Jordan acknowledged me with a nod and turned back to Matt. “The calculation is kinda fucked because those figures really should have been above the line,” he mused.
I knew I should have paid attention to the conversation, viewed it as a learning opportunity, but I let my gaze drift around the room. Little Lucite plaques filled every single inch of windowsill space, touting all the impressive deals Matt had done: a Newton’s cradle for Criterion, Inc., a skyscraper for Upwards Partners, an oil well for EarthBound LLC.
Deal toys, one of the other first-years had told me they were called.
“I have so much on my plate. You deal with this.” Matt’s voice drifted into my ears, and I flashed him a grin, knowing my job would be much easier if he liked me. Matt smiled back at me. This was going to be much easier than it was with Lara. Guys are simple, I thought.
Jordan continued to brief Matt. “And the buyer sent through the target list for us to . . .”
“Do you know what a target list is?” Matt asked me, interrupting Jordan. I nodded, grateful that I had looked it up that morning after I’d been cc’ed on an email mentioning it.
“The list of potential targets in the market. Prospective acquisitions for the buyer,” I answered, trying to hide my smugness.
“I see a potential issue with Tremor, Elite Metals . . . ,” Jordan went on without acknowledging me.
I turned my attention back to Matt’s office decor. There were classic 1990s black-and-white professional photos of Matt with his wife and three boys, all wearing jeans with white collared shirts and bare feet. There were classic 1980s portrait pictures of his family with fading oval borders, in which the youngest child was still an infant. And one of Matt being swallowed up by the poufy white sleeves of his wife’s wedding dress, her with a short, feathered bob and him with thick brown locks and a full beard.
“Hard to believe I ever had that much hair,” Matt said, following my gaze. He laughed and brushed his hand over his scalp gently, as though running his fingers through his hair plugs would rip them out.
I narrowed my eyes playfully at him. “Are you saying this job causes hair loss? You’re making M&A sound more appealing by the second.”
He looked surprised for a moment before letting out a deep belly laugh, just as my eyes settled on his whiteboard, whose right side listed the names of twenty or so deals in green dry-erase marker. On the left side was a list of what I soon gathered were last names. “Vogel” had a check mark next to it, as did a few others, including “Greyson.”
“Those are the first-years who indicated an interest in M&A. Want to get them all some experience,” Matt explained, following my gaze. “Checks are for those who we’ve staffed up on matters.”
I wondered what they had Carmen working on, and if her deal was bigger or more important than mine, but I realized she had a leg up anyway, with Matt as her mentor.
“Okay,” Jordan said, stretching his neck from side to side as though stretching before a workout. “Project Hat Trick. You’re up.”
They both turned to me, and I felt a rush of stage fright but forced my mouth to open.
“Okay. So our preliminary bid was accepted.”
“I’m aware,” Matt said dryly, but Jordan nodded encouragingly.
“I just gained access to the due diligence materials on Monday, so I’m not quite finished reviewing them, but I’m moving along. There’s a solid nonassignment provision in one of the Freestyle contracts.” As I’d learned that morning while reading Investopedia on a lurching E train, this was a problem because when our client bought the company, that contract would become void instead of being transferred to us. I’d spent hours last night coming up with three possible solutions to present. As I prepared to share my rehearsed recommendations, I reminded myself to act as though they were off the top of my head.
Matt looked at Jordan. “Get it waived,” he said calmly. Jordan nodded and made a note. They looked back to me, ready to move on. It occurred to me then just how little I knew about what I was doing.
“I’ve already started preparing the offer letter, just so we don’t get behind the eight ball,” I said, regurgitating the language Jordan had used when he asked me to prepare the letter, “but I’ll update it as we go, and Jordan is reviewing my changes to the purchase agreement. I noted some concerns on the balance sheet, but Jordan will discuss them if need be, I guess. Committed financing is locked up.” I exhaled and looked up.
Matt looked at me seriously. “Good,” he said flatly, with no hint of praise, then turned back to his computer and began typing.
I allowed my shoulders to relax and looked at Jordan, who gave me a small wink. I couldn’t keep the corners of my lips from curling skyward.
“Skip, you’re killing me. I can never fucking find the attachments to your emails,” Matt said, not looking away from his monitor. “Attach them right below your text. Not at the bottom of a forty-email chain.”
I turned around and looked over my shoulder, but when I looked back at Matt, he was staring directly at me.
“Yes. You’re Skippy. Skip for short,” Matt said.
I opened my mouth and shut it, deciding to stop asking questions.
“Why is this deal called Project Hat Trick anyway?” Matt muttered to himself. “Stupid name.”
Because it’s the third attempted acquisition for the company. I need to start taking notes in pen. My notes in pencil are smudged. Am I forgetting something?
“What?” Matt’s voice broke through my thoughts.
I looked up from my notes. “Sorry?” They were both looking at me.
“What did you say?” Matt asked.
Shit. Had I just said all of that out loud? “I . . .”
“Why is this called Project Hat Trick?” he asked.
“Oh, I have no idea. I thought maybe because it’s the third time they’ve explored acquisition of this company. I didn’t realize I had—”
“Are you an athlete?” he asked.
“I was.” Though since I didn’t play a sport where you could have a hat trick, it didn’t really seem relevant.
“Where did you go to law school?” Matt asked. Was he asking me because that was a stupid or a smart thing to say?
“Um . . . Harvard?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Matt seemed entertained by watching me squirm.
I shook my head, suddenly dizzy. “Harvard.”
“Oh, that’s right. I knew that.” Matt waved me away. “You’re from a Harvard family, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t your whole family go there? I thought there was a library or something named after you guys.”
“No.” I shook my head slowly, though Matt had spoken so confidently that I found myself momentarily wondering if he was correct. “Nope. I’m the only one who went there, and I can say with some degree of certainty that we didn’t donate a library.”
Matt and Jordan looked at one another, and Matt smirked.
“Let the games begin,” Jordan muttered under his breath.
“Up?” Matt asked, pointing at Jordan.
“Nah. I’m good. I slept last night. Gonna just power through.”