This is it.

I can feel it—this is the one.

I step out of the car and thank Graham’s second driver, a man named Yves, who’s on call whenever Graham is at his office or arguing with his brother in D.C. It’s uncharacteristically warm for March, so I’ve worn my favorite coat. It’s a trench that makes me look a million feet tall, a fiery conquering lawyer. Beneath that, a freshly-tailored suit. Graham called in a favor from his man in New York City.

This has been a morning out of a movie montage. I left the tailors wearing my new suit, and headed straight for the salon. My hair is gleaming, perfect, and this firm?

Hot damn.

This firm is it.

It’s a courthouse in miniature form. White brick. It even has two columns set into the stonework on either side of the massive front entrance. It all sweeps over me, in a kind of impossible deja vu, how I’ll walk from this curb into those doors, over and over, in all kinds of light, in the rain, the snow, the sun—

I’ll need a chic umbrella for the spring and summer and fall. And I’ll miss Everest like hell, but at least we’ll be able to trade job stories over drinks when she visits the city.

Because I’ll probably stay here with Graham.

The thought makes me lightheaded.

“No.” A guy going past on the sidewalk gives me a look. I lift my chin, take in the glory of Marlin & Bower, and stride toward the door, fingers tingling with what feels like suppressed magic, but is probably adrenaline.

I bond with the receptionist immediately about the lotion she keeps on her desk, and float into the interview on a cloud of confidence as she takes my coat.

There are two people waiting in the meeting room, which is more like a private den than a sterile corporate space. Windows pour light onto heavy furniture, a massive table fit for family dinners, and shelves packed tight with neatly arranged law texts.

I am at home.

I’m so busy beaming at the books that I almost miss my window to confidently introduce myself. Almost—but not quite.

“John Bower.” The stately man in his sixties, with silver hair and a suit that looks personally tailored, shakes my hand with a firm grip. “And this is Miranda O’Keefe, senior partner.”

Miranda shakes my hand with a similarly strong grip and looks me up and down. Her lips curl upward with approval, and I brush away the sense that she has totally outclassed me in her red sheath dress with a smart black blazer.

We sit at the table and my chest swells with pride. This is my moment. This is the perfect firm, with the perfect people, and this room is just like the libraries I loved the most in law school. Everything about this place is lovingly maintained. I belong here.

Miranda folds her hands on the shining surface of the table, her eyes bright and hawkish. She’s the type to follow—I know it instinctively. It’s not going to be long before we bond over salads in the lunch room, and get to talking about our lives. I have a flash-forward of her telling me that she sees a lot of herself in me, and I’m destined to change things. “We’re so pleased to have you here, Ms. Leighton.”

“You can call me Bellamy.” I make sure to make eye contact with John Bower as well, even though he’s settled back in his seat and seems perfectly willing to let Miranda steer this interview.

“Bellamy.” Her smile is so wide and white, I’m nearly blinded. “Tell us a bit about yourself.”

I look her straight in the eye. This is my life, knitting itself together, all in this moment. “I’m very passionate about practicing the law,” I start out. “I knew I wanted to be a lawyer when I was a girl, and I always kept that goal in mind. I went to undergrad at NYU and attended law school at Georgetown.” I push away all of the recent nonsense about passing the bar while being called a prostitute in the media. “I’m confident I’ll be admitted to the D.C. bar shortly, and I plan to transfer to New York. I want to specialize in criminal defense. Oh, and I love to run. That’s my hobby when I can find a spare thirty minutes.” I throw that last detail in with a smile, even though I haven’t had time to run since before fall semester.

“That’s wonderful.” She gives me a pointed nod and Mr. Bower makes a noise that sounds encouraging. “Now, let’s talk details. We’d absolutely love to have you in the office once a week, maybe every other week. The optics would be wonderful for us both.”

There’s a screeching sound in the back of my mind—a record scratch. What?

“I’m sorry, I—” I smile bigger. “I don’t understand.”

Miranda glances at John, and seems to get his go-ahead to level with me. “Having someone with your name recognition at our firm could be...very beneficial to us both.”

“I agree. I’m a hard worker, and I always—”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. But what we’re looking for is someone who can give the firm a certain boost without becoming a liability.”

There it is—the word that pops my confidence like a cheap balloon.

“I’m looking for full-time engagement.” I press on. “This is the start of my career, and I want to learn as much as I can with hands-on—”

“That could be an option someday,” Miranda offers. “But in the meantime, consider coming to work as a sort of...public associate. You can shadow us on cases and hone your skills.”

“But not actually work on them?”

She frowns, apologetic. It’s a lie. “It’s a tricky balance, being in the public eye, especially when we work with such high-profile clients. There could be a perception that you’re being swayed by your connection with the current administration.”

I want to put my head on the desk and cry.

“I can assure you, that would never be the case.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. But until President Blackpool leaves office, we’d rather not take the risk.” She must see that I’m devastated, because she rushes on. “You did very well in school, Bellamy. You’re going to be a formidable asset to the firm. One day.”

Somehow, I hold it together long enough to get through a round of handshakes and promises to stay in contact. It all comes with a tacit pressure to call them back in the next few days, so I can get started.

Then I go back to Graham’s penthouse, shut myself in the second master suite, and allow myself five minutes to sulk.

So the firm wasn’t for me. It was all part of a world I can’t be part of. Not right now, anyway.

The only thing left is Graham.