For risking life and limb for the glory of this law firm, I am grateful,” Dan Dennis remarked from his perch on the corner of Liz’s desk. She looked at him out of her one good eye. “I think that’s overstating things a bit, Dan. We got your damned trophy for you so we don’t have to listen to you bitch and whine until next season.” Liz went back to the papers on her desk. Her eye was throbbing to a ragtime beat. It wasn’t as bad as it had been over the weekend, but it hurt like hell and was still swollen shut. “You know, Dan, one would think that as a lifelong Red Sox fan, you’d have learned by now to handle disappointment with a little more grace and fortitude. However, we won and with only minor casualties.” Liz leaned back in her chair. “What do you want, Dan?” Dan looked at her with mock innocence. “What makes you think I want something other than the opportunity to express my gratitude?” “The named partners of a law firm do not drop in on associates for a social chat – it cuts too far into billable hours.
