Better Than Home: Better Than Good Novella

I shrugged my suit coat on and straightened my collar as I stood. I wouldn’t bother with formalities with my other colleagues, but I did for the big four. I treated them all to my most impeccable manners and a smile on my face, no matter how little time I had in my schedule. Even Kelleford, who was by far the easiest-going partner in the bunch.

“Sullivan, my man! How are ya?”

See?

I skirted my desk and shook hands with the burly-looking man. James was a couple of inches shorter than my six two and outweighed me by thirty pounds, but he was fit and spry with dyed brown hair and a close-shaven beard. We’d bonded over college football glory days when I first started at the firm. I’d been a quarterback at Pitt and James had played tackle for Purdue.

James was famous for using sports analogies to emphasize crucial timing. “We’re at third and goal with two seconds on the clock. What’re we up against?” or “That deadline is so tight, we’re pulling the chains out to measure it.” Sometimes he didn’t make much sense, but I was used to him. And I was fluent in sports talk.

I motioned him toward the leather chairs facing my massive desk. “I’m good. What can I help you with?”

He hesitated for a beat before perching on the edge of the seat. “Have you ever been to California?”

Oh.

Or…maybe that was a casual question?

“Yes, I have. It’s been a few years, but I liked it. Why?” I asked, reclaiming my desk chair.

“Well…there’s an opportunity in the works, and it’s got your name all over it.”

Oh.

Fuck.

“What kind of opportunity?” I prodded, pleased at my even tone.

James leaned forward and scratched his beard thoughtfully, his gaze locked on mine. “The kind that puts your name on the marquee. How does Hughes, Kelleford, and Sullivan-Mendez sound?”

My last name was actually Mendez-Sullivan, but I didn’t bother correcting him.

“Um…good,” I hedged. “But I’m not clear on—”

“Let me break it down for ya. We’ve been busy behind the scenes, Matt. Real busy.” He paused theatrically as if he wanted to make sure I could keep up.

“O-kay.”

“As you know, Hughes is working in LA and loving it. Entertainment contracts are wildly lucrative, and he just pulled in a big fish. So big that we’re gonna need to open a brick-and-mortar office there. Lawton and Banks don’t have licenses to practice law in California, and they’re more interested in playing golf than expanding the business. I got my license this summer, and a smart guy like you would have no problem passing the bar there. So, what do you think of this…Hughes, Kelleford, and Sullivan-Mendez?” James smiled as he spread his hands wide.

“Uh…my last name is Mendez-Sullivan,” I corrected lamely.

“Love it. You know, Latino representation is important in LA. Your husband is Mexican, right?”

“He’s Puerto Rican,” I replied, shaking my head. “Look, you’re—this is a surprise. I was under the assumption we were poised to announce my partnership here in DC. I understand that my name might not make the marquee for a while, but—”

“Yeah, that part will definitely take time. What are ya…thirty-two, thirty-three?”

“Thirty-three.”

“You’re young, and this is an old firm. Lawton and Banks might be willing to give you the responsibilities, title, and money that comes along with being a partner in DC. But they won’t change the stationery for you. Not for a while.”

I furrowed my brow. I didn’t care about the stationery. I wanted the cache that came with that title. The one I’d been assured was coming. But all I heard was… “might.”

Fuck.

“Might be? I thought this was a done deal. Hughes okayed my raise and bonus and I was told I’d have a contract by September. It’s September now. Is the contract only for LA?” I asked, feeling sicker by the second.

I’d been spending my paychecks the second they hit my account for house stuff and now…I had a bad feeling I’d been dipping into a bribery fund. The raise and partnership title wasn’t for DC after all. They’d expected me to move.

James waved his arms like a ref blowing the whistle on a dead play on the field.

“No, no, man. You got it wrong. We’re offering you another choice. A sweet one. Door number one: We make you partner in name here as discussed. Your name may eventually make the marquee, but it’ll take time. Ten years, fifteen? I don’t know. Or door number two: LA, your name big and bright on a building off the fucking 405 freeway. And more money.”

“More money?”

He named a ridiculous sum, adding, “And of course, ownership. Ever think about livin’ in LA?”

My mouth went dry. I licked my lips and shook my head. “No, I haven’t. Aaron and I just bought a house and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Talk it over with your husband.” James stood abruptly and smiled. “Look, there’s no wrong answer, Matt. It’s an opportunity, and you’re the one who deserves it most. If you’re happy here, that’s fine. But you could be happier in LA on the ground floor with the chance of a lifetime deal. Think about it, talk about it.”