Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Colton Gates now ran the pro bono division that was completely devoted to civil rights cases, which included whistleblowers, innocence projects, police-misconduct lawsuits, medical-malpractice cases, and anyone facing discrimination based on race, religion, gender, or disability. I liked what my boss did now much better than his old job. Now he was a champion of the underdog, for all those who had no voice, and he never had to work a case he didn’t believe in. Back when he was an ASA, he had been the David in a David-and-Goliath situation many times, and I especially liked when he won against very rich men who had hurt someone of little means. Those were my favorite karma moments. I liked to see the faces of the oppressors when they lost.
There had been times in the past, though, when Colton was forced to prosecute those he would have rather pled down, or in many cases, out. He was a big believer in probation to make someone think twice. But he wasn’t always able to sway his boss. To get reelected, the state’s attorney had to have a winning record, so sometimes people’s lives got burned in the process. Now, though, he was always the good guy, which I knew was much more his natural state. In his heart, he was a knight, no matter how much he protested when I called him that. What was funny was that after so much time, people still occasionally suggested I go work for someone else in another department. I knew they were doing it because they cared about me, wanting me to move up and make more money, but as considerate as that was, they should have known better. On the other hand, they didn’t know that Colton Gates was more than simply my boss. He was my touchstone, my anchor, and I would no more think of leaving him than I would cutting off my own arm. It was ridiculous to even consider. But that part was my fault—I didn’t disclose much about myself, so in that lack-of-information vacuum, they made assumptions. Which was why, on a cold winter night in Chicago, inside Mr. Somerset’s warm home, standing at one of the three buffet tables, I was engaged in yet another conversation about my future.
“You’re never going to move up being stuck with Gates,” Libby Morrow, who worked for Brize Redmond in family law, told me for the hundredth time. She liked me, far better than any of the other assistants she saw on a daily basis, and for that reason, wanted to move me under her umbrella. “Being a non-equity partner means Gates is basically senior management, but that’s all. He doesn’t have any pull to make change. I mean, my God, Pax, he’s on a fixed salary, for Christ’s sake.”
This was the crux of the matter. The whole non-equity-partner piece meant that neither he, nor I—because I worked for the man—received any bonuses. To Libby, and many of the other assistants, that was the absolute worst thing they could think of. I smiled at her because her concern came from a good place, even though Colton and I were not money-driven people. We were in it for the change and, more importantly, the help we could offer.
“Paxton Walsh, that is a big deal!” she insisted, her voice rising.
The thing was, she wasn’t telling me anything new. My boss had the word partner in his title, but he didn’t share in the profits when the firm made big money, and he didn’t have a vote in what the firm did. He had no actual stake in Mayhew, Burgess, and Somerset. As his assistant, the same was true for me. We were both merely employees. What she didn’t understand was that my salary was still the most money I’d ever had in my life. Same for Colton. The extra money would have been amazing, as I wanted a house someday, but I wasn’t missing anything by not having what the others did. I think she thought I would be jealous, but that wasn’t my way. It wasn’t Colton’s either. He didn’t dream of owning a yacht, a fancy car, or a penthouse in the sky. I knew he too wanted a house, preferably something old, on a tree-lined street, in a quiet neighborhood, far from noisy downtown traffic, trendy nightclubs and bars, and absolutely no new-age or fusion restaurants. He hated those two descriptors most of all. The last date he’d gone on, he was there for about fifteen minutes, until the appetizers came. I got a picture of something with foam on it and then got a message that he was bringing me pho. Of course I was mortified for the woman he was on the date with, but they were out with her friends, so he didn’t leave her alone. He would never have done that. He only left people in safe places with safe people. Still, it didn’t make it any less rude.