “Ever read it?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s an old book, written in the 1950’s about a teenage boy named Holden Caulfield who comes to New York City all alone and has a grand adventure.” I paused to study her eyes. “Kind of like you.”

“Am I in for a grand adventure?” she asked, taking the bait perfectly.

“That depends,” I said. “Are you busy Friday night?”