Jack with a Twist Read Online Free PDF

date story. Especially now that I’m engaged and don’t have to go on them anymore.
    “Well, no,” she says, putting her head down into the set of documents she carried into my office. “But it’s only been a week and two days. So, he’s probably just really busy with work.”
    “Definitely,” I say, trying to think of what Vanessa used to say to me after a promising blind date failed to call me.
    We sit in silence for a moment before we are interrupted by Rosalyn Ford, one of the partners at the firm.
    “I’m so glad the two of you are together,” she says, leaning against the door frame of my office. “Were you two just working on our case?”
    “Yes,” I say, nodding. “We were.”
    “Of course,” Esther says, holding up her stack of documents and waving them around as proof.
    “Well, stop everything you’re doing,” Rosalyn says, her booming voice as loud as ever, “because they’re about to cave.”
    “I thought that this case was going straight to trial?” I asked, furrowing my brow as if I really, really cared about the case. It was a joke I shared with Vanessa. As a lawyer, you are frequently in situations where partners dramatically pause while they’re talking to you, just waiting for your reaction. It’s not until well into your first year that you learn to master the various expressions you are expected to give back: the “I’m so horrified that opposing counsel would do that” face, the “I’m so excited to work on this lame-ass case with you” face, and the classic “you are so funny and clever in the way that you handled that judge/witness/child under the age of five!” face. Here, I was using the old “I am so interested in this case that I’m hanging on your every word” face and I could see over my desk that Esther was doing the same.
    I’ve taught her so well.
    “Well, it’s not,” Rosalyn says, her face lighting up as she gets ready to tell us the rest. “Opposing counsel called me and wants to meet me this afternoon. They’re about to cave, I just know it.”
    “Congratulations,” I say. “You’ve worked so hard on this case.”
    “Go get ’em!” Esther says, balling her hand up in a fist and raising her arm just like Rosie the Riveter. We all smile as Rosalyn leaves my office.
    “Thank God,” Esther says once Rosalyn is out of earshot, throwing her pile of documents down onto the floor of my office, “I totally did not want to have to read all of these documents.”
    “Ms. Miller,” my assistant says, her velvety voice smooth even over my intercom, “Ms. deVouvray is here to see you. May I send her in?”
    “Monique deVouvray?” I say, stalling for time.
    “Yes,” my assistant confirms.
    “Um,” I say, “Don’t send her in. I’ll come out and get her.”
    “She’s here?” Esther asks, eyes popping out of her head like in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
    “Apparently,” I say, getting up from my desk.
    “You can’t let Monique deVouvray come in here,” Esther says, standing up and blocking my path to the door. “She is an icon of style, beauty and grace. This place is neither stylish nor beautiful nor graceful. If she sees it, she may not want to design your wedding dress for you anymore!”
    “You’re right,” I say, grabbing boxes of documents and trying to stuff them into the drawers of my credenza.
    “And then my chances with her will be gone!” she says.
    “A little help here,” I say, pointing over at the corner, where there’s a huge stack of fake Levi’s that I’m using as evidence in a trade dress infringement case I’ve been working on.
    “The documents and boxes are the least of your problems. Start with the desk,” Esther says to me, taking her right arm and sweeping all of the junk that was sitting on my desk into a drawer. The effect is striking—for the first time since I began working at SGR, you can actually see the deep cherry-red wood of my desk. My in and out trays sit quietly on the right corner of my desk,