Payton felt her heartbeat begin to race as she gave in to the excitement for one teeny-tiny moment. Then, not wanting to get carried away just yet, she calmed herself and, as always, got busy with work.

A FEW MINUTES before 1:30, Payton gathered her notes and her summary trial file folder for her meeting with Ben. She wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to meet about, but she guessed it had something to do with the trial she was about to start next week. As the head of the firm’s litigation department, Ben stayed on top of all cases going to trial, even those with which he wasn’t directly involved.

As was typical, Payton felt slightly on edge as she prepared for the meeting with her boss. She never knew what to expect with Ben. Despite the fact that he had never given her any indication that he was disappointed in her work—to the contrary, he consistently gave her the highest marks in her annual reviews—she felt that, at times, there was some sort of awkward undercurrent to their interactions. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, she just got a weird vibe now and then. He ran hot and cold with her; sometimes he was fine, other times he seemed a bit . . . stiff. Stilted. At first she had assumed this was just part of his personality, but on other occasions she had seen him joking easily with other associates. Interestingly, all male associates. She had begun to suspect that Ben—while never blatantly unprofessional—had a more difficult time getting along with women. It certainly wasn’t an unlikely conclusion to draw. Law firms could be old-fashioned at times and unfortunately, female attorneys still had a bit of an “old boy network” to contend with.

Nevertheless, because Ben was the head of her group—and thus a key player in the decision whether to make her a partner—Payton resolved to keep trying to establish a more congenial rapport between them. After all, she liked to think she was a relatively easygoing person. With one exception (and who really counted him, anyway?) she prided herself on getting along well with pretty much everyone she worked with.

Payton grabbed a pen and a legal pad, stuffed them in the file folder she carried, and headed out her office door. Irma’s desk was right outside her office, and she turned to let her secretary know she was leaving. In doing so, she nearly ran right into someone coming down the hallway from the other direction.

“Oh, sorry!” Payton exclaimed, scooting aside to avoid a collision. She looked up apologetically and—

—saw J.D.

Her expression changed to one of annoyance. She sighed. She had been having such a nice day until now.

Then Payton realized: oops—they had an audience. With a glance in Irma’s direction, she quickly adopted her most charmingly fake smile.

“Well, hello, J.D. How have you been?” she asked.

J.D. also cast an eye in the direction of the secretaries working nearby. As well practiced in this ruse as Payton, he matched her amiable expression with one of his own.

“My, how nice of you to ask, Payton,” he gushed ever so warmly as he gazed down at her. “I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

As always, Payton found herself annoyed by how damn tall J.D. was. She hated being in a position of—literally—having to look up to him. She had no doubt that J.D., on the other hand, quite enjoyed this.

“Fine, thank you,” Payton told him. “I’m heading to Ben’s office.” She managed to maintain her pleasant grin. Meryl Streep may have her Oscars, but she could learn a thing or two from Payton. Best Pretense of Liking One’s Assholic Coworker.

J.D.’s eyes narrowed slightly at Payton’s reply, but he too kept up the charade. “What a nice surprise—I’m headed to Ben’s office myself,” he said as if this was the best thing he’d heard all morning. Then he gestured gallantly to Payton—after you.

With a nod, she turned and headed down the back hallway to Ben’s corner office. J.D. strode easily alongside her; Payton had to take two steps for every one of his to keep up. Not that she let him see that.

After walking together in silence for a few moments, J.D. glanced around for witnesses. Seeing they were safely out of earshot, he folded his arms across his chest with what Payton had come to think of as the trademark J.D. Air of Superiority.

“So I saw your name in the Chicago Lawyer,” he led in.

Payton smiled, knowing he surely had a thing or two to say about that. She was pleased he’d seen the article the magazine had run in this month’s edition. She had been tempted to send him a copy in yesterday’s interoffice mail, but thought it would be better if he discovered it on his own.

“ ‘Forty to Watch Under 40,’ ” she said, referencing the article’s title and proud of her inclusion in its distinction.

“ ‘Forty Women to Watch Under 40,’ ” J.D. emphasized. “Tell me, Payton—is there a reason your gender finds it necessary to be so separatist? Afraid of a little competition from the opposite sex, perhaps?”

Payton tried not to laugh as she tossed her hair back over her shoulders. Hardly.

“If my gender hesitates to compete with yours, J.D., it’s only because we’re afraid to lower ourselves to your level,” she replied sweetly.

They arrived at the doorway to Ben’s office. J.D. leaned against the door casually and folded his arms across his chest. After eight years, Payton recognized this gesture well—it meant he was about to begin another one of his condescending lectures. She gave it 95 percent odds that he’d begin with one of his pompously rhetorical questions that he had absolutely no intention of letting her answer.