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Chapter One

The meeting had started without me. I sneaked a peek at my watch — I was still one minute early. I flashed Taylor Anderson — partner in charge, Armani Adonis, and the object of countless fantasies, including mine — a rueful smile, which he appeared not to notice. I took a seat. The client, Jason Krill, head of a tiny Internet start-up company, looked at me expectantly. Members of the legal team, no matter how junior, are usually introduced.

Taylor went right on talking. Krill's company was trying to raise venture capital, the kind of shoestring deal that could explode profitably overnight given the right combination of luck and more luck. The venture capitalists wanted seats on the board of directors and a reasonable amount of stock. The CEO wanted to give up as little as possible. Taylor was explaining the Facts of Life.

"This isn't Silicon Valley," he said apologetically "I'm afraid you have to give something to get something back."

The client had the geeky look of someone who had spent a lot of time in front of his terminal and not much outdoors. He probably wasn't a day older than twenty-five, with a hint of stubble on his chin that spoke of neglect rather than style, but in a year he might be driving a new Bentley Continental SC and squandering vast sums on a vintage pinball machine collection. Or not. That was the fun of start-up companies.

Melissa Peters, my senior in experience but not in years, crossed her admittedly awesome legs beneath a skirt that was definitely born the runt of the litter. "You might want to rework yourbusiness plan," she suggested.

The leg-crossing appeared to have short-circuited the client's brain. He stared at her, his mouth opened slightly. She obviously did something for his hard drive.

Melissa (called "Missy" by her friends, but not by me) and her ilk are the reason a lot of men in positions of authority treat their female colleagues with a wary formality inspired by fear of lawsuits. She gave off so many conflicting signals you were derailed before you knew what hit you. Her awesome self-confidence in her own ability was no less irritating for being justified, at least most of the time. On the other hand, instead of the you-touch-me-you'll-be-sorry professional demeanor of a female associate on the make, she had a kind of postfeminist exhibitionism about her body. She could stop a firm meeting dead (and had) by hitching up her skirt and massaging her calves. She was also taking classes in Tae Kwan Do and early Norse literature. For fun.

Taylor frowned momentarily. I knew what was the matter-the rule for associates at Roth, Tolbert & Anderson was that in meetings with a client, silence was not only golden but mandatory. Only one person at a time speaks for the firm, and it better not be you. My job, as the lowest in seniority, was to sit in the corner like Jane Eyre and take notes. Melissa's was to nod sagely at everything Taylor said. She wasn't supposed to make suggestions on her own.

"The firm feels that a review of your plan might be helpful," Taylor said, resuming command. He glanced in my direction. "Becky, could you get Mr. Krill's business plan for us?" He turned to the client. "Jason, can we get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Soda? Wine?"

Jason closed his mouth and swallowed. "Do you have Sprite?" he asked hopefully.

I stood up. Taylor caught my eye and then he stiffened. I knew, and he knew I knew, that he'd forgotten I was the lawyer and not the gofer.

Again.

If I'd come into the firm in the normal way, fresh out of law schoolat twenty-four and incandescent with ambition, I wouldn't have had these problems. Instead I'd spent the last six years becoming the oldest new associate in the law firm where I had, not incidentally, spent the same six years working as a receptionist while putting myself through law school at night. If I hadn't received a foundation grant for older graduate students returning to the workforce, it would have been more like eight and a half, or never. Not such a lofty pinnacle, I admit. But if this wasn't success, I didn't have a clue which way to turn.

The trouble was, for all those years I'd been a fixture at the frontdesk — a pleasant fixture, probably, but only slightly above the Italian-style furniture in rank. Receptionists come in two categories — twenty-year-olds who didn't go to college and can't get another job andforty-something divorcées who went to college years ago and can't get another job. Moreover, firms like the forty-somethings better becausethey don't chew gum into the phone, don't come to work wearing haltertops, and don't (usually) throw themselves at the partners. Anyway,when you're used to seeing — or, more accurately, not seeing — someonein a certain way, it's difficult to alter your perception.

It was bad enough that the attorneys sometimes forgot to take me seriously, but worse by far was the attitude of most of the staff. Putting yourself through law school at night — however grueling, grinding, or boring the process — is seen as a kind of rebuke, a suggestion that being a secretary or a receptionist isn't Enough. It isn't, financially, but that's beside the point. I mean, how much did the stepsisters like taking orders from Cinderella after the ball? I hadn't married the prince, but it was like pulling teeth to get anybody to do my work.

I might have done better seeking employment somewhere other than Roth, Tolbert & Anderson, which was an aspiring law firm but definitely second tier. Unfortunately, night law school is not the career path of choice...

Exit Strategies. Copyright © by Catherine Todd. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.