ELEVEN Taylor’s case was going to trial in two weeks, and she was frantic. She was e-mailing assignments to me with instructions that had two or three exclamation marks after every sentence. Taylor was one e-mail away from my limit.
“Taylor gets nervous when she goes to trial,” Shirley told me. “It’ll pass, trust me.”
Maybe when I’m your age, Shirley, I’ll be ripe with patience, too.
One morning Taylor came to the office with coffee in hand, swept past my desk like an arctic breeze, and shut her office door behind her.
I called Jeff from my desk phone. It probably would have made more sense to just walk in his office, but I didn’t want to.
“Hey,” he said.
“Just wanted to say hi,” I said.
Just then, Taylor walked up to my desk.
“Anaya, get these responses copied and delivered to San
