Picking up her phone once more, she texted Trace. I’m home.
Sadly, it didn’t feel like home at all.
…
At quarter to nine in the morning, Izzy walked past Chuck’s admin’s empty desk and looked through the glass panel framing his office door. A lean man with a full head of gunmetal gray hair, high forehead, and sharp brown eyes sat behind a modern, streamlined desk, typing on a computer.
Over the course of her years at HH&R her boss, mentor, and the head of her practice group had taken on huge stature in her mind. It jarred her a bit, this morning, to realize he was just an average-sized man. Like visiting a childhood playground and seeing the slide that had been as imposing as a high dive as a kid was really just a regular, old slide. She rapped her knuckles on the doorframe.
He swiveled from his oversized computer screen and smiled at her with a what-the-heck expression on his face. “Hi. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
That sort of answered her first question, but she asked it anyway. “Have you spoken to Trace?”
“No.” Wrinkles pleated his forehead. “Should I have?”
“I thought he might contact you. Things have, uh, derailed, I’m afraid.”
He rose from his desk and walked to a round table and chairs occupying a corner of the large office. “Sounds like you better come in and take a seat.”
She closed the door behind her and did as he suggested, lowering herself to one of the upholstered meeting chairs. Glancing around, she took in the light tan carpet and blond-wood furnishings arranged in the generous space. This corner office that had once seemed like such a coveted seat of power was simply a room. Four walls, nice windows, good views. “I assume you haven’t heard from Skyline’s attorney either?”
“Gordon Davis? No.”
“You will.”
“I’d just as soon not, personally.” Chuck grimaced. “Gordo’s a top-flight lawyer, but he’s what I call a difficult personality. That’s one of the reasons I put you on the deal. I knew you’d manage him, where a less experienced associate might let him push them around. That’s why you get the big bucks.”
“Not anymore.” She expected an assault of nerves, a knot in her stomach, something, but her inner calm held. “I’m sorry to spring this on you this way, but I’m resigning. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to transition my open matters to other members of the practice group, but—”
“Wait. Wait.” Chuck put both hands up, palms forward. “Let’s take a breath and back up a minute. Is this because of Gordo? Whatever he’s tried to pull, Izzy, that guy is not worth tanking your career over. Whatever derailed, let’s figure out a way to get it back on track.”
“I can’t. I can’t be part of this deal. It’s not because of Gordon—though washing my hands of him is certainly a silver lining to this storm cloud. It’s me, Chuck. I no longer believe in the deal. In fact, I’m against it. My reasons are entirely personal. It has nothing to do with the terms of the sale, which I concede are more than fair. But I can’t, in good conscience, put my efforts into something I know is wrong for Trace.”
Chuck leaned back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. “How does Trace feel about it?”
“We don’t see eye-to-eye on the matter,” she admitted, talking quickly around a lump in her throat.
“He’s the client, Izzy. It’s his call. If it eases your conscience, I’ve known Trace all his life. He’s the type of person who knows his own mind.”
“Not this time, he doesn’t. I know it’s his call, but I can’t facilitate the sale, feeling as certain as I do, he’s ultimately going to regret it.”
“Izzy, objectively speaking—”
“I lost my objectivity, Chuck. I lost it weeks ago.” She hadn’t anticipated divulging the how and the why of it—maybe out of some residual self-protective instinct—but now that the moment of truth had arrived, self-protection ceased to be a priority. She leaned forward in her chair. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I—”
“You don’t have to tell me anything I haven’t asked,” he said quickly, holding up a hand to silence her. “You have personal reasons for wanting off this assignment. We’ll leave it at that.”
“All right.” She relaxed a little and added a quiet, “Thank you.”
He waved her appreciation away. “Izzy, I know you’re smart, and I’m pointing out the obvious here, but there’s a whole lot of middle ground between stepping away from an assignment and resigning from the firm. You’re valued here. Appreciated. Even without this deal, you’re still on a partnership track. I can’t promise the track ultimately takes you there, or when. I’m not going to lie, your momentum has hit a significant speed bump because of this. But it can still happen if you want it badly enough.”
Did she? All the soul-searching of the last twenty-four hours came down to this. Did she want the eighty-hour workweeks, the out-of-kilter work-life balance, the stress she’d never learned to properly manage? If these were the first things that sprang to mind when considering the question, the answer was obvious. “I don’t.” It was a confession, of sorts, but not a reluctant one. The words came out strong and certain. “I don’t want it badly enough. HH&R is a great firm. You do important work, and you do it well. I’ve learned a lot during my time here and if I still wanted to do business transactions, there’s no other firm I’d hope to practice for.”
He sighed and nodded. “But you don’t. All right. I, personally, worry you’re making a mistake that you’re ultimately going to regret, but I accept your decision because I trust you to know your own mind,” he said, pointedly.
His point wasn’t lost on her, but it didn’t resonate. Turns out she’d done what she’d aimed to do with her career two years ago when she’d helped her parents. Everything afterward had been that momentum Chuck had mentioned. Momentum she hadn’t stopped to question, even as it pushed more and more tranquility out of her life. Trace, on the other hand, had plenty left to do, plenty left to build and enjoy, plenty to protect, as only he could. If he could see past sorrow and regret, and a misplaced sense of responsibility that skewed his view of the past and impeded his view of the future. Of his future.
“Thanks, Chuck. For everything.”
A call rang through to his office phone. Her boss glanced at the readout on the Polycom centered on the table before them. “Ha. Three guesses.”
She only needed one. “Sorry to leave you a mess to clean up with Gordon.” Sorry was probably the wrong word, but it had to be said.