chapter 2
TRINITY
I GLANCE DOWN AT MY watch and tap my foot on the floor, the rapid click, click, click filling the empty, silent room. He’s late.
I’m not impressed.
Being a law clerk for a state judge is a prestigious and coveted position. I receive so many applicants each year, and I have my pick on who I want to work with. You’d think that the one lucky enough to be chosen for such a position would actually be on time, especially since I’ve reserved time in my very busy day to walk him through his tasks.
Click, click, click.
I could have been at home, snuggled up with my cat, Florence, and drinking my new obsession—a green smoothie. But instead, I’m sitting here, alone, when I’m not due in court until later this morning. I know I have a reputation around here for being harsh, blunt, and very opinionated—I’ve heard the whispers—but I do what I need to in order to stay respected in such a male-dominated field. I’m the youngest female judge in the state, something I’m very proud of, but that title comes with a lot of people just waiting for me to fail.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I call out, glancing at my watch once more, just to see exactly how late he is. Fifteen minutes. Not too bad, but at the same time he isn’t exactly making the best first impression. I lift my head as he enters.
“Sorry I’m late, Judge Williams,” he says in a deep tone, surprise flashing in his green gaze as he takes me in. I get that all the time. No one ever imagines that I’m as young as I am, especially with my reputation. I pretend I don’t notice and stand as he offers me his hand. He’s tall. Very tall. At least a foot taller than my five-foot-four frame. I have to crane my neck just to look into his eyes. Serves me right for letting my former law clerk handle the interviewing and hiring process. Still, I pretend that his height doesn’t intimidate me. I keep my expression emotionless; I’ve even mastered how to keep my eyes cold.
“Don’t let it happen again, Mr. Hopkins,” I say, arching my brow and gesturing for him to take a seat. He waits until I take mine before he takes his own. Is that an act of chivalry? It shouldn’t annoy me, but it does. In this courtroom and in my chambers, we are not equals, he works for me, and his act of chivalry shows he’s treating me like a woman instead of a judge, and his boss. Or maybe it was a sign of respect, and I’m being completely ridiculous. Why am I overthinking this right now? So what if he’s kind of good-looking? There are plenty of handsome men in the judiciary system; he’s no different. Get your shit together, Trinity. He’s on your turf.
“Please call me Callum, Your Honor,” he returns, clearing his throat and bringing me out of my head.
“Callum,” I say, testing the name on my tongue. “I assume you know you’ll be performing legal research for me, writing briefs, drafting court opinions, and anything else I need to prepare for court. Do not give me your opinion or analysis unless I ask you to. Every judge has his or her own way of doing things, and I have mine. You were hired for this position because you were top of your class in law school, and you also had quite the recommendation from Jaxon Bentley, who was pleased with the work you did at his firm. I don’t respect many attorneys, but if Mr. Bentley vouched for you, then you must not be a complete idiot. You will learn a lot during your time here, and everything moves quickly, so keep up.”
His eyes widen at my comment, but instead of appearing offended or put off, I see a smirk playing on his lips.
A smirk?
What exactly does he find amusing about his fellow peers’ incompetence?
“I’m a fast learner and willing to put in the hard work, Your Honor,” he says, sounding sincere. He has a nice, strong jawline, and I can’t help but notice it as he continues. “And I won’t be late again. I’m usually a very punctual person.” His lip quirks as if something is funny. “I promise.”
He’s nothing like I thought he would be. He almost has a lightness about him, something I’m not sure has a place here. I’m generally a very good judge of character, I believe it’s important in what I do, but I can’t quite put my finger on this one. I can’t tell if he’s going to be an asset or if he’s going to drive me crazy. What I do know is that we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and I need to trust him and his decisions.
“Good to know,” I tell him, sliding a case file in his direction. “Familiarize yourself with this case. We have two hours until we hear pretrial motions.”
He nods and opens the file straightaway, wasting no time.
I like that.
Maybe this will work out after all.
One Week Later
THIS IS NOT GOING to work out.
Has he done anything wrong?
Not exactly.
But every time he walks up to me to hand me papers, like he just did, I can feel his eyes on me, and it leaves me a little unsettled. And I don’t fucking like it. Over the last week, I’ve learned a few things about him: (1) He can find humor in any situation, (2) nothing intimidates him, not even me, and (3) he was right—he was never late again.
“Thank you, Callum,” I tell him, glancing down at his notes. I can see how he was top of his class—he has an insightful, bright, quick mind, and doesn’t miss a thing. He is also clearly good at research and, if I’m being honest, is perfect for this job. He’s kind to everyone around him, and no one who meets him dislikes him. I have absolutely no reason to feel . . . on edge when he’s around me, yet I do. I don’t know what it is, and because I can’t pinpoint it, it’s driving me insane.
When he doesn’t leave my desk, I glance up at him in question. His eyes are already on me, and there’s something in his gaze that makes me curious. Something about the way he looks at me is different than how everyone else does. It causes a stir in me that I don’t want to deal with at the moment.
“Did you always want to be a judge?” he boldly asks.
See—not intimidated one bit. I can’t remember the last time anyone here has asked me a personal question, probably because it’s never happened. This isn’t exactly the place for personal, and I’m not the type of person to engage in chitchat with my colleagues. I’m here to do my job, not to make friends.
I clear my throat, considering his question. I probably wouldn’t answer it if we weren’t alone, but with just the two of us in the room, it feels safe to give him a little information about myself. “Yes,” I tell him honestly, although I don’t tell him why. “It was a personal dream of mine. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” he murmurs, flashing me a smile I’ve learned is his trademark. “It’s just so impressive, you know? You must be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“Because I’m female?” I fire back, lifting my chin.
“No,” he replies, shaking his head, lip twitching. “It has nothing to do with the fact you are female, more to do with what you’ve accomplished at such a young age. But now that you mention it, when I googled you it said that you’re the youngest female judge in the state. I don’t even know how you can top that.”
He mutters something under his breath then, and I’m sure he says, “Although it didn’t mention just how beautiful you are.” But I pretend I didn’t hear a word. Surely I’m mistaken—he wouldn’t be so bold. Or would he?
“You googled me?” I repeat in a dry tone, pursing my lips. No one has ever admitted that to my face. I’m not an approachable woman, yet he’s talking to me like we’re two buddies in a bar. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little out of my comfort zone right now.
“Yes, Your Honor, I did. I wanted to know who I’d be working for,” he replies with a straight face. “And it’s kind of my job to research.”
My jaw tightens. “Well, thank you for feeling the need to share that with me,” I deadpan, not knowing what else to say. I’ve never searched myself, but I can only imagine what comes up.
“Since we’ll be working together so closely over the next year, I’m sure I will be sharing a lot more of my thoughts with you,” he continues, not realizing just how thin a line he’s currently walking. “And maybe you can share some things about yourself with me.”
Maybe he’s one of those adrenaline junkies who likes to live life on the edge. Who knows? There’s something else about him that is clear though.
Callum Hopkins is a smart-ass.
Instead of getting angry, or threatening to fire him, I decide to play his game and allow the conversation to continue. “I’m not much of a sharer.”
“You’re an only child then?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, his dark hair falling to the side of his forehead.
“I am, actually,” I say. It hits me then that if he read about me, he might already know more details about me than I’m comfortable with. “However, you probably already read that online, didn’t you?”
It also means he knows what happened to my family.
Everyone loves to talk about that. People love tragedy, those are the stories that get the most attention, and the fact that I lost my parents in a plane crash is something I’ve found most people are interested in. They read it just like another fascinating fact about me, but it’s obviously a lot more than that. It was the day I lost everything, the day my life was destroyed.
He ducks his head and admits, “I may have seen that somewhere.”
“Then why make it a question instead of a statement?” I ask, calling him out on it.
“Maybe there are some things I want to hear from you, instead,” he replies, studying me with those emerald-green eyes.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have snooped online then,” I fire back, and glance down at the paperwork in front of me. “You have plenty of work to do, Callum, get to it.”
He wants to get to know me more? That’s not how this works. He’s no longer working in a law firm, where everyone acts as a unit and they’re all friends who have drinks after work or catch up on the weekends.
This is on a whole different level.
He takes the hint and gets back to work, and I for one am grateful. No one here has ever tried to get to know me on a personal level before; we’re all here for work, and work only.
And Callum is no different.