The last few weeks had been— a lot. Two weeks ago, you were practically jobless, scraping by on whatever bullshit gigs Trevor threw your way just to keep the lights on. Now? Somehow, you’d managed to land an associate position at Pearson Hardman— one of the biggest law firms in NYC. The catch? You didn’t have a law degree. Hell, you didn’t even have an undergrad degree. But that wasn’t because you weren’t smart— you were a goddamn genius. At least, that’s what Jenny always said.

Jenny was your best friend. You met her at a bar after you both bailed on shitty dates, bonded over terrible drinks and even worse men. That was years ago. Since then, she’d gotten with Trevor, but now he was gone too (thank God) after she found out he was peddling. So now? It was just you and her again. Honestly, the two of you had better chemistry than with half the guys you’d dated.

But explaining this job to her without admitting you were a complete fraud? Tricky. With Harvey taking a gamble on you, you couldn’t risk telling anyone. The more people who knew, the bigger the liability.

Neither of you came from big money— hell, you barely had any money now— so having each other’s backs through messy breakups and questionable career moves had become a full-time commitment. And Jenny? She loved seeing you win. For the first time in a long time, she saw you smile every damn day. You’d always told her this was your dream. You just never told her why you hadn’t chased it until now.

Tonight was girls’ night— or, more accurately, girls’ night at home. No cash to burn on bars just yet. And right now? Your job was the most interesting thing in Jenny’s life.

She sat on the couch in your barely livable apartment (it was still better than her place), stirring the last of her instant ramen. When she finished, she handed you the bowl with a smirk.

“So. Miss Hotshot Lawyer. When do you finally drag your ass out of this dump? Take me with you, I mean, with those big, fancy paychecks rolling in, I assume you’re not planning to die in this shoebox?"