The waiter presented the bottle Matt had ordered to the table, then poured him a taste. I took note as he stuck his nose in the glass and inhaled and then swished the wine around in his mouth after a sip. He gave a short, powerful nod to the waiter before turning his attention back to the group.
“Is this for Didier?” Derrick asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to him, and Matt nodded. “Looks like I get the ear of the boss man tonight.” Derrick clucked.
I felt Matt tense slightly next to me, confirming what I had guessed about my role at dinner. A junior associate in BigLaw was expected to be a positive presence, but not the center of attention. To drink but not be drunk. To have a good sense of humor but not be funny. Being able to be the life of the party came with status—and at the partner level. Apparently, Derrick hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Hope nobody minds if I kick the night off with a few shots too,” he said to the table. I caught Jordan and Matt making brief eye contact, looking slightly annoyed.
“A sauvignon blanc for the lady.” The waiter placed the wine in front of me and made his way around the table with the other drinks.
“And six shots of Patrón!” Derrick called to the waiter from across the table, his voice already a little too loud. I watched him intently, wondering if he was already a couple drinks deep. The waiter looked to Matt, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head to indicate that Derrick’s order was to be ignored, which the waiter acknowledged with only the slightest squint of his eyes as he continued to pour.
“Cheers,” Matt said, raising his glass, “to our favorite clients.” We all raised ours, but as soon as we set them down, Jordan came up behind Matt and spoke in a hushed tone into his ear to alert him to some email he’d received. I looked to KJ and Taylor to see if they were noticing work being done at the table, but they were both staring straight down into their laps, having seized the opportunity to check their own phones.
We all turned to Derrick as he pounded his fist on the table after a long sip of his cocktail, an unnecessarily histrionic display of masculinity.
“I’d take Nancy over this d-bag any day,” Jordan whispered into my ear before heading back to his seat. I let out a small snort of laughter, recalling Jordan’s expression as he stared at Nancy eating her Caesar salad at our lunch. I pushed my wineglass slightly toward the center of the table and away from my hand, suddenly very aware that I should abide by the firm’s suggested two-drink maximum, which I’d read in the “Client Entertainment Policy” we’d received on the first day.
I locked eyes with Derrick and gave him a warning look, but he brushed me off with a quick eye roll and patronizing flick of the wrist in my direction.
“You’re all a bunch of drunks,” a booming voice declared, stealing my attention from my annoyance with Derrick.
I recognized Didier’s voice instantly—it was unmistakable, with the slightest guttural trace of an accent clinging to his perfectly idiomatic English. I looked up, expecting a dapper, handsome Frenchman in a slim suit, but Didier was heavy. Fat, actually. And tall. Maybe six-three. He was also red-faced, in a way that made me think it wasn’t just a momentary flush, with big blue bloodshot eyes and blond, almost white, hair. He shook everybody’s hand, even KJ’s and Taylor’s, quickly making a round of the table before stopping at my chair.
He stared at me intensely. “You must be Alexandra.”
“I am! Pleasure to finally meet you.” I plastered a smile on my face as I extended my hand, which he took and raised to his lips. I inwardly shuddered at the beads of sweat on his thick upper lip, but I resisted the urge to snatch my hand away with every polite and dutiful fiber of my being.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle,” he said. Matt coughed, sounding uncomfortable. “Madame or Mademoiselle?”
I pulled my hand away with a big smile. “Mademoiselle.”
“Parlez-vous français?”
“Didier, please, have a seat.” Matt sounded more desperate than generous as he gestured to the empty seat across the table in an obvious attempt to end the bizarre flirtation.
“I should sit next to the one member of the Klasko team I haven’t met yet,” Didier insisted, nodding in my direction.
“You’ve met Derrick?” Matt asked, and I could hear a slight challenge in his voice.
Didier turned to Derrick. “Do you do M&A?” Derrick shook his head, and Didier turned back to me.
“I’ll move,” KJ offered, rising from his seat. I wasn’t sure how I was going to survive an entire meal beside Didier, but I felt Matt looking at me, and as I turned to lock eyes with him, I immediately understood that I was to keep the client entertained.
The waiter started to pour Didier a glass from the table’s bottle of wine, but he shook his head decisively. “I want to taste what you’re tasting,” he said, leaning in toward me. He smelled of cigarettes and gin. I felt my upper lip curling at the smell and coughed to mask it. KJ and Taylor laughed, apparently accustomed to their boss’s antics. Derrick looked momentarily as if he was considering intervening on my behalf and then seemed to think better of it. Jordan raised his glass to me with a small smile. I couldn’t tell whether he was wishing me luck, congratulating me on capturing Didier’s attention, or preemptively thanking me for model behavior, but whatever he was gesturing, I took it to mean I was about to begin a test of sorts.
I sat up straighter and adjusted my expression to telegraph to my colleagues, This is nothing I can’t handle. I noted the heightened alertness of my senses, a weaker version of what I used to feel right before a swim meet. It seemed odd for my body to be producing adrenaline in that moment, but right then I realized how much I had missed it coursing through my veins.
Didier took my wineglass, stuck his nose in it, and breathed in deeply. He took a long sip and swirled the liquid around in his mouth. I watched him carefully as his blond mop flipped forward over his eyes, marveling that he must be worth at least forty million and yet didn’t get regular haircuts.
He looked at me and smiled. “Ah. Sauvignon blanc. The most wonderful hint of citrus. I love the lime. Only the French can do wine.”
I turned to the waiter, who was mercifully passing by. “May I see a wine list?” I pivoted in my chair toward Didier. “I prefer a California white, actually. Please, you keep that. I’m going to order something else.”
I saw Jordan looking nervous.
But Didier laughed boisterously, slapping his palms to his gut. “She knows what she likes!”
Just as I thought. A little boy in banker’s clothing who only wanted somebody to stand up to him.
We were interrupted by the arrival of the appetizers, which the waiters presented with ceremony. Matt had ordered almost every starter on the menu for the table, and I watched as more sea urchin, crudos, oysters, and caviar than we could ever eat were laid down in front of us.
Jordan took the opportunity to order another round of drinks. “Skippy?” he asked in my direction. I shook my head, but he scowled and turned to the waiter. “She’ll have another too.”
By the time dessert finally rolled around, everyone else was on their fourth or fifth round of drinks, and in no rush to leave with the rain still pounding outside. I pretended to sip my wine, grateful nobody had noticed that my glass remained almost full. KJ and Didier wanted all of us to take them out to a bar after dinner, and Taylor was easily convinced to join. Matt scribbled in the air to ask for the check. I watched as he signed the $3,200 dinner bill without flinching, also signing an “esq” after his name, a ridiculous affectation.