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She's had dreams about this. Well, okay, not this exactly and usually her dreams involved dining in Michelin star restaurants, but Rachel’s definitely had law school daydreams about ceiling-to-floor windowed offices on the penthouse level of a high-rise block.
So she wouldn’t say that the Pearson Hardman offices are exactly everything she’s dreamed of, but the fiftieth floor isn’t such a bad place to start.
“For a lackey,” she adds under her breath, but admires the view from the floor-length windows anyway.
The reality is: unless she wants to be at the bottom of the pecking order forever, now she needs to survive the other associates - all of them Harvard alumni, and all of them ready to trample over her - for a place at the table. But Rachel’s left her Doormat Zane Years long behind. Donna can snap her fingers and have a dozen associates come running. Rachel will make sure she won’t ever want anyone else but her.
“Rachel Zane?”
She takes one last look at the view, sucks in a breath and exhales. Showtime.
The man (boy) standing behind her is young enough to be an associate, but he’s wearing a cheap, crumpled suit, and an equally creased shirt with a skinny tie. Rachel doesn’t quite control the sceptical look on her face in time, but manages to pull it back to a faintly nauseated expression that sufficiently reflect her feelings about the suit, but could also be explained by nerves on her first day.
He could be someone’s secretary, but as far as she knew, even the mailroom attendants had a strict dress code. Definitely not associate material, and probably not anyone she had to worry about.
What she says is, “Yes, I’m Rachel. And you are...?”
He thrusts out a hand. She has this weird urge to pat him on the head. “I’m Mike Ross. I’m one of the paralegals,” he says and they shake briefly. “Congratulations on getting the job, ‘cos those interview are brutal. And I hear you have to shank another guy to even make it that far.”
Rachel gives him a tight smile. Rumour was that Pearson Hardman had the most stringent hiring requirements among all the New York firms, but sometimes people slipped through the net.
After a moment of silence, Mike clears his throat.
“...That was a joke - okay, moving right along!”
Mike fishes a notebook and a pen from his inner breast pocket of his jacket, and offers them to Rachel.
“I’ll be doing your employee induction this morning, and you’ll need to take notes,” he explains, so she takes them from his hands reluctantly.
The notepad is embossed with the firm’s name in neat black print, with crisp, thick sheets of lined paper inside the cover. The pen is heavy but comfortable in her hand, and the nib glides against the pages with no effort when she writes the date and the time on the top right hand corner.
She wants to sniff the paper too, but that probably wouldn’t send the right kind of impression. She can always raid their stationery cupboards in private later.
Mike is watching her closely.
“What?” she asks defensively.
He quirks his mouth in a way that she doesn’t trust. Surprisingly, there’s intelligence under all that polyester. Hmm.
“Ready to move past the front desk?” Mike asks. He holds up a lanyard with a plastic tag that has her name and photo officially printed under the Pearson Hardman firm name.
She squints at the picture. Her photo could really be a lot better.
“This is your security pass. You’ll need it for the door and the elevator for after-hours access. Your employee code is on the back, and that works for all photocopying and printing and invoicing for expenses. If you lose the pass you’ll have to take it up with Boris from security and he’s not the type of guy you want to take anything up with.”
“Right,” she says. Mike’s still holding up her pass, so she plucks it from his fingers and tucks it into her jacket pocket.
“Officially, working hours are Monday to Friday, 8 to 6,” he tells her, walking towards the offices, “but realistically you won’t be meeting your billable hours unless you’re doing 7 to 8, and some Saturdays. A lot of the associates work Sundays too. But I’m sure you already knew that,” he adds.
“When do I see Donna?” she asks.
“Donna usually doesn’t get in until eight, but today she isn’t expecting you until ten. The induction lasts at least a couple of hours because they like burying you in paperwork from the beginning. Lawyers, right?”
“Maybe you should rethink the whole working-for-a-law-firm thing if you have a problem with lawyers,” she says, because for some reason he puts her on the defensive. “Just a thought.”
“Hey, I don’t have any problems with lawyers.”
“That’s open-minded of you.”
“Lawyers need to earn a living too. How else will you afford that luxury yacht if you don’t charge $300 an hour?”
“You only have one? My dad just bought me my third last week,” Rachel says innocently.
Mike nods sagely. “Ah, a trust fund baby. The yachts are expensive, but it’s usually the drugs and hookers that burn through daddy’s investment first.”
“You’re just jealous.”
"Transparent, aren't I?" Mike agrees.
Rachel follows him down the rows of beech panelling, glass offices and island cubicles. The office is starting to buzz with life now: the background murmur of office conversations, telephones ringing, and the clatter of ceramic and glass for the first caffeine fix of the day.
“So we’ll start off with the animal sacrifices before moving onto the arcane chanting,” Mike is saying. “Then we can take a detour to see the guys in demon summoning. Finally we double back to eldritch horrors. All that sound okay to you?”
Somehow she's getting the impression that he really doesn't like lawyers.
“When do I sign away my soul?” she asks dryly.
Mike tuts. “Too cliche. Pearson Hardman prefers first-borns - we like our souls fresh, and anyone who’s studied at Harvard Law fails to meet that criteria. That was an insult, by the way.”
“Ouch. Guess I won’t be inviting you to my yacht party then.”
An hour later, Rachel is clutching copies of her contract, several non-disclosure forms, her healthcare plan and an employee conduct policy. She also has ten pages of notes and a not-to-scale sketched map of the offices with annotations. Halfway through the induction Mike had started doing a David Attenborough impression and it’s the worst British accent she’s ever heard.
They stop in front of the large windowless room with rows of cubicles that house the associates. It’s depressingly cramped in comparison to the conference rooms Mike had just shown her.
“And here we can observe the rearing habitat for the Pearson Hardman pack animal. Watch as the young lawyerlings fight for dominance and billing hours. The bullpen.”
“Kinda sexist, isn’t it?” Rachel says.
“We thought ‘cowpen’ was less than flattering.”
“‘Cattlepen’ would be the gender neutral term,” Rachel corrects. She frowns to herself. “I guess that’s not much better either.”
“The colloquialism ‘bullpen’ originates from the fact that bulls are more aggressive and territorial than their female counterparts,” Mike says, sounding like a high school textbook. “Although humans tend to be less gender-specific in their personality traits. The phrase is also sometimes used to refer to a temporary holding facility for prisoners.”
He gives her a knowing look.
She follows him to a corner cubicle that faces the centre of the room. Mike presents it with a small flourish and proceeds to perch on the desk with impudence.
He pats the laminate benchtop fondly. “So this is your workstation. You’ll love it once the Stockholm Syndrome sets in.”
Rachel runs her hands over the edges of the desk and smiles to herself. She has her own cubicle at Pearson Hardman, her three by three yards of proof that she belongs there.
Hmm. It does sound like she’s talking about a prison cell.
“You have the look,” says Mike.
“What look?”
“The same one that Donna gets sometimes,” he says cryptically. She’s not sure if he’s teasing.
Rachel sits on the edge of desk on the opposite side, mirroring Mike’s stance.
“Is anything you can you tell me about her?”
“Donna? We don’t really have much contact,” Mike says. “Most of the other partners like her, except for the old, sexist ones we keep on the twentieth floor. If you’re interested, I can send you her profile in the Bar Association newsletter. Or her write-up in the New York Times from a year ago.”
Rachel’s already read both of them. She leans closer to him and drops her voice so it’s low and intimate. “I’m looking for more of an inside angle.”
He leans in, copying her movements, so she tilts forward.
He turns his face to speak into her ear.
She tenses.
He says at regular volume, “Maybe you should try asking Donna those questions.”
*
Rachel navigates to Donna’s office using her sketchy map, and only accidentally almost collides into Jessica Pearson once. She’s actually saved by a passing mail trolley, and manages to duck away from the scene before she can be identified as a trouble-maker.
When Rachel arrives Donna’s secretary is sitting in a small cubicle outside her door reading the morning paper. She regrets not asking Mike anything about him because he’s kind of a douchebag but also because she hasn’t given him any excuses to like, especially after she told him she would kick his ass. But he'd been completely unprofessional first, had been so totally out of line that she had to say something. In the end, that might have been what landed her the job. Thinking about it just gives her a headache.
Harvey waves her in without looking up, meaning he doesn’t see the dirty look she shoots him.
The office is huge, about three quarters the size of the entire bullpen. A couple of expensive lounges are arranged comfortably in the centre, and one wall is completely filled with shelves of old, leather-bound volumes. Large art prints hang everywhere else and there are fresh flowers and a fruit platter on the coffee table.
Donna herself sits at her desk with her legs crossed under the table and her heels flung absent-mindedly beside her. She’s typing quickly at her laptop while occasionally glancing at an open file on the desk. Without looking away from her work or at Rachel, she points one finger to a chair in front of her.
Rachel takes her seat on the other side of the glass table and waits.
“How’s the first day been so far, kiddo?” Donna’s still reading the file and typing. Between Harvey and Donna, eye contact must not be a thing at Pearson Hardman.
“It’s only ten,” she says. “But I got the office tour. And I met some people.”
The clacking keys pause suddenly and Donna looks at her sharply. “Did you meet any partners?”
Rachel guesses that Donna isn’t including herself.
“No.”
“Junior partners?”
“No. None of them.”
Donna’s face suddenly clears.
“Great!”
Without further explanation, Donna reaches under her desk into a drawer and drops a file on the table. She nods for Rachel to take it. “Go on then.”
Rachel opens it gingerly. It’s a Pearson Hardman client file. Her first, maybe.
“It’s a pro bono client,” Donna explains. “I’m meant to be looking after it for Jessica but Wickerman blew up last week - not to mention blew a bunch of men that were not his wife - and there is no chance I can get around to it now. I need you to interview the client, check out her evidence, then take it wherever it needs to go. I have faith in your abilities, young padawan.”
Their client, Nancy Pozgajcic, was a woman in her mid-thirties who had been fired after making an official complaint about sexual harassment at her work. The complaint had been made about her boss who just so happened to be the CEO of the company. From the correspondence it seemed their lawyers were denying everything, and trying to imply that she’d only made the complaint after she felt dissatisfied with the severance package.
There’s the initial out-of-body moment when Rachel realises she’s got a real client in her hands, not just a hypothetical exam questions where they cram as many “issues” into one scenario as possible, and she has all of three hours to write an essay about how to solve them by citing the appropriate case law and legislation.
But when she starts leafing through the documents and file notes her mood drops a little. Sure, it was the kind of case everyone at law school hoped they’d be doing. Problem is, she doesn’t know the first thing about actually running a file. She's never actually interviewed a client, much less negotiated with the other party's lawyers.
“I can do the background and research, but shouldn’t someone more senior take the case? I mean, this seems really important.”
Donna smiles indulgently. It’s only a bit condescending.
“Rachel, when you’ve been working here for as long as I have, you’ll learn that everyone thinks their case is the most important thing since Donoghue v Stevenson. Trust me, it’s not. Here,” she picks the file from her hands and flips through it quickly.
“The boss is obviously a scumbag, and being this kind of scumbag doesn’t just happen overnight; it takes a life-long commitment. That tells you he’s probably a repeat offender.”
“Okay,” Rachel begins slowly, “so we find evidence to prove a pattern of behaviour and conduct. And we do that by...”
“By...?” Donna prompts.
She should know the answer to this. She really should. The first task she’s given and her mind’s already drawing blanks.
Rachel bites her bottom lip. “Can I buy a vowel?”
“Start by checking their personnel records for someone with a similar work history of promotions and demotions who was also then suddenly terminated.”
“You want me to subpoena their personnel records?”
Donna blinks. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Rachel twists her mouth uncertainly. “I don’t know. Would a judge grant us that?”
“Are you asking if a judge will grant us a general subpoena for a private company’s confidential personnel records in order for us to fish for more evidence to support our case? Absolutely not,” Donna responds confidently. “Which is why you’re going to find me another reason to make the request.”
“Okay, so... precedents.” She can do that.
“And you’ll need to do something that’s going to delay their a counterclaim, because you’ll need those records to establish a defence. They’re a big company, so...” Donna taps her cheek, “so make it seem like you’ll going to the press with the story. Obviously don’t say that, but drop some hints during the next case conference. It’ll give you a few days to apply for the subpoena while they’re scrambling to file for an injunction.”
And suddenly, Rachel is so out of her depth.
“But how do I....” she trails as Donna’s attention suddenly shifts behind her and to the left. Rachel twists in her seat and recognises a man from his headshot on the Pearson Hardman website. A junior partner.
“Louis,” Donna says guardedly.
Louis Litt. Mike’s description of ‘kind of like a cross between a mole and a rat’ had been uncannily accurate, although it makes her feel guilty thinking of it. He’s probably a great lawyer - and he would need to be to get where he is now.
“Did you wait for Harvey to take his bathroom break again?” Donna asks.
Sure enough, the secretary isn’t at his desk.
“The man has bladder control like a camel,” Louis says. “If a camel - nevermind.” He recomposes himself and seems to spot Rachel for the first time. “Who’s this?”
“I’m the new associate,” she says without thinking. “Rachel Zane.”
He frowns and gives Donna a questioning look. “The new associate? You told me she wasn’t starting until next week.”
Donna plasters a bright, fake expression on her face. “Well, uh, Rachel here was so keen to start she insisted on starting work a week early. Isn’t that right? Rachel.”
Donna’s face makes it clear that her loyalty is being tested right at this moment.
“Uh, yeah,” she says turning back to Louis. She gives him a weak smile. “Couldn’t keep me away if you tried. I’m a real go-getter.”
“Huh.” He pauses to consider them for a second, his right hand resting against his chin. “Well that works perfectly then. I came in here to talk to you about the Becker files because all the other associates were busy, but now I can just have Rachel summarise them.”
Donna gives Louis an obviously insincere expression of sympathy. “Oh Louis, that’s so thoughtful of you - but I’ve already assigned Rachel a file of mine to work on." Her eyes are comically wide. "I’m sorry, but it like you’ll have to find someone else to do the summaries. I’m sure that a popular office personality like yourself would have no problems finding an associate to assist you.”
Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Donna doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “And I hear Norma just received her diploma,” she says conspiratorially, and Louis winces, “which, technically, means that she should be able to do exactly the same work as any paralegal.”
He looks pained but also thoroughly displeased.
Donna waits expectantly because it had clearly been a cue for Louis to leave, but when he doesn’t move she shoos him by waving her fingers. “So you can just run along now, Louis.”
Antagonising a colleague doesn’t seem like a particularly smart move, but Donna has authority over a junior partner, so that’s her prerogative.
Louis narrows his eyes.
“It’s funny you should mention assigning Rachel a file, because - and correct me if I’m wrong - the only file you could possibly be assigning at the moment is that pro bono case Jessica passed to you. Personally.”
Donna stills.
He smirks and puffs his chest. “Yeah, I heard all about that. Rumour is that Jessica was going to give you a three week probation, or even put you in front of the Board.”
“So what, either I do what you want or you’ll run off to tell mom?” Donna rolls her eyes. “I’m sure the other partners will love to hear about both the maturity and tact you’ve displayed here. Keep up this kind of thing, and maybe you’ll get another thank you pot-plant from the firm at Christmas.”
Louis smiles nastily. “Donna, I have no qualms about letting Jessica know that you disobeyed a direct order. The partners can think whatever they want about interpersonal skills, but unlike some people, I produce concrete results. I have the highest billables of the firm, and it won’t be me they’re putting in front of the Ethics Board.”
She makes an exasperated sound. “You know I had nothing to do with what happened in the Wertz merger last week. At least man-up and admit that this is just some bullshit excuse so you can take over the Wickerman file.”
Louis ignores her. “See, I was going to give the associate until Friday to finish the work, but now that you’ve tried this little stunt, I’ve suddenly found out that need those summaries earlier. I want the Becker files on my desk and summarised by Wednesday morning and I want her,” he points at Rachel, “to do it.”
“No,” says Donna.
“Then I’m sure Jessica would be very interested what I have to say.” He looks suddenly contemplative. “And now that you mention it, if you were put on probation, then I suppose someone else would need to be assigned to the Wickerman file.”
Donna glares. Louis preens and his smug, self-satisfied expression reminds Rachel a little of Donna’s secretary. They stare each other down for a long second, neither willing to budge.
But Donna breaks first.
“Fine,” she declares, “take your pound of flesh,” and Louis gloats openly, all smiles and swagger like he didn’t just blackmail a colleague.
“You know, Donna, I always thought-”
“Get. Out.”
Donna’s icy voice sends prickles up Rachel’s spine, and Louis’ mouth even snaps shut in mid-sentence. He leaves her office with significantly less bounce in his step despite his win.
After he’s gone, Donna leans back in her chair and pinches the bridge of her nose.
Summarising Louis’ files doesn’t seem like the worst way to spend her time. And she’d always been fast at that kind of work. She could probably get Louis’ work done in an afternoon and still have the rest of the week to concentrate on Donna’s case.
“It’s no problem,” Rachel says. “I knew what I was getting into when I applied for the position. It’ll be a learning experience.”
Donna snorts, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Are you kidding me, kid? Rachel, you’ve got the job. You don’t have to keep up this good Harvard girl, Employee of the Week act. Louis is an asshole. You can say it. All the associates already think it anyway.”
“It’s not an act,” she says seriously. “I came here to work hard and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. ”
“Oh, it’s not about the work,” says Donna. “I expect you to start on that pro bono client immediately, and I don’t care how many of Louis’ file summaries you need to finish. What I don’t want is you taking Louis’ crap lying down. Doing favours for Louis doesn’t get you on his good side - it just tells him you’re ripe for the picking.”
“But he’s a junior partner.”
“And he barely manages even that.”
“Well, what do you want me to do? I don’t want to get you in trouble with Jessica Pearson, and it’s kind of my fault in the first place.” Rachel can’t help but feel guilty for jumping the gun with Louis. Maybe if she’d just waited for Donna’s signal they’d both be in the all-clear.
Donna holds up her hand, and then a single finger. “One, stop being so... nice. You’re a lawyer. If you can’t play hardball with Louis and the people in this firm, then how are you going to manage against those dogs at Wakefield Katie?”
“Wakefield Katie?” Rachel quirks an eyebrow. “I know the people who went there, and trust me, they’re nothing to be worried about.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Donna says approvingly. She holds up a second finger. “Two, I appreciate the concern, but you let me worry about Jessica.”
After a pause, Rachel nods.
“Three, I know it’s cliche, but you need beat Louis at his own game. I didn’t get where I am by letting guys like that take credit for my work.”
“But that’s different,” Rachel says. “You’re a senior partner; people listen to you.”
“I know it might be difficult to imagine,” says Donna, “but just between you and me, I didn’t actually spring fully-formed from the head of Lady Justice.”
“I’m shocked,” Rachel remarks, but she’s smiling.
“Believe it or not, I was once an associate like you,” Donna admits, “although if you tell anyone outside this room I will sue you for slander. Weak negotiating positions come with their own advantages. Louis has a reputation to maintain in this firm - and you don’t; not yet. Every time he makes a play, he needs to win because that’s what people expect to happen.”
Rachel’s never met a lawyer like Donna, or heck, any person like Donna. Her parents are both lawyers, but they’re glorified paper-pushers who sit at their desks all day and draw up contracts. They’re paid well for it, but as far as she knows it’s all by-the-books black letter stuff. This... this is something else.
There’s a sharpness to Donna that extends beyond the suit, the office, her job. It’s like an aura of complete self-assurance surrounds her presence, and it makes Rachel feel calmer just being closer to it.
“So what should I do?”
“It’s a matter of waiting for the opportunity - not that you’ll have to wait long with Louis. No one can win all the time.”
“Not even you?” Rachel asks, feeling like a smart-ass.
Donna gives her an amused look.
“You’re funny,” she says. “We’ll be friends.”
*
It’s mid-afternoon when Rachel finally admits to herself that she’s in way over her head. She doesn’t want to be the type of associate that goes running for help every time she hits a bump in the road, but she honestly doesn’t know what to do. Louis had been out for blood, so she wasn’t going risk approaching him, but maybe Donna could broker some sort of deal that would give her until Friday.
Harvey is idling with his feet on his desk and slowly swivelling back and forth on his chair while he reads a book on baseball. He doesn’t put down the book or bother to look at her when he speaks. It seems like she’ll have to get use that.
“Ready to quit yet?” he asks. She can’t see his face.
“You wish.”
Harvey makes a show of turning the page. “In that case, you must be running to our queen for help. Unfortunately, Donna will be out of the office for the rest of the day. She’s visiting a very important client.” He lowers the book, rests the open pages against his chest and meets her eyes. “But lucky for you, Rachel, I am here to help.”
She’s already started moving away. “That’s okay, I’ll manage it by myself.” Maybe she could ask one of the other associates about it. She’s pretty sure one of them is named Harry. And there was um, Geoffrey.
“It’s the Becker files, right?”
Rachel stops mid-stride and pauses. After a second, she walks backward to the island cubicle. Harvey looks inordinately smug. She hates his face.
“What do you know about the Becker files?”
“What don’t I know about the Becker files?”
He’s not going to make it easy for her. Rachel sighs and sucks up her pride.
“Louis asked me to summarise all the Becker files by Wednesday - that’s two class actions with dozens of plaintiffs for each. The depositions alone are 10,000 pages. Even if I worked 40 hours, that’s 250 pages an hour. I’m good, but that’s not humanly possible.”
“It’s possible,” says Harvey. “Don’t know about human though. Either way, you’d be after Mike Ross.”
Rachel crosses her arms. “Mike Ross? The paralegal who showed me around?”
Harvey gives a noncommittal shrug. “Don’t judge him on appearances; the kid’s like Good Will Hunting or something. He’s got the associates knocking each other over to bring him cheesy crust pizza though, so chances are you’ll need to take a number and wait in line.” He pauses to tilt his head and look her over. “Then again, maybe not.”
“You’re a creep,” she tells him.
Harvey spreads his arms. “I do my best.”
*
“This is your office?” She doesn’t even bother to keep the incredulity out of her voice.
Mike beams. “You like it?”
The office is small, but he’s not sharing it and it has natural light as well as an amazing view of the New York skyline through the windows. On the other hand, there was a small fort of pizza boxes piled in one corner, and an army of empty Red Bull cans sitting on top of the filing cabinets. She can smell the sickly-sweetness of old, warm soda from outside the door.
“It’s got a... a great view,” Rachel finally says.
“So what can I do for you, Ms Zane?” Mike asks, and attempts to look like a supervillain by putting his fingers together and swivelling in his seat. It’s leather and ergonomic. The seat at Rachel’s desk is broken which means it tilts forward too much so she’s gradually sliding off it through the course of the day. It’s also definitely not leather.
“I have to summarise the Becker files. By Wednesday.”
Mike winces. “The Becker files on your first day? Harsh.”
“It was Louis.”
“Of course.”
“Harvey told me to come see you.”
“Uhuh.”
“The file is about 10,000 pages.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Rachel huffs. “Mike, could you please help me with the Becker files?”
“Hmm,” Mike says, considering her request. “An overnight research party in the library that breaches labour regulations in at least thirty states, and potentially parts of the Geneva Convention? Okay, I’m game.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I guess I’ll owe you one.” Which is about as close as he’s going to get to a Sorry-For-Misjudging-You.
“You owe me dinner,” he says, and it sounds as if she’s made a bargain with the devil.
Rachel had discreetly asked other associates about him (“Oh, you mean the Ross Machine?”), only for other people to confirm what Harvey had said. Between the two of them, only one of them has the Law degree from Harvard, but somehow Mike is the Pearson Hardman poster child and also one of the firm’s best kept secrets. It makes her wonder why he’s not working there as a lawyer.
Mike holds up his phone. “So, now I have an important question for you, Rachel: Pizza, or Chinese?”
*
Donna finds her and Mike laughing over sashimi and edamame in the library. In their defence, it’s 7pm, they have files open, and they’ve been working for hours.
“Working hard, or hardly working?” Donna says as Mike is urgently smoothing the creases of his shirt and adjusting his tie to look presentable. She opens a stray folder on the desk. “This doesn’t look like Nancy Pozgajcic at all.”
Rachel straightens in her seat. “It’s not. That’s the Becker class action.”
“Are you prioritising Louis’ work over mine now?” Donna asks dangerously.
“You didn’t let me finish. Becker is what Mike’s working on. This,” she holds up an identical black folder, “is the research for Pozgajcic. Cases from the Second Circuit going back to 2008.”
"Huh," says Donna. “Have you made contact with their lawyers?”
“I’ve set up a telephone conference for tomorrow, and I’ve already humbly requested your attendance on your calendar," Rachel answers.
“So you have been working then,” says Donna. “In that case, if you get the brief on my desk by 9, I’ll let you sit in on the dress rehearsal with Wakefield Katie.” When Rachel tilts her head questioningly, Donna explains, “I’m a thespian.”
Rachel thinks for a beat. “No, I don’t I get it.”
“Lawyer, actress, it’s not so different. How do you feel about Greek tragedies?”
“I’m more of a ballet and opera person.”
“That’s a shame,” Donna says, “because I make an excellent Antigone.”
“She does a good Lady Macbeth too,” Mike adds, watching them and sipping from a can of Red Bull. “What? You practise in the lunchroom. You stand on a table.”
“It’s my pre-trial technique,” she explains to Rachel. “Everyone has one. And just so you know, my Lady Macbeth isn’t just good, it’s Tony winning material.”
She gives Mike a pointed look.
“I used to cook souffle before my exams,” Rachel offers.
“Cute,” says Donna. Her eyes flick briefly between Rachel and Mike. “I’ll see you in the morning then, kiddo, bright and early for your second day.”
“Can’t wait,” Rachel says, and she’s surprised to find that she means it. Despite the ridiculous amount of work she’s already behind on, the office is already beginning to feel like home. That was a weird thought to take comfort in, right?
Donna pauses, seems to make a decision, and bends sideways towards Rachel.
“Just a heads up: you’re not going to be popular with the other associates once they hear they’ve lost their favourite researcher to unresolved sexual tension with the new kid,” she says in a stage whisper.
Mike splutters and chokes on his drink.
After Donna leaves and Mike recovers from his coughing fit, he turns to her with a sharp-eyed expression.
“Unless you’ve been doing research into Second Circuit cases while you were in the bathroom, those are more notes from Becker,” he says, pointing to the folder she’d shown Donna. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”
Rachel takes another green pod from the bowl, and pops a soy bean into her mouth.
“Yeah,” she says. “I guess I did.”