Free The Partner Track: A Novel by Helen Wan

partner who rarely asked associates to work on weekends if he wasn’t also coming in himself. Once, I’d even stood behind him in line in the Jury Box and heard him greet the cashier by name.
    Tim swung the nearest deck chair around, parked it next to mine, and sat down, stretching out his long legs. He opened the bottled water he was holding and took a swallow.
    “No tropical slushy for you today, Tim?” I asked, inclining my head toward Jason Steinberg and his hollowed-out pineapple.
    He looked over and grinned. “Wow. It’s only ten fifty. I try to wait til at least noon.” Then he looked at me and said, “This is always such a long day, you know?”
    I nodded, and felt grateful to him for having said it.
    We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. I slid my huge Audrey Hepburn–style sunglasses back on my face and studied Tim Hollister in profile. Rumor had it that he actually had a Ph.D. in political theory in addition to his law degree, which made him rather noteworthy to the women at the firm. Tim had salt-and-pepper hair and kind gray eyes. He was the type of guy whose appeal, I guessed, was obvious to most but not all. Intelligent women might disagree as to whether or not he was handsome.
    As I was busy thinking all this, he opened his mouth and said to me, “So, Ingrid, the buzz is that you’ve impressed the hell out of the SunCorp CEO.”
    I nearly fell out of my chair. Tim Hollister and I didn’t know each other very well. We barely talked. The fact that this had made its way to him was news.
    I tried not to sound giddy. “I’m surprised you heard about that, Tim. But thanks,” I said, and meant it.
    “Are you kidding?” Tim looked genuinely happy for me. “There are no secrets around this place, believe me. Marty Adler’s been crowing about you all week. Just wanted to say I think it’s really well deserved. And the timing couldn’t be better for you, obviously.”
    I felt my face flush with pleasure. I was trying to think of something both witty and sincere to say back, but Tim had already turned away and was looking toward the entrance to the pool. Gavin Dunlop, another young Corporate partner, was gesturing impatiently at Tim, pointing at his watch and making exaggerated swinging motions with his arms.
    Tim stood. “Gotta run. Eleven o’clock tee time. I’ll see you around.”
    “See you. And thanks. I really appreciate what you said.”
    “Anytime.” He raised both arms and made a graceful free throw with his empty water bottle. I watched it arc smoothly into a nearby bin. Then Tim jogged over toward Gavin Dunlop, and the two of them headed up the grassy slope toward the clubhouse.
    I took in a long, deep breath and stretched out my arms and legs as far as they would reach, feeling the pleasant pull in each muscle, the sheer joy of being young and appreciated and good at what you did. I draped one arm lazily above my head and closed my eyes, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun and Tim’s words. I think it’s really well deserved.
    My eyes were still closed when suddenly I thought, It’s really quiet. It’s too quiet. A reverent hush had fallen over the pool deck. When I opened my eyes, I saw why.
    Cameron Alexander had peeled off her cover-up and was sauntering toward the shallow end of the pool, wearing only a white string bikini. She moved with an unhurried grace, as if she were aware of so many eyes on her and really didn’t mind. Steinberg was obediently loping along behind her, still clasping the ridiculous pineapple beverage. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
    For women lawyers at a firm outing, the swimsuit question presented a conundrum. Just what should a young career woman wear to what was essentially a pool party thrown by her employer? On the one hand—let’s be honest—law firms valued good looks and sex appeal as much as anyone. So if you were an attractive young woman, you didn’t exactly want to be the class prude, huddled poolside in a parka. On