The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance (4 page)

Dan packed another box of books. He loved his apartment at the eastern end of Arch Street. A Victorian warehouse cleverly converted into flats that took advantage of the huge windows facing south. Only a few blocks from his office. Which was why he had to move. He needed to be closer to the Fergusson offices. Anyway, it was time for a change. He’d been in one place for far too long.

He stopped mid-afternoon to make a phone call.

“Hey, Dan.”

“Happy Father’s Day.”

“Thanks. Your mother is here. Do you want to talk to her?”

Dan rolled his eyes. “No, I’m calling you. On Father’s Day.”

His father laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

“So, how have you been?”

“Your mother and I have been great. She tells me you have a new job?”

“In a couple weeks. I’m going to be a partner at Fergusson and Leith.” Dan could have explained that Fergusson was one of the top firms in Philadelphia, but his father had the usual doctor’s attitude toward lawyers.

“So you’ll be defending the people you’ve previously been trying to put in jail?”

“Nope, I didn’t want to do white-collar criminal cases any more. I’m taking over Georgia Moran’s complex litigation practice group. She’s heading to Washington and can’t take any of her clients with her.”

“And this law firm is putting you in her place? That seems risky.”

Deep breath. “Why do you say that, Dad?”

“You’ve never done this work before. I would have figured they’d promote someone else, then slip you in as a, you know, a more junior guy.”

A more junior guy
. Didn’t that just sum up everything. “Believe it or not, they wanted me enough to give me Moran’s practice group. It looks good on Fergusson’s website to have a former federal prosecutor as a partner.”

“If you say so.”

Dan looked at the sweep-second hand of his watch. Twenty seconds. Ten. Five. Four…

“Hey, have I told you where Chris is going next month? Russia. Some mathematics convention.”

“Yeah, Dad, that’s great.”

Another few minutes of the how-awesome-Chris-is show before Dan managed to get off the phone. The irony was, he could call Chris, who’d be thrilled by Dan’s news. Only it was Father’s Day, and Dan wanted his dad to be proud of him.

Dan couldn’t help it—he kept seeking approval from the one person who wouldn’t give it.

Meghan only needed a single meeting to be shown her new place in the firm.

The Complex Litigation Group met every Monday morning at ten-thirty, right after the litigation lawyers’ meeting. The first Monday, Meghan got to the conference room before everyone else and sat far from the door, two seats up from the end of the table. The lawyers trickled in slowly, summer associates being the promptest, then junior associates, senior associates, and junior partners. Last of all, the senior partner rushed in, still tapping away on a BlackBerry.

Meghan had her pad out, her notes on the cases in a folder, a pen in her hand and her head down. She could tell, though, that she was causing some consternation. She glanced up to see one of the mid-level associates frowning at her. They stared at each other before Meghan got it—she was in his seat. Then Meghan noticed the empty seat diagonally opposite hers. Near the hall and…ah, yes, that was the point. It was closest to the phone on the credenza. That was where the lowly paralegal should sit, ready to fetch something or answer the phone so none of the lawyers needed to.

Got it. Won’t make that mistake again.

At the second meeting, Meghan again arrived first. She sat in the correct seat and was completely ignored. When Georgia Moran announced she was leaving the Complex Litigation Group and pointedly told Vicky Womack to coordinate with Meghan to help the new guy settle in, Meghan thought she detected a slight sneer on Vicky’s perfectly groomed lips. Otherwise, Vicky gave no indication she knew or cared who Meghan was.

Meghan ducked her head so no one could see her smile. It was like there was an ironclad rule—ignore the phony paralegal. The lawyers noticed her only when there was work for her to do. The other paralegals ignored her because she wasn’t a proper paralegal. The secretaries ignored her because she was neither a paralegal nor a lawyer.

Welcome to Fergusson & Leith, Philly’s number two law firm. Where a quasi-paralegal was better than a mailroom clerk, but not by much.

Dan Howard got in to his new office early to unpack the banker’s box filled with his executive toys. Each one reminded him of home, of the house in Portland, Maine where he and his sisters grew up in middle-class comfort. Except for a couple of years when he’d needed to be elsewhere at Christmas, the whole family congregated at his parents’ house, helped decorate the huge tree, snuck around wrapping packages and fluffing tissue paper in gift bags, then ate a huge breakfast with everyone in their robes and slippers before settling down to open presents. Every toy had been a gift from his sisters, given with love and admiration for their brother, the hotshot federal prosecutor. Even if Dad hadn’t been proud of him, “the girls” had been.

He wondered if he’d made a mistake quitting the Justice Department just because Blackjack looked like he’d grow old as the US Attorney. Then he unwrapped another tavern puzzle and a magnetic building block set. He smiled. His desk as a partner at Fergusson & Leith was a lot bigger than the one he had on Sixth Street. His toys could spread out.

Dan placed his prized possession, a miniature Lady Justice sitting on a throne, in the center of the toys. She held a sword in one hand and a set of scales in the other. People always remarked on the sword. That was the general impression of Justice—she held scales. Fairness. That assumption amused Dan, who felt the sword made the balance possible. Lady Justice was nothing without it.

“Ready for the Litigation meeting?”

Dan turned at the cheery voice. Vicky Womack posed in the doorway, her artfully tousled auburn hair framing a sunny smile and calculating eyes. She wanted something from him, but Dan couldn’t tell if it was personal, professional, or both. Whichever. He didn’t trust her.

He put down the last toy. “Of course. I’ve been warned to look surprised when Wally introduces me as the newest junior partner.”

She laughed, stepping backward to allow him to join her in the hallway. “As though you’ve just wandered in from the street.”

Dan chuckled. “Lost and lonely, looking for a litigation department that might take me in.”

They walked up the internal staircase to the fortieth floor and into the big conference room at the west end.

Wally Leith rushed forward to greet them. “Dan, great, you made it.”

Dan followed Wally around the room, shaking hands and trying to match names and faces to the firm directory he’d studied over the weekend. Everyone seemed to be about fifteen years older and thirty pounds heavier than in their photos.

Finally Wally called the meeting to order and everyone settled around the table. When his turn came, Dan spoke.

“I’m pleased to join your firm. When Georgia left to become chief counsel for the junior senator from New Jersey, you needed someone to take over her complex litigation practice. As you can guess, this is perfect for me. At Justice, I only had one client, the US people—well, I guess I had three hundred million clients, depending on how you look at it. As I couldn’t bring them with me—”

Everyone chuckled.

“—I need a job where the clients are already waiting. So my thanks to Georgia Moran for following the lure of Washington, and to the partnership here for making me an offer I couldn’t refuse. There, see? I’m still making organized crime jokes—a thinly veiled reference to Blackjack McIntyre’s success sending T-Rex Reggiano to the federal pen. After that stunt, I had to know I wouldn’t be getting his job anytime soon.”

As the laughter died, Dan sat back. First hurdle done.

The discussion flowed to someone else’s war stories and Dan could relax.

As Dan left the conference room, he checked his pad.

“What do you need?” Vicky asked, falling into step with him. She’d tried to get him to sit with her, but he’d ignored her smiles and sat by one of the senior partners Dan met while being interviewed for the job.

“I’m looking for the Delaware Room,” Dan said. Despite his studying over the weekend, he hadn’t thought to memorize the conference room names.

Vicky patted his shoulder. “Not to worry. I’m on your team. We’ll go together.” Her hand stayed on his shoulder.

Dan sighed. This one was going to be a problem. Like that summer intern—what was her name?—who’d stayed late so often that Dan had her reassigned to someone else’s case. He veered to his right just enough for Vicky’s hand to fall away.

“Oh, look,” he said, spotting the men’s room. “Just tell me which room it is. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Vicky pursed her lips like she’d sucked on a lemon, then relaxed her expression. “Sure thing. It’s the first room on the left after Reception. See you there.”

When he found the room, it was already nearly full. Good God, did Complex Lit really need this many lawyers?

“Hi, everyone. I’m Dan Howard. I’ve been hired to take over from Georgia.”

There was a murmur of greetings.

Dan took the seat at the head of the long table and did a quick head count. Eight lawyers? Insanity. But then the economics of a large law firm were paradoxical. And not all these bright young things worked full-time on Georgia’s—well, his—cases.

“I’ve met a couple of you,” Dan said, studiously ignoring Vicky’s hundred-watt smile. “Still, let’s go around the room, shall we? Tell me your name and what you’re working on for this team.”

He made notes as people mentioned specific cases. Finally it rolled around to the woman nearest to him on the right.

“Meghan Mattson,” she said. “Paralegal.” She paused.

Dan looked at her. He felt his eyebrows rising in surprise. She—

Her expression was carefully neutral. “I work on all cases. Currently I’m handling the interrogatories for the insulin case, discovery requests in Dixon, trial prep in Garver, and medical records in the pacemakers case.”

“But you’re the moot court champ,” he blurted out when she finished. “You can’t be a paralegal.”

The room froze. Meghan Mattson’s cheeks bloomed a delicate color and her eyes turned to ice. She didn’t break eye contact.

“I
am
a paralegal. Specifically, I’m
your
paralegal. I handle all the Complex Litigation cases.”

Dan wanted to argue with her. He wasn’t mistaken. It might have been three or four months, but he remembered her. In fact, he’d been looking forward to seeing her again. He’d expected to meet her at some mixer for the summer associates, or maybe an afternoon outing to see the Phillies.

Then he recalled Ted Dorchay’s comments about Meghan being groomed to apply for a Supreme Court clerkship. To go from Franklin Law’s hope for a Supreme Court connection…to Complex Lit’s paralegal? What the hell happened?

Her level look never wavered. Something about her face communicated how little she wanted him to pursue this. He should reassure her or apologize but that would only make it worse.

All right.

Dan looked down at his pad, a tiny smile masking his anger and confusion. “Well, Franklin Law’s loss is my gain, that’s for sure.” He lifted his head. “Okay, who wants to tell me where we are on the insulin case?”

At the end of the meeting, Dan finished scribbling his notes and got up to leave. When Meghan tried to slip past him, he held out his hand in a gentle gesture to stop her. “Hold on. I have some questions about the Sullivan case.”

Vicky hovered on Dan’s left. “I can answer those.”

He gave her his biggest grin. “Oh, your time’s so much better spent preparing your trial memos. Meghan will be able to deal with my ignorance.” His eyes tracked Vicky as she left the room. When he was confident she’d left he turned back to Meghan.

She looked the same as she had in the spring, at the moot court competition, but also different. Her hair had been up then. Now it was down, pulled back off her face and falling behind her shoulders. It was curly—or did women consider that wavy?—and shiny, its warm brown tones glinting under the conference room’s lights.

The big difference was her eyes. She’d been happy when she’d won the moot court argument, but it hadn’t been the happiness born of triumph, it had been the joy of arguing with a judge. She was made to be a litigator.

Now, she looked equally unhappy as a paralegal.

“Mr. Howard?” She shifted her weight to the other foot and glanced at the door.

“Call me Dan.” He pulled himself back to the situation. He checked over his shoulder. Someone could want the conference room any minute now. “Let’s walk. Where’s your office?” He signaled that she should precede him.

“On thirty-nine. Right around the corner from yours, I believe.”

They started walking toward the stairwell. “That’s convenient. Are all the Complex Lit people on the same floor?”

“No. Just me. You’re in Georgia’s office, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Meghan nodded. “They put me in the empty paralegal office closest to her.”