♛ ┇ ▒ ⋅⋅⋅ QUINN WHITAKER V. ORIENTATION ⋅⋅⋅ ▒ ┇♛

𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 of the doors, she was thrown into a hall drearier than what she'd seen outdoors. Which was really saying something. Everything was dull and modern, the epitome of wealth and class within New York. The firm's name was nailed into the dark gray wall behind her, silver letters glinting in the light from the windows.

Everyone was well dressed in dark hues – receptionists working the desk, lawyers passing back and forth in the hallways behind them, suited and skirted figures drafting papers in their glass offices behind even that. If she didn't know better, she'd think she stepped straight into a monochromatic movie from the eighties, and she was the tenacious new lawyer about to come across a shadowy conspiracy that could tear the firm apart.

She waved the thought off with a small flutter of her hand. There wasn't any time to get caught up in a whimsy screenwriter wonderland. She had to save those sentiments for whenever she retired from this firm with enough cash and connections to do whatever she wanted with her life. For now, she was a legal associate in a world of briefs and loopholes.

She was happy to be here.

Quinn approached the receptionist, placing one jittery hand on the table. "Good morning, I'm —"

"Have a seat," the brunette secretary said abruptly, one hand on her telephone and the other punching numbers, almost of its own accord.

She hastily scanned the room for a place to go and found several people – equally well-dressed and equally bleak-looking – sitting on taupe leather chairs before a black glass coffee table. Unbothered and not nearly as twitchy as she was. They were potential clients, or perhaps lawyers or partners on break time. Not associates.

"Right," she exhaled, her hand retreating from the counter. "Thanks."

She took long strides over to the waiting area, her mind abuzz. Why was she the only one here? Was she late? Her watch said otherwise, but... where was everyone else? Were they supposed to come today, or did she get the date wrong?

Quinn was frozen, staring at the couch before her as her fingers continued to tap relentlessly, a repetitive pattern that only she knew the origin of. Her eyes traced its details, an almost invisible pile of crumbs that had fallen into its creases, an indent where someone else had been sitting...

"Ah, sir?" The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them, her head swiveling to face one of the men reading newspapers. "I'm sorry to bother, but I'm new here... am I in the right place?"

The dark-skinned man looked at her over his paper, and he gave her a one-bounce shrug. Then, he fluffed the paper, shifted in his seat, and got back to reading like she didn't even exist.

"Quinn Whitaker?"

She spun around at the sound of her name and found herself staring at a young woman about her age, with light brown skin, shining curls of dark hair, and a spray of freckles across her nose. Clutched in her arms was a navy binder, a pen between her fingers. She offered Quinn a manicured hand, which she shook three times, her other hand still fidgeting.

"I'm Rachel Zane," she said curtly. "I'll be giving you your orientation."

Quinn nodded carefully. "I like your shirt." Finally, some color.

Rachel looked down at it – a pale green sweater with knitted ridges, and was probably softer than one of the many clouds peppering the sky. "Thank you," she said, producing a legal pad from her binder and handing it to Quinn along with the pen. "I advise you take notes."

Quinn clicked the pen, met Rachel's eyes, and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Rachel seemed pleased at her respectful response, and beckoned for Quinn to follow her down one of the hallways. "Normally, you associates tend to ride your high horse right into the reception area, as do most of our clients." She paused and glanced back at Quinn. "I did tell Meena to interrupt all associates as soon as possible to deflate their blimp-sized ego... so I apologize if she was a bit strident."

"It's a good idea," Quinn told her notebook, making note of the way Rachel's face scrunched when she smiled.

Rachel's grin persisted as they continued on. "This is the break room. There's food, drinks, coffee machines and the like. There's one conference room per wing, offices on either side. Each section specializes in its own arena of the law and is anchored by a department head on either end. North end is Mergers and Acquisitions, opposite High Net Worth Divorce."

She pointed to both sides of the floor as Quinn scribbled a square onto her notes, quickly drawing arrows to each side and jotting down words.

"The library is on the west side," Rachel explained. "No surprise what you'll use it for. Partner offices are scattered around the top ten floors, good luck finding out who belongs where." As if she could sense Quinn's apprehensive gaze, she turned back to her with a half-hearted smile. "You'll figure it out."

Quinn nodded diligently, making her square into a rectangular prism and continuing to scrawl notes. As Rachel spoke, Quinn began to get a read on her. Composed and ambitious. She's smart and she knows it, and seems irritated to no end by associate arrogance. Nice clothing, subtle makeup — she's here for the job and little else. And she thinks she's too good to be a paralegal.

I think she's too good to be a paralegal.

"The file room is on the east end, and that covers the fiftieth floor. Research is on the fifth floor and security's on the sixth... other than that, you'll just stay up here." She hung a sharp right, and Quinn stumbled trying to keep up with her. "The firm operates on a chain of command model. If you get selected by a firm partner, they'll become your commanding officer. Until then and even then, Louis Litt oversees all associates, so you'll answer to him as well. Fortunately for you, all work gets billed, no matter how small, so you shouldn't be concerned about reporting hours to him."

"Telling by the knit in your brow, I should be concerned," Quinn responded, flipping to a new page and continuing to write.

Rachel tilted her head from side to side. "I think you'll be fine. Louis has a penchant for knocking people down a peg, but you seem to be aware of where you stand. No offense."

Quinn tapped her fingers rhythmically on the notepad. "None taken."

Rachel took this as a solid answer and stepped to the side so Quinn could see the final part of their tour. "This is your new home. Rent is expensive. And this..." She walked over to a lifeless cubicle and clamped her hand around one of its walls. "... is your room."

"Spacious," Quinn said, setting down the notepad and giving her area a lookover. Clunky desktop computer, folding lamp with a spiraling clip device on its neck, a black rolling chair and two sleek silver pens with Pearson Hardman engraved on their sides. "Technically it's a penthouse, right?"

"Optimistic," Rachel said, watching as Quinn sat down in the chair, rotating slowly and taking it all in. When she finally did one full circle, she found Rachel leaning over the cubicle divide, twin strands of hair falling over the edge. "I like you."

Quinn couldn't help how she sighed in relief, practically slumping into her chair and wrinkling her long-sleeve beige button-down. "That makes one of us." She then glanced up at Rachel through her light brown curtain bangs. "Why?"

"You're not a moron," Rachel replied easily. "Or a dick."

"Well, that remains to be seen," Quinn decided, spreading her hands out on the desk and feeling the texture beneath her fingers.

Rachel smirked. "Right. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, actually," Quinn said, tearing the front page out of her notebook. "I found that you left out a very important aspect of the tour." Rachel frowned as Quinn handed her the paper – a messy diagram of the building with a giant smiley face in the middle. "Where are the bathrooms?"

Rachel stifled a laugh, before pulling a pen out of her binder and quickly drawing two red arrows on either side of the building. "There and there."

"I just needed to know where I can break into tears once it all becomes too much for me," Quinn said, her voice monotonous as she took the piece of paper and clipped it to her cubicle lamp.

Rachel nodded and straightened herself out, tugging her blouse down over her black pencil skirt. There was a sparkle to her dark eyes that hadn't been there before, and Quinn felt a sense of accomplishment knowing that she'd been able to put it there.

"If all the stalls are full," Rachel added, "just drop by my office. I've got tissues."

"Ah, you're a lifesaver," Quinn breathed. "Well, uh, when do I get my first... case?"

"Louis will come by and assign you one," Rachel said, putting her pen away and stepping back from the cubicle. "Or you can take one from that cart over there."

Quinn followed her gaze over to a small steel cart in the corner of the room full of blue files bursting with papers. Another associate – a blond man in another drab suit – walked by and took two off the top like it was a buffet table.

By the time she glanced back, Rachel had already disappeared, so Quinn got to her feet, brushed off her blouse, and approached the cart. The man from earlier had taken one off the top shelf, so Quinn knelt down and yanked a folder from the very bottom of the pile. She then walked back to her desk, immediately immersed in the contents of the folder. Her hand fumbled for the back of her chair, turning it so she could sit down.

Mindlessly, she turned on the light and spread the paper files across her blocky U-shaped desk. She pulled open one of the drawers and found an empty metal organizer instead of supplies. It immediately threw her out of her zone, and she stared at the empty drawer in confusion.

So you're telling me that the most renowned law firm in all of New York doesn't give their own associates supplies? You've gotta be kidding me.

Her eyes went to the fancy silver pens she'd been given, and she quickly tested them both on the notepad Rachel had gifted her. One was black, one was blue. Any lawyer worth their salt knew that you needed a lot more than that to properly dig into any sort of case file.

But for now, it would have to do. Quinn knew she wasn't exactly the most stoic person around, but she wasn't going to let a lack of highlighters send her careening into a bathroom stall with tear stained cheeks.

So she took the blue pen, sat down, and got back to work.

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The chapter name has a
double meaning.
Hee-hee.