Steph sat in the beautifully appointed waiting room of the office of Mr. Watins with her hands folded in her lap.  Not that she wanted to speak to him but she was called here from her cubicle with no notice. She looked at the plain navy suit, one of three such, which didn’t rise to the level of the pricey wardrobe of Mr. Watins’ secretary. She wondered how much she was expected to impress him. Her suits were functional though not stylish, and they reflected the limited means of a first-year law associate.

“You can go in now,” said the secretary.

“Thank you,” said Steph as she stood. The secretary knocked at the door and Steph heard “come in.”

“Ms. Brooks, sir,” said the secretary.

Sitting behind a massive wood desk was the one of the named partners of her firm. He was dressed in an Italian suit obviously cut for his thin frame, and his wire-rimmed glasses nearly sat the end of his nose.

“Sit,” he said without looking at her. Mr. Watkins was a senior named partner of her new firm, Peters, Watkins and Roe. He stared at a manila file with singular interest, and before she sat her eyes hit the name tab. With a shock, she saw it was hers. Instantly her nerves went on high alert. The former Marine corporal was only a lowly associate and just passed the bar. She expected to sit in “the pit” with the rest of the first years doing drudge work and drinking bad coffee. She didn’t expect to sit before a senior partner as he studied every line in her employment folder.

Yet, his careful scrutiny of her school and work history begged the question. Why did a named partner call her to his office? If she was going to be fired, Human Resources would do it. If she was going to be given a promotion, her direct supervisor, Darcy Meara, would have told her. No. This meeting was very unusual and Steph had no idea what to expect.

Mr. Watins leaned back in his high-backed leather chair and blew out a breath. He removed his wire-rimmed glasses from his nose and rubbed his eyes lightly with his index finger and thumb. Steph used all the resources she learned in the corps to steel herself for what inscrutable fate awaited her. But in truth, she felt as if she could jump out of her skin.

Semper Gumby, Brooks, she told herself. The Marine expression reminded her to remain flexible and alert to changes.

“I think you can solve a problem for me, Ms. Brooks.”

“Sir” she said. If she were facing a commanding officer, she wouldn’t have said a word. But there were different expectations in the civilian world.

“Your skill set is unique. Marine training and the law?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Steph.

“Should I tell you ‘at ease,’ Ms. Brooks?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“So tell me why you didn’t pursue law in the Marines?”

“I hadn’t gone to college yet, Mr. Watins, so I didn’t have the education to join JAG. Besides which, I’d have to switch branches of the service to do that. The Marines are a tradition in my family.”

“Never hear the end of it at Thanksgiving, eh?”

A slight smile played on her lips. “No, sir. I wouldn’t.”

“This says you finished your undergraduate work in three years.”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t have any time to lose, and once you’ve served in the Marines, you learn to handle long days and a heavy work load.”

“I can see that. And you did Law Review, kept high honors, excelled in moot court, became editor of Law Review and was inducted in the Order of the Coif.”

“Yes, sir.” Stephanie was proud of her achievements that came from hard work and discipline. Scoring membership in the Order of the Coif, the honor society of the top ten percent of law students was a moment she’d never forget.

“And did you make your marksman badge in the Marines?”

“Yes, sir. I’m qualified on the M-4, M-16 rifles and M-9 Beretta pistol.”

“That’s good to know, but I’m only satisfying my curiosity. You won’t need weapons on this assignment. What I need is someone who is used to handling difficult situations and can keep his or her head. Can I count on you for that?”

“Yes, sir. But may I ask what the assignment is?” Again, normally she wouldn’t ask a superior, just follow orders. But in the civilian word such questions were expected.

“Have you heard of Kaur Industries?”

“Yes, Mr. Watins. They are a major defense contractor for the United States.”

“That’s right. They are also our clients. We bill out to them on retainer alone seven million dollars a year. That’s a chunk of change we don’t want to lose. So we do everything we can to keep the Kaurs happy.”

“Sir?”

“You’ve heard of their son, Ryan?”

Steph almost snorted in disgust. Ryan Kaur was a spoiled pretty boy whose antics often filled the gossip news outlets. There wasn’t a celebrity he hadn’t gone to bed with, or a high-end party he didn’t attend, or a sports car he didn’t crash. Ryan Kaur was a hot mess who caused his parents untold embarrassment.

“Yes, sir.”

“Please, call me Mr. Watins. I don’t think I can handle this much politeness.”

“Yes, s—Mr. Watins.”

The Kaurs are up for large defense contracts to build weapons for use against the dragons. Thank goodness no such nonsense has hit our shores yet, but the Prime Minister of the UK, Abalon, has declared war on all dragons, especially after his estate and the soldiers defending it was torched by that dragon—what was his name?

“Templeton Rawlins,” Steph supplied.

“That’s the name. I see you keep up on current events too?”

“Yes, Mr. Watins.” Steph devoured all the dragon news. Ever since the Reveal, when a journalist exposed the existence of dragons, Steph had an unhealthy interest in the formerly mythical beasts. It was a compulsion, one she told herself was silly and useless. But any story about dragons drew her immediate attention.

“Anyway, the market for dragon ordinance is exploding, if you pardon the pun. But the Kaurs could miss out on this contract if they can’t convince the Senate committee that Ryan isn’t a security risk. It will be your job to make sure he isn’t.”

“Sir?” said Steph. Now she was shocked. What did they expect her to do against a petulant playboy who didn’t know the meaning of discretion?

“Your bags are packed for you and a company car will take you to the Kaur Estate.”

“Am I to be a bodyguard, sir? I mean, I want to practice law. That’s what I trained to do.”

“And you will. But part of being a lawyer is customer service. But no, you won’t be a bodyguard. More like a babysitter. I expect you to use those persuasive skills you applied in moot court to appeal to Mr. Kaur’s better nature. And I realize that is a difficult thing to do. But if you are successful, there will be a nice bonus for you. The Kaurs have agreed to pay off your student loans, and that will put you ahead of your contemporaries.”

Steph had to admit that was a big enticement to take on a nearly impossible task. While the GI bill paid most of her undergraduate degree, they didn’t pay anything on law school. Getting out from under her student loans would be a big relief.

“Yes, s-Mr. Watins. It would.”

“Good. The car is waiting for you downstairs.” He wrote something on a business card and handed it to you. “If you need anything, call my personal assistant, Jared, at any time of day or night.”

Steph took the proffered card though she felt she was biting off more than she could chew.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?”

“Of course.”

“What happens if Mr. Ryan can’t be convinced to keep his parent’s best interests at heart?”

“That would be unfortunate,” said Mr. Watins. “We have no tolerance for failure at Peters, Watins and Roe. I’m afraid the Kaurs would insist on your resignation.”

Steph let the Marine mask fall even as her stomach lurched.

“Of course, sir,” she said.

“Then good luck to you, Ms. Brooks.

Stephanie walked to her cubicle shell-shocked. This was one hell of an assignment to take on. Moreover, she wasn’t given a choice as to whether she would take it or not. Apparently, her options were to take it or get fired and succeed at it or get fired. Since fifty percent of the equation was getting fired, she didn’t like the odds, especially with an undisciplined playboy as the subject of her work.

Improvise, adapt and overcome. Marines were expected to do more with less than any other branch of the service, and these three words were woven through every mission a Marine took on. She’d have to find the resources to accomplish this job, even if they were only a faith in her own abilities.

“Stephanie?”

She turned to see her supervisor, Darcy come out of her office toward her.

“I was given to believe you’d be on assignment from here on out.”

“Yes, Darcy. I just got done speaking with Mr. Watins.”

“I see. Well, your desk is cleared out, because I need it for an associate who is going to be here.” Darcy sounded put out that she had to suffer the inconvenience of breaking in a new associate. “I sent your things by messenger to your apartment and sent your purse and backpack down to the car. I’ve also made sure that your paycheck is deposited automatically in your account as well.”

Steph didn’t know what to say. This was terribly efficient and also disorienting. Adapting to civilian life hadn’t been easy on her, and in many ways she still hadn’t. But this shuttling her off without so much as a “do you want to” was too much like working for Uncle Sam.

“I shouldn’t be gone that long,” said Steph.

“Even if you return, you won’t be working for me anymore,” said Darcy derisively. “I don’t know what Mr. Watins sees in you, but once he taps someone for his special assignments, they go to a different department altogether. You better get moving. That car is waiting on you.”