In a room full of men who had been here forever, I was still new enough to smell like ribbon and scissors.
They'd summoned me early—no agenda, just a calendar block with too many initials. That's how old partners set the weather: you show up, you learn where the thunder lives. It was a reminder that titles are only keys, not doors.
Finding Beth already seated beside me was the surprise. She had a legal pad and a pen that didn't make a sound. The way she sat said she didn't owe anyone her comfort. The old guard spread themselves like winter across the table and smiled in ways that could mean welcome or warning.
"We're expanding," the eldest said in the voice that turns facts into customs. "New verticals. New map. We want you two to chart one of the rivers."
The slide appeared. There's always a slide. Restaurant chains—regional to national—numbers that glittered on paper and bled in kitchens. They said it like a blessing. It landed like a dare.
"Your temperament fits," another partner added. It sounded like encouragement until I heard temperament say expendable. "We believe in your hustle." Which is how some people say we'll see what breaks first.
I did what I always do when I don't know the ground: asked about the parts no one else had bothered to learn. Supply volatility. Lease cliffs. Labor churn dressed as charm. The answers were polite fog. This wasn't a plan; it was chum tossed into water to see what swam.
"Good luck," the eldest said when the meeting ended, and in his mouth luck sounded like a test already graded.
Chairs pushed back. Old shoes remembered their corridors. I caught something I didn't expect from her—the lightest curve on her lips. Not a smile; more like weather shifting from sleet to clear. She capped her pen as if it had done its job.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" I asked. It wasn't a line—just a thought that got out. I'm not a man who lets those out often.
She kept her eyes on the papers. "It's work," she said. "But I do enjoy watching someone try to swim on his first day."
"Then I'll try not to bore you," I said.
She slid the folder toward me. "Surprise me, Partner."
We stepped into the corridor's hush. "Gather a list," I told her. "Places worth a look. We're going on a binge."
"We have people who do that," she said. "Teams. Process. You know—those boring things that distinguish hope from expense."
"I know," I said. "But this junior partner wants to see you eat."
"You're petty," she said evenly.
"I am," I admitted—and for a second the honesty felt cleaner than wit.
Sometimes I wonder what she would be if she were devious, if there were a Machiavellian edge under all that straightness. I shuddered at the thought and just watched her walk off with a stride sure of its destination. I've seen few walk with such conviction.
Jacob appeared like a trick the room had saved for after. Slick hair. Suit that worked too hard. A smile trained to give compliments it didn't believe.
"Adrian," he said, clapping too lightly to be friendly. "Junior partner. Congratulations. Word is you're spearheading restaurants." He made restaurants sound like reef.
I would almost have believed him if I didn't know his tells—the way his eyes check the exits even when the door is behind him. Something had been bothering me since the deck appeared. Why me for this? Seeing Jacob's face clicked the puzzle into a shape I didn't like. If it was a trap, it was his. Monica would have blessed it; she had a talent for calling holes opportunities.
"How generous," I said, and put on a smile with better bones than his. "You'll be pleased to hear I recommended you for strategic planning and execution."
It was quick, the crack across his face, but not invisible. "What?"
"That team will need a steady hand," I went on as if readings were in progress and my name were on the program. "And there you are."
It took him exactly that long to regain his footing. He knew—of course he knew—that nothing like that happened without Monica, and Monica hadn't breathed a word. But for a full heartbeat he disliked the feeling of being seen. It looked good on him.
"Always thinking of the firm," he said. "That's what I tell people about you."
We swapped clean sentences that meant nothing and left each other where we'd found each other—on opposite banks of a river someone else had widened. I walked back to my office and let the door close behind me like an agreement.
The city stood on its needles outside the glass. In the middle distance a rooftop sign stuttered in the rain, a neon heart missing a beat. I told myself the hum in my head was air, not dread. I told myself this was just a set of numbers and a map, that money behaves when you don't flinch. I told myself a lot of things that sounded like the truth had sat down to rest.
On my desk the new nameplate caught a bar of light and held it. The word Partner looked both younger and older than it had yesterday. I could almost hear the room from the morning—the encouragement dressed as threat. I could hear Beth's pen moving even when she wasn't writing.
I drafted the email to her and left it open, as if the words needed air before they could be honest.
Subject: fieldworkBody:List by noon. Start with places that look alive even when they're empty. We'll go together. Bring your calendar and your appetite. — A.
I didn't hit send. I pictured her reading it, that half-smile she makes when she's choosing between letting me dangle and letting me succeed. Somewhere between the two is the only road I can walk without lying to myself.
On the way out, the elevator took its time. I admired it for that. People forget delay is sometimes the only gift we get for free.
In the lobby, the guard raised a hand. Outside, the rain came down like coins again. I thought about kitchens and leases and rooms that need to breathe, and about a man who might or might not be waiting for Thursday. I thought about a boy with a jar and a sentence he'd offered me like a match.
If the sharks were already circling, so be it. I'd learn the current or I'd learn to bleed slower. And if I was going to drown, then at least I knew who I wanted standing next to me, telling me the numbers while the water rose.
Beth. Always a straight line, even in a crooked room.