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ambitious you are.” I’d rolled my eyes playfully, but could think of nothing other than how the word “love” sounded coming out of his mouth.
    The rest of the summer flew by in budding-relationship bliss. Jason and I were inseparable, taking turns sleeping at each other’s apartments, sneaking kisses at summer associate events, and making out furiously on cab rides home. The goal of the firm that summerwas to introduce us to law firm life while preventing us from getting a significant glimpse into the inner workings of Biglaw. F&D spared no expense to shield us from the reality so we would return to the firm after graduation to work as first year associates. “Fattening you up for the slaughter,” one associate termed it.
    Our relationship survived long distance during our final year of law school and even our first year as associates, which seemed like a hazy blur to me now. We learned to adapt to the unpredictable Biglaw timetable, spending time together whenever work allowed—sometimes a quick lunch at a deli close to the office, other times a lingering Saturday night dinner at the latest hot restaurant, putting our large paychecks to work. Jason’s schedule in the Trusts department wasn’t as demanding as mine.
    Being in the corporate department meant being on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and never leaving the office until the partner you’re working for has left the building for the night. It could be eight in the evening or two in the morning, but most days it was impossible to tell. Some days I would bite the bullet and sneak out before eight. Sneaking out was a finely honed survival technique that involved a fair amount of planning and forethought. Above all, it must appear to other lawyers that you are returning to your office, not actually leaving to go home for the night. When you leave, you have to pretend you are just going to the word processing center to drop off a document for revision or to the cafeteria to grab a Red Bull ( Gonna need some help staying up all night !). Always be carrying a file. Your office has to look like you are coming back shortly—a coat left on the back of the chair, your computer logged on, a half empty cup of coffee beside a document left open on your desk. You only take the elevator down to the lobby when there isn’t anyone senior to you in it. If there’s a partner in the elevator when you enter, you get off on the next floor, take a lap, and try again. If you happen to be really unlucky and there’s a partner in the lobby when you exit, have your back-up plan (“ Just picking up my Seamless delivery !”). These were details I had mastered. They may sound ridiculous, but they were necessary to Biglaw survival. Otherwise,you risked getting caught leaving early, meaning you’d suddenly find yourself staffed on a deal no one wanted to work on because, clearly, you had too much time on your hands. Some associates resorted to taking the stairs down twenty-seven floors to avoid being caught in the elevator, but I never did that. Too desperate.
    “Who’s the partner on the deal?” Sadir called from the other side of the partition, knowing full well who it was.
    “Maxwell Gold.”
    “Stay Puft?” Sadir whistled through pursed lips. “Wow—a deal with a four corner partner and you’re just a second year associate. You’re moving up in the world.”
    I rolled my eyes. The only thing that excited Sadir more than gathering information on his fellow associates was the rigid law firm hierarchy. He’d actually ranked all ninety-five attorneys in the corporate department in order of alleged importance, on a list he referred to as “The Power Players.” Of course, if anyone wanted to discern the pecking order, all they had to do was look at the offices. Partners had the biggest offices with the best views and the partners that brought in the most business were rewarded with a corner office. In the corporate department, associates called them the