My large desk takes up most of the carpeted floor, an oversized, antique monstrosity that was too heavy to move after being abandoned by the previous occupant. A small bookshelf sits in the corner, housing some of my favorite legal books and memoirs, ranging from RBG—may her memory be a blessing—to Bryan Stevenson. All my personal literature is tucked away at home, safe from the prying eyes of my colleagues. They don’t need to see the fantasy and romance novels I indulge in during my rare time off, escaping away from reality to a fictional world far better than this one.

I fire up my laptop and gray Mac monitor, scanning the full inbox waiting for me. The number never seems to go down, despite how quickly I answer inquiries; a never-ending cycle of not enough time in the day to accomplish all my tasks. It’s impossible to keep up.

The last step in my routine is admiring the view out my window, an expanse of construction, cranes, and newly placed steel greeting me. The moment of peace passes far too quickly as I get to work; off to make a difference, even if it’s not noticeable yet.

One day, it will be.

* * *

“Emma?”

I blink, attention shifting from my monitor to the woman standing in front of me. The warmth and brightness in the room suggest morning has dissipated, leaving behind early afternoon. I rub my eyes, adjusting to the new lighting. I’ve been so focused on my computer, half the day has passed by.

“Hey, Lisa!”

Lisa is the firm’s administrative assistant and one of three other women I work with. We bonded over the lack of female representation within the company one night over wine when I awkwardly asked if she wanted to hang out. We’ve been fairly close ever since, trading gossip and secrets while giggling over what comically stupid things the men in our office have said and done.

“Sorry. I knocked three times and didn’t get an answer.” She offers me an apologetic smile.

“I was zoning out as usual. What’s up?”

Lisa shifts on her feet, bouncing back and forth on her red heels, purchased on an impromptu shopping trip we embarked on together a few months ago. They look eye-catching on her long, lean legs. I got a matching pair that are slightly higher, and not an article of clothing I can parade around in at work thanks to my short stature. If a man wears new shoes, no one bats an eye. If a woman changes up her look, the questions and unwarranted comments start rolling in.

It’s bullshit, honestly.

“Wallace wants to see you.”

My spine stiffens and I sit up straight in my chair, a pocket of apprehension settling into the depths of my stomach. “Did he say what it was about?”

“No. If it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem mad.”