“You’re resigning?” he asks, as if he can’t believe what my letter says.
“Yes. I’ll give you two weeks’ notice or, if you want me to leave immediately, I’ll do that. I’m taking the Jackson case with me though, so please don’t think about fighting me on that. My clients won’t stay here if I’m not involved.”
Matt looks at me with exasperation and waves an impatient hand at me. “I don’t give a fuck if you take that case. I just can’t believe you’d quit. I mean… I moved you out of my section so you wouldn’t have to deal with me. I thought it would give you want you wanted.”
Cocking my head, I try to gauge what Matt is really feeling. He looks agitated and nervous. He looks confused… lost. I’m not sure what it means, but none of it changes my decision to leave.
“I’m sorry. I appreciate you trying to make my work environment easier. It’s just… it’s just too hard for me to be here. Too many memories. Some right in this office,” I say with a little smile, and I’m surprised when Matt even smiles a little over my reference to the times we’d gotten down and dirty in here.
“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” he asks. His eyes peer hard into mine, trying to determine if there is a loophole he can work his way inside of.
If he could really read my thoughts, he’d see that my heart is screaming, Yes. You can tell me you’ve made a huge mistake—that you miss me, love me, and you’ll die without me.
But that’s too much wishful thinking. So I say, “I’m sorry. This is for the best.”
He stares at me for a long moment. I can practically see the wheels and cogs spinning in his brain. But then I see the moment when resignation takes over his face, and he accepts what I say. “All right then. I’ll accept your resignation, and I’ll take the two weeks’ notice. That’s very professional of you to offer that. Since you’ll only be here two more weeks, obviously I won’t be transferring you over to Bill. You can help me wind up some stuff.”
“Okay,” I tell him, not sure if I’m relieved or sad that he didn’t beg me to stay. “Sounds like a game plan.”
“You resigned?” Cal asks with astonishment as we move through the cafeteria line. He pulls a turkey sub onto his tray, and I make a grab for one of the last Caesar salads left.
“Yup,” I tell him, also grabbing a cupcake. I think I’m entitled since I’m eating rabbit food for lunch.
When we get to the cash register I open my wallet, but Cal beats me to it by handing his credit card over to the cashier.
“Hey,” I say in exasperation. “I’m supposed to be buying. I invited you.”
Cal glares at me, and I close my wallet. “I’m buying because you’re getting ready to be a poor, unemployed lawyer. You need to be saving your money.”
We take our food and easily find an empty table. The lunch rush is starting to wane, but that’s because we didn’t get here until about 1:30 PM because Cal was running late. The crowded nature of this cafeteria is one of the reasons I try to avoid it. Yes, it’s super convenient having it in our building, but I hate having to battle for a table.
We sit down, and I pull my cupcake toward me. I love eating my dessert first, although, sometimes I feel self-conscious about it. I don’t feel that way with Cal, which is again a testament to what a good friend he’s become to me.
“I can’t believe you just quit,” he mutters. “You know the job market sucks out there for attorneys right now.”
“I know. But I have an idea.”
Raising his eyebrows at me, Cal takes a bite of his sub and waits for me to explain.
Licking a chunk of frosting off my finger, I say, “I’m going to open my own firm. And I want you to be my partner.”