Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Demeaning jokes about women who practiced law.
Hours researching basic case law for idiots who didn’t understand stare decisis.
Days spent preparing trial witnesses and exhibits only to be told the case had been dismissed a week earlier, based off a motion I drafted, and the lawyer forgot to tell me.
Taking the blame in court so the lawyer didn’t look incompetent in front of a judge.
Always being mistaken for the secretary or assistant instead of a crucial member of the executive legal team and someone who had a bachelor’s degree in both criminal justice and pre-law.
All paled in comparison to this moment right here and now.
This was my all-time low, and far more degrading.
“I don’t understand you.” Mrs. Lakeson peered at me over her black plastic-rimmed bifocals. Her lips pursed in disapproval, but her eyes told me this meeting wasn’t entirely unexpected.
When I came in early this morning, I went straight to her office.
She was the direct supervisor of all the support staff. Some of the upper management referred to her as the schoolmarm, partly because she handled all the paralegals and first-year assistant DAs but mostly because she favored a 1950s-inspired aesthetic, often wearing her hair in victory curls paired with cat-eye glasses and suits that had a more retro feel.
I wished I could pull off her chic, vintage-inspired style as gracefully as she did. She looked like the office version of a pin-up or that chick from Mad Men that all the other characters lusted after but were still a little afraid of.
Her look was everything I wanted but could never quite replicate, especially with cheap, thrift store clothes.
“What’s to understand?” I asked. “It’s simple. I’m not sure I will be able to fulfill the tasks that Mr. Astrid will require of a paralegal, and I’m sure there is someone more suited to his… needs.”
I left the “like a paralegal willing to fuck her way to the middle” part silent.
I wasn’t about to get in trouble for slandering the district attorney.
Though technically, since it was true, it wasn’t slander, but I wasn’t going to show my evidence to prove my point.
What was I going to say? “I broke into his private office, got naked, and he almost made me come?”
I was smart enough to know that wouldn’t play out well.
I would be fired and blackballed in legal circles all around the city.
My dream of going to law school and passing the bar with distinction would mean nothing if a prominent district attorney was trashing my reputation to anyone who would listen.
He could easily say he caught me rifling through his desk or computer, and I would do time. My entire career would be ruined in a moment. No, it was best to handle this discreetly and pray he forgot about it.
“Ms. Carmichael, there is no one else available. I have already reassigned another paralegal to your previous post. I know Mr. Astrid can be somewhat… difficult.”
She rubbed her eyes.
With a narrowed gaze, I scrutinized her.
Perhaps last night wasn’t just an embarrassing misunderstanding?
Perhaps this sort of thing had happened before with our esteemed leader.
Lord knew he wouldn’t be the first politician or lawyer to abuse his position, and he definitely wouldn’t be the first trust fund baby to take advantage of women, knowing his family’s money would bail him out of trouble.
But how dumb did a man have to be to try those kinds of stunts in a post #MeToo world?
However, it wasn’t like Mr. Astrid had the same issues as the criminal that sparked the #MeToo movement. He wouldn’t have to harass the women in his office to get laid. He didn’t have to threaten careers, or flash his money around, or commit other criminal acts. And although I hadn’t seen it, from the bulge in his pants, I was certain that, unlike that other guy’s allegedly shriveled dick, Mr. Astrid’s was hard, firm, and big.
No, if Mr. Astrid wanted some female attention, all he would have to do was crook his finger, and women would come running for those dark blue eyes, broad shoulders, and the intense stare that made a girl want to fall to her knees before him.
And wasn’t that exactly what had happened last night?
He’d crooked his finger, and I’d almost lost my mind.
The filthy way he talked and the domineering way he treated me when he thought I was a sex worker was an unexpected turn-on. Who knew humiliation kink from a Dom would be my thing? It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience with men and certainly not with anyone of Mr. Astrid’s power and wealth.
Still, it was technically harassment.
Then again, it wasn’t like sexual harassment was about sex.
It was about power.
He had it—and I didn’t.
“Mrs. Lakeson, it’s not just that the work is difficult. It’s that I do not believe we are able to work together.”