𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄. || 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘹 𝘰𝘤

𝟎𝟏 ➻ the bagel conundrum

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

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 to make it to adulthood in one piece, let alone find herself standing in front of Pearson Hardman, the highly-acclaimed law firm that had accepted her straight out of Harvard Law on nothing but decent grades and a half-assed essay.

Most people would jump for joy at the opportunity, or pat themselves on the back for getting this far. But Quinn was filled with a sense of unease that pervaded the very air around her, making her leg jump beneath her black slacks and causing her fingers to drum impatiently on her thigh.

She couldn't help but think that this was less than deserved. But she would not be Quinn Whitaker if she didn't spend her entire life doubting herself. It was who she was as a person. She was her own worst critic, her ambition throttled by her need to be unassuming and unnoticed.

That was where the nerves came from, alongside the blade-like chill of a New York morning. Cars screeched on the street in front of her, people made small talk amongst themselves, threads of life like arteries, pulsing throughout the city. She wanted to reach out and grab hold of it all, to feel the warmth that they generated with their smiles, their words, their liveliness, but she fell short.

A blow of steam expelled from her mouth as she tore her eyes away from the world around her, zeroing in on the task at hand. It was her first move as an associate of Pearson Hardman. It mattered more than anything. First impressions. Overdo it, and everyone would think she was an arrogant show-off. Underdo it, and they'd call her a slacker, a lazy-ass gold-digger. Find a perfect medium, a moderate middle-ground, where she could not be ignored, nor could she be ridiculed. That was the plan.

That was always the plan.

"One everything bagel," she said after extensive consideration, forking over a few bills to the man working the stand. "With cream cheese."

He was old: a stark white receding hairline, bobbing jowls, and a slight swell to his under-eyes that came with elder package. His irises were a milky blue, but they had a bright gleam to them that was only enhanced by his toothy smile. Crow's feet made his face glow as he looked at her. "Good choice."

She decided within two seconds that he was a loving grandfather with grandchildren whom he adored and spoiled to no end. He had a son, or a daughter, maybe both, who probably begged him to stop working out in this cold weather, in the smoke-filled air. Bad for your lungs, bad for your hands, what about your arthritis, Dad? It's not safe out in the city. You could get hurt. We've got money, let us take care of you.

And each time, he would tell them: Ah, but it's my job. And it's my life. And it'll be my choice to leave a job that I love. I wouldn't give up the opportunity to brighten anyone's day for anything, especially these old bones of mine.

His fingers were knobbly, and they fumbled for the cash as it blew in the wind. Quinn swiftly pinned it down under her finger, before sliding another five dollars into the pile. The money went into the cash register, and the old man – Arthur, his nametag read – turned around to ready her order.

She wondered if any of her assumptions were true. She had a feeling they were. But it would be bad to ask it, right? She didn't want to hold up the line.

Quinn stepped to the side and let the next person go, averting her gaze to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. She caught a glimpse of him as she turned back to face the street, her fingers drumming on her leg again. Expensive, sleek black suit, navy tie. Hair done in a messy sort of slick that said I'm trying, but I'm not trying that hard, and sunglasses that were probably more for style points than anything, given the overcast skies.