Always Right by Mindy Klasky

absolute truth of her work.
    By the time she’d spun out her research web and tracked down all the articles she needed, it was nearly noon. She hurried into the office, already planning the legal document she would draft that afternoon. She’d have to include half a dozen graphs, rely on the color printer to make the data on suppressed bioavailability absolutely, perfectly, one-hundred-percent clear.
    She was just calculating the best way to display four complicated variables when she turned the corner into her office. The lights were on—that should have been her first clue that someone had invaded while she was out. The second warning was the pile of sunglasses on her desk.
    There had to be three dozen pairs, tangled together on the old-fashioned leather blotter like some bizarre sea creature. They were all designed for kids—Disney characters and cartoon creatures and so much sparkly pink and lavender that she thought she might be sick all over the collection. Someone had written a note in huge bubble letters: I Love Baseball. But, of course, “Love” was written as a giant heart.
    “Very funny, guys!” she called over her shoulder, and she was rewarded by a cascade of giggles. The office crew had had their fun with her. It must have taken them half the morning to assemble the plastic collection. She swept every last frame into an empty drawer in her desk, the one she saved for comfortable shoes and a change of clothes in the winter.
    The glasses were funny. The entire situation was laughable—or it would have been, if she didn’t feel compelled to continue with the charade. At least the Rockets played in Florida tomorrow night, the beginning of a road trip that would last almost two weeks. That gave her two vital weekends to get her own work done, concentrated days and nights that couldn’t come at a better time, given her inflexible trial deadline.
    She snapped open the locks on her briefcase and dug out the stack of articles she’d copied at the medical library. She was just spreading them out on her desk when Harvey poked his head in the door. “Wow,” he said. “Are you sure you can work in here? Isn’t the light blinding?”
    She made herself smile as she pushed her librarian glasses higher on her nose, purposely trying to send a subliminal message that she was studious and competent. “Let me guess,” she said. “The Miss Piggy glasses were your contribution?”
    “Nope.” He shook his head. “My daughter sacrificed her very own pair of Hello Kitty frames. Nothing but the best for you.”
    “Give her my thanks,” Amanda said dryly.
    Harvey flashed a grin before he became a little more sober. “I just wanted to stop by and make sure you received your invitation to the partners’ retreat.”
    Partners’ retreat. The words expanded in her head like a balloon filling with helium. For seven years, she’d put in her time at Link Oster, doing the work assigned by others, playing by their rules. Every year, she’d watched the partners traipse off to a secluded resort for their annual retreat. She’d listened to the office gossip, to the tantalizing hints of what they’d be discussing away from prying eyes, from straining ears. She’d waited, breathless, to find out what decisions had been made, how the firm had shaped policies for the coming year—what offices they intended to open, whether they’d distribute raises, who would receive bonuses.
    And this year, she’d be in on the talks. This year, for the first time, she was a partner. That’s what she’d bought with her blood money, with the checks Kyle had given her.
    “I haven’t seen the invitation yet,” she said.
    He nodded toward her inbox, to the neat stack of inter-office envelopes she hadn’t had a chance to open yet. “It’ll be in there. We’re thrilled to have you join us.”
    Amanda smiled as she looked at her boss. “Thanks, Harvey. I can’t wait.” Before she could express more of her gratitude her phone