I rubbed my eyes and focused again on Britley v. Russell Properties, an exciting legal battle regarding a dispute over water rights on a condominium project. Thrilling. At least Broward was still there also. I could hear him on the phone, his seat creaking occasionally when he stood up, usually to pace. I bet a track had been worn on his plush carpet from the constant pacing. My stomach growled. The next day I would know to pack a dinner. Damn Todd and the other interns, with their light workloads and happy-hour drinks. I grumbled a little longer and then tried to refocus my mind.
At 10:00 p.m. Broward knocked on my office door and entered. Tie undone, shirt rumpled, he looked at my exhausted face with a gentle smile. “Come on, Julia. Let’s go. You’ve put in a good first day.”
I smiled at him wearily. I was so hungry I was ready to start chewing on a Post-it note; I was certain my butt had officially fused to the leather seat, and my hands were cramping from the nonstop typing. I wanted to come across as a road-hardened legal warrior, but I was too tired to keep up the facade. Besides, he looked tired also.
“All right, boss,” I said, grabbing my jacket and shrugging into it. “I won’t argue with you, seeing it’s my first day.” I picked up my purse and followed him down the hall, waving to the quiet, round, Hispanic housekeeper who waited at the entrance to Broward’s office armed with disinfectant and a trash bag. She smiled at me and waited until we passed before scurrying into the office.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Broward said—a statement rather than a question. “You don’t need to be in the parking garage alone.” I nodded my thanks and tried to walk without stumbling.
We got on the elevator. Muted music filled the car. I tried to think of something moderately intelligent to say.
Broward broke the silence. “I buried you in files today. I didn’t give you a proper introduction to the office. Tomorrow I will give you a tour and the basic background information on everything that you will need. Week after next I will be in Fort Lauderdale, so I want to get you as acclimated and self-sufficient as possible.”
“Sounds great,” I said. Thank God, a week of normal hours. I gestured to the ten-year-old gray Toyota Camry, my mom’s old car, now one of two cars in the parking lot, the other a shiny black Lexus, which I assumed was his. “This is mine,” I said a bit unnecessarily. “Thank you for walking me.” I awkwardly stuck out my hand and he shook it.
“See you tomorrow, Ms. Campbell.” Broward smiled and released my hand.
“Good night, Mr. Broward.” I nodded, and headed for my car.
Three
Six in the morning came way too freaking early. The day before, I had bounded out of bed, excited about my internship, but today it took two snooze cycles before I lifted my head. My alarm still sounding, I fumbled to turn it off just as pounding started on the wall beside my bed. “It’s off!” I shouted. Zack, my stoner of a roommate, stopped beating on the wall, probably already halfway back to sleep. He’d had friends over till past 3:00 a.m., and they had made no effort to be quiet. I had no doubt there would be plenty of fights in the upcoming months over our sleep routines.
After breakfast and a shower, I grabbed a blue sweater-dress out of the closet and pulled it over my head, cinching a brown belt around my waist. Grabbing small faux diamond stud earrings and a purse, I surveyed my shoe options. All sexy and over three inches tall. Seeing long hours ahead, I realized I would need to buy some shoes that emphasized comfort over fashion. For now, I grabbed some gorgeous leather-and-gold stilettos and slid them on.
I arrived at the office at 7:30 a.m. Pulling open the heavy teak doors, I entered the lobby, nodding to Dorothy, the ancient receptionist. “Good morning, Miss Campbell,” she said creakily. “Here late last night?” Her bemused expression had no trace of pity.
“Not too late,” I replied breezily. She grinned at me, her wrinkles accentuated by the motion.
“Have a good day,” I heard her call as I pressed the door to the stairs and headed for the fourth floor.
The fourth floor—or power floor, as the staff referred to it—was divided into three different wings, one for each partner. Each partner had two secretaries, two paralegals and one intern. Brad De Luca was the exception, with four secretaries and three paralegals. I remembered from orientation that his caseload was double that of any other attorney, including the other two partners. Broward’s secretaries were Sheila and Beverly, neither of whom, judging by their empty desks, arrived till 8:00 a.m.
Broward was already in his office, phone to his ear, when I passed his closed door. I waved at him through the glass and entered my office. Setting my purse by the door, I switched my cell to Silent and then started in on the pile stacked on my desk. I was halfway through the first brief when Broward appeared in the doorway.
“Good morning,” he said distractedly.
“Good morning.”
“Did you make coffee?” His question caused me to look up from my computer.
“Coffee?” I stalled. Is that part of my duties?
“Yes, the kitchen with the coffeepot is on the third floor. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the proper tour, but I thought they might have covered that in orientation.” A phone began ringing in his office, and he glanced back at me with agitation.
“Yes, I’ll get it now.” I stood quickly and smoothed down my dress. He disappeared, and I heard him answer his phone a few seconds later.
Coffee. Okay, I can do this. Are Trevor and Todd brewing freaking coffee?
I found the third-floor kitchen without too much trouble and stared at the complex stainless steel coffeepot. I came from a noncoffee family. I had never desired to attach myself to a caffeine habit, and had treated coffee the same way I treated cigarettes, drugs and—until I was nineteen—sex. I stayed away from them, and they stayed away from me. Therefore, my coffee education rivaled that of a newborn.
Should I admit weakness and ask Ancient Dorothy for help? Nope. I started opening drawers in the kitchen, hoping to find a user’s manual for the coffeepot.
My butt was saved by a short, round woman with spiky red hair and an I Love My Labradoodle sweatshirt. Sarcastically, I wondered if the sweatshirt classified as business attire until my subconscious smacked me across the face. Who was I to judge salvation?
“Good morning!” Labradoodle woman chirped happily, bustling past me and settling her orange-and-blue polka-dot lunch box in the fridge.
“Hi!” I blurted out enthusiastically. Probably a little too enthusiastically. She gave me an odd smile before heading to the sink to wash her hands.
I cornered the Labradoodle-loving stranger by the sink. “My name is Julia,” I said. “Today is my second day, and Broward just asked me for coffee, and I’ve never made coffee before, and I can’t find a user’s manual for the coffee machine, and I don’t know how it’s supposed to taste....” My rush of words faltered and I looked at her in desperation. Please, have some compassion!
She beamed at me and patted my arm reassuringly. “Now, now, that is no problem! I don’t drink a lot of coffee myself, but I’ll show you how to fix it!” With purpose, she bustled over to the cabinet and pulled out a jug of ground coffee. “Now, the way I fix it is to put three teaspoons of coffee grounds in...and then fill the water canister to eight cups.” Three teaspoons, eight cups. Sounds easy enough.
I followed her instructions and had a pot of watery brown liquid brewing in no time. I didn’t trust myself with a taste test, but poured Broward a cup and stuck one of the prepared containers of sweeteners, creamers and stirrers under my arm. I carefully navigated my way through the halls to the elevator and used my elbow to press the button. The doors opened to Todd Appleton’s perky good looks. His glowing skin and enthusiastic “good morning” spoke of a full night of rest.