[Let the record show Witness is conferring with her attorney.]
A.My answer will be altered to honor anything privileged by nature of the attorney-client privilege.
Q.I will remind you that privilege only extends to communications related to the purposes of giving or obtaining legal advice that are intended to be confidential.
A.Thank you. I am aware of what privilege covers.
Q.Could you please recount that initial meeting for us, as well as your impressions?
Chapter 8
I walked down the hallway to Peter’s office and was about to give a courtesy knock on the closed door before entering for our scheduled call regarding the merger he’d staffed me on when I heard another male voice emanating from his office. Maybe his secretary had double-booked him? I almost welcomed the excuse to turn and leave. Each assignment working for a new partner was both an opportunity to prove myself and an opportunity to mess up. Matt and Jordan now knew I was sharp and hardworking, whereas Peter knew nothing about me. Instead, I knocked lightly on the door.
“Come on in!” Peter shouted from beyond the door. I cracked it open, and he waved me in. As I opened the door farther, I saw another man in Peter’s guest chair.
“Gary Kaplan, this is Alex Vogel,” Peter offered, gesturing for me to take the seat next to a dark-haired man wearing a tailored charcoal suit, white shirt, and baby-blue tie. The famous Gary Kaplan. Founder and general partner of Stag River, the firm’s largest client. Don’t say anything stupid. As I took him in, I was surprised to see that Gary didn’t look powerful. He appeared to me meek, almost ill, with dark, sunken eyes and a sallow complexion. His suit looked expensive, but his skinny frame did it no favors.
“I’ll have a coffee. Black. Please,” Gary said curtly, not acknowledging me in any other way.
I stared at him for a prolonged moment and then looked to Peter to make sure I’d heard correctly.
“Oh. Alex is an associate. She’s not . . .”
I looked down at the dark gray Theory suit I had splurged on at Saks after my first paycheck and wondered what about my general demeanor screamed “assistant.”
“Apologies,” Gary said without a trace of contrition. “But I’d still like that coffee.” He looked over to Peter, whose discomfort was apparent.
“Actually, I could use one too,” I said brightly. “Glad to get you one while I’m there.”
Peter smiled gratefully. “And Alex? I pushed our call back by thirty minutes, so we have time.”
I made myself a decaf and Gary a black coffee in the kitchenette across from Peter’s office and returned moments later with both in hand. Gary took his drink and set it on the table in front of him without thanking me.
“I have dinner with my family downtown, so I need to run soon,” Gary said, then paused. “Can you print me an NDA before I leave?”
“At the Nomad?” Peter asked.
“The only place I’ll dine below Fifty-Seventh Street,” Gary snorted.
“Alex, would you mind printing an NDA for Gary?” Peter asked. “It’s on the system.”
Relieved to be out of that room, I ran down the hall to my office and opened the online library of firm documents. I searched for “Stag River” and “NDA.” Nothing. I searched for “Stag River.” Nope. “Nondisclosure” and “Stag.” Three results. Boom. I printed the one labeled “FORM” without any of the details filled in and returned to Peter’s office triumphantly, where I handed it to Gary.
“Thanks, but could you be a doll and print a few?” He didn’t look up at me. “This isn’t right. An NDA for me. Personally. Not for Stag River.”
I turned and headed back to my office without a word.
“I’m in a bit of a rush,” he yelled after me. I rolled my eyes with my back to him but still quickened my pace. I attempted to visualize my possible reactions on the runway of gray hallway carpet before me. He was the most powerful man in finance, and he was Klasko’s client. I could either accept Gary’s behavior as an insult or accept it as a challenge. But either way, I had to accept it.
I took a seat at my desk and quickly found “Gary R. Kaplan NDA” in the library, then printed five and walked once more to Peter’s office.
Gary flipped to the signature page and nodded. “A few is three,” he commented under his breath before he got up, shook hands with Peter, and brushed past me and out the door.
“Thanks, Alex. He’s a peculiar guy,” Peter offered once Gary was out of earshot. He’s an asshole. “I appreciate how you handled that. He’s an important client. He gives us more than a hundred—”
I didn’t want to make excuses for Gary, but I didn’t want Peter to think I hadn’t noticed his behavior. “Yep, I get it. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
Just then Peter’s calendar alarm dinged, and he gestured for me to take a seat for our call.
The call with our client led to a call with the investment bankers, which led to a call with the target company’s counsel. Almost four hours later, I was struggling to keep my lids open as our third call droned on.
Peter nodded at the grated speaker on his phone. “That’s our understanding as well.” I combed through my greasy hair with my nails, then wiped my finger under my eyes and looked at the smudged eyeliner I had just cleared. I couldn’t imagine what I looked like to Peter, whose perfectly unwrinkled shirt made me wonder if he could have changed clothes in the last hour without me noticing.
David Ramirez, the company’s lawyer, launched into another five-minute monologue about noncompetition restrictions potentially triggering antitrust violation issues.
“Sure, we can run that by our client, but between you and me, I think it’s not happening.” Peter gave a small smile as if we shared a secret, and I smiled back, though not understanding what it might be. He sat up suddenly and scratched under his collarbone, and I allowed my eyes to graze his chest and then rest on his bicep—at the brim of his white undershirt—noting how it clung closely to the muscle below it.
“I gotta tell you, David, you know I’m fair, but this is just a nonstarter. Gary will never ever agree to this. I’m not trying to be a dick. It’s just the truth,” Peter said calmly. He mouthed “I’m sorry” to me at the use of his language, then muted the phone. “What time is it?”
“Nine.”
“Have you eaten?” He looked concerned.
How could I have eaten? I haven’t left your office since five.
“I’m okay,” I mouthed, even though we were on mute.
David was rambling on, and while I was failing to catch anything he said, Peter appeared to have entirely forgotten he was still on the line.
“You’re not hungry?”
I shrugged.
“We’ll get food.” He clicked the mute button off. “Good. Glad to hear that. Alex will send the updated draft tomorrow morning. Nothing will move before Monday, so no sense in us losing more sleep before then. Good night,” Peter said, and clicked off the call.
I felt like I’d just missed something crucial. What had David just agreed to? Why was it good?
“No steak, right?” Peter said.