chapter 4
TRINITY
“ARE YOU HUNGRY AGAIN, Florence?” I ask my Bengal cat as she nuzzles her head against my ankle. I put some dry biscuits into her silver bowl and place it on the floor, my white silk robe brushing the gray tiles. She dives right into them like she didn’t just eat about an hour ago. I make a tsk-tsk noise and walk back into my bedroom and stand in front of my mirrored sliding doors. My robe falls open as I study myself, showing off the pale skin on my chest. I never know what to do on my days off. The house is clean because a cleaner comes in once a week, and I’m hardly home to make much of a mess anyway. I know I’m meant to relax, but I’ve never been good at that. I find myself throwing on some jogging clothes and heading next door. I knock twice before my neighbor Alyssa answers, her young daughter, Dina, in her arms. I give Dina a big smile and hold my arms out to her, which she all but jumps into.
“Good morning, pretty girl,” I say, giving her a big hug, then glance up at her mom. “I’m going for a walk along the boardwalk, you coming?”
She nods. “Give me ten, I’ll get changed.”
I sit down on the couch with Dina while Alyssa gets ready. She’s lived next to me for the last four years and we’ve slowly become friends. Ever since her husband walked out last year, we’ve become even closer. I remember the day he left; I found her sitting on the porch, arms wrapped around herself. I’d asked her if she was okay, and she said that she wasn’t but she would be. She was scared, I knew. I’d awkwardly given her a hug, and she had started crying and asking why she wasn’t enough for him. She’s since learned that he wasn’t enough to handle a woman like her. She’s a strong woman, and one I admire. Having a close friend is something new for me; I normally don’t let people in, but with Alyssa it was kind of hard not to. She comes over whenever she likes, and I’ve learned to welcome her into my space and enjoy having her there. I guess that’s what family is, right?
“What are you watching, Dina?” I ask the one-year-old. “PAW Patrol. Great choice. And don’t you look extra cute this morning?”
I touch her little ponytail, which only just has enough hair to be tied into anything, a pink bow around it.
“How’s your week been?” Alyssa asks as she reenters the room, dressed in black yoga pants and a tight black tank top. She doesn’t look like she’s had a kid, her body still fit and toned.
“Not too bad,” I reply, standing with Dina in my arms. “Same old.”
“How’s your new law clerk doing?” she absently asks as she slides on her pink sneakers. “Still chatty?”
I sit Dina on the fluffy black carpet and sigh. “Yeah, but that aside he’s really competent. And super intelligent. Seriously, he picks up things that even I miss.”
I hardly miss a thing—my eye for detail is impeccable—but it seems he never misses a thing. He’s sharp as a fucking tack, and I’ve never said that about anyone before. I’m both impressed and extremely irritated.
“I doubt that,” she murmurs, lifting her head to look at me, blue eyes identical to Dina’s narrowing on me. “You are so particular with details.”
“He’s quick,” I say, trying to explain how brilliant his mind is. “He must have a really high IQ.”
“What does he look like?” she asks, sounding curious.
Tall and sexy. Firm, kissable lips and green eyes that steal your soul.
“Why?” I ask her, dragging out the word. There’s no way in hell I’m admitting my attraction to him. Nope. I can barely admit it to myself; it’s so inappropriate.
She stills, then softly laughs. “He’s a babe, isn’t he?”
Shit. How did I give it away? Alyssa is possibly the only person who knows how to read me.
I square my shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Look at you, getting all defensive. Let me guess,” she continues, moving on the floor next to her daughter and sliding little socks on her feet. “He’s tall, dark, and handsome. That’s totally your type.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Am I that transparent? Yeah, he’s all those things, but I’m not shallow, I don’t just go for those three characteristics. “I don’t have a type.”
“Your last two boyfriends were just that.”
I purse my lips. “My last two boyfriends? The previous one lasted less than three months; I don’t think that counts as a boyfriend. That was just an interview, and one that he failed.”
“And Simon?” she asks, referring to a guy I was dating for about six months over a year back.
“Another interview, just longer,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. “Maybe I’m just supposed to be single, and I’ve accepted that. How did we get so off topic anyway?”
“Because you think your law clerk is hot, but you won’t admit it out loud, so you’re getting all frustrated that I’m calling you out on it.” She looks to Dina and says in a baby voice, “Isn’t Auntie Trinny so funny? She should just admit that she likes her law clerk, shouldn’t she? Yes, she should.”
Dina giggles.
I scowl.
“Liking is going a bit far,” I grumble, as we all head toward the front door. “He’s my law clerk; it doesn’t matter what he looks like. He’s there to help me kick ass, and I’m there to give him some experience in the field.”
Besides, I like the strong-and-silent type, not the smart-ass, cocky men.
“You’d give him some experience all right.” Alyssa sniggers, wiggling her perfectly arched brows. “He’s younger than you, right? You cougar.”
I put up my hand, hoping it shuts her up. “You are out of control.”
“Boy toy can call you Judge in the bedroom,” she continues, laughing at her own joke. “Anything you want . . . Judge.”
“Why are we friends again?” I ask myself out loud.
Anyway, I don’t want to be dominant in the bedroom. I’d rather the man take charge.
“Because I’m the only one who will put up with you,” she calls out over her shoulder.
Shit.
She might just be right.
“HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND?” Callum asks me bright and early on Monday. Yeah, he’s even chirpy first thing in the morning.
I quickly raise my gaze from the desk to his belt buckle and up the buttons of his baby-blue shirt, until I reach his eyes. “Not bad, how was yours?”
Small talk.
I hate small talk.
I don’t have the time or the inkling for it.
“Pretty good,” he says, handing me a cup of coffee he must’ve gotten on the way here. It’s from my favorite coffee shop, and although the sight of it brings me happiness, the fact that he got it for me doesn’t. I accept it from his hand hesitantly, not wanting to seem ungrateful, but feeling like I need to say something.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” I settle on, shifting in my seat and placing the cup down on the corner of my desk. “I mean it’s not in your job description to bring me coffee.”
Unless I ask him to, I guess.
“I know,” he replies, sounding a little confused. “I was getting some for me and thought I’d grab a cup for you too.” He studies me for a second, then shakes his head. “It’s called being thoughtful.”
“I don’t need you to be thoughtful,” I tell him. I need to set these boundaries, because he needs to know where we stand. We’re not friends. We’re here for a reason, an important one at that, and not for him to be cute and bring me my favorite coffee.
It may be true that every woman wants a man who pays attention, and Callum obviously does. Ask any of my ex-boyfriends—if that’s what you want to call them—what my favorite coffee is, I don’t think they could tell you. Callum however, can, and that’s not okay with me. It might seem like something so small, but for some reason it really doesn’t sit well.
“Since when is being thoughtful a bad quality?” he asks me, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone is amused, but his stance is not.
“It’s not a bad quality, just one you aren’t required to showcase,” I say, crossing my own arms, imitating his body language. “Now, what were we discussing?”
“Our weekends,” he replies, tone stiff, drinking some of his own coffee. “I just hung out with my brother all weekend; it was nice. I didn’t get any shit for being a good person either.”
I ignore his biting comment.
“Is he older or younger?” I find myself asking. I always wished I had a sibling, but I was never lucky enough. I like to think I’d be a good sister.
“Younger,” he says, smiling to himself at the thought of his baby brother, earlier anger forgotten. “His name is Justin.”
“That’s a nice name,” I tell him, eyeing my cup of coffee. I really want to take a sip but don’t want to give him the satisfaction after the speech I just delivered. “So the two of you are close?”
He nods. “Yeah, we are. Well, as close as you can be with a seventeen-year-old. What do you want me to do with this pile of mail?” he asks, gesturing to the pile that has been growing on his desk.
“Can you open them and leave the important ones on my desk?” I ask.
“Sure thing,” he replies, and starts tearing into them. While he gets lost in his task, I take a big gulp of the heavenly liquid I forbade him from bringing me. Why did I do that again?
Oh, right.
Boundaries.
I’ll get my own damn coffee, thank you very much.
I don’t need a younger, sexy man bringing me any.
Nope, not at all.
A few moments later he approaches my desk and slides one in front of me. “Look at this.”
I glance down and scan the letter and sigh. It reads:
You ruined my life, now I’m going to ruin yours.
Watch your back, Judge Williams. Death is coming for you.
“Oh, just put that in the trash. You’ll be seeing a lot of those during your time here.”
“You get a lot of threats?” he asks, scowling, picking up the letter in his hand and closing his fist. “We should give them to the police. Can’t they track down whoever is sending them by their prints?”
“I get them all the time, Callum. It’s fine. It kind of comes with the territory. I determine how long people go to prison for, and people will always hate me, blame me for whatever happens. I’ve kind of accepted it,” I explain.
I really struggled when I got my first few death threats. But now? I just ignore them. They are just that, threats.
Callum, however, seems to be unable to accept this. “This is not okay. I think we should keep any threats you get and hand them to the police. You shouldn’t be used to this, and whoever is sending this shouldn’t get away with it.”
It’s kind of cute how heated he is right now. And shit—it’s also kind of hot.
He’s kind of hot.
How inappropriate is this?
“Callum, it’s fine. It’s just how things are.”
Sometimes you just have to accept the way things are, because you can’t change them no matter how much you want to.
“That doesn’t make it okay though,” he says, returning to the remainder of the mail. He opens the rest of it and I pretend to concentrate on my work, but I don’t miss the muttered cursing under his breath. More hate mail, I assume. It feels kind of nice to have someone care, even as sad as it is to admit.
“Today is going to be a long day in court. Are you ready for it?” I ask, breaking the silence and trying to change the topic.
“Are you kidding? I live for this shit,” he says with an almost boyish, lopsided smile.
Alyssa’s words run through my mind, and I inwardly cringe. It’s probably boyish because he’s several years younger than me. Six, to be exact.
Six years is a lot. It might not seem so when I’m forty, or something, but right now it’s a really big difference. I need to somehow get rid of this attraction to him.
Maybe I need to go out and get laid.
Yes, that might help.
“And don’t change the subject, I really think we should send these letters to the police. Do you want me to do it?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ll handle it; don’t worry about it.”
Maybe I’ll handle something else later when I get home too.
“Someone needs to,” he grumbles.
My lips twitch of their own accord. “I appreciate it, Callum, but really, forget it. We have other things we need to worry about today.”
“Like what?” he asks me, narrowing his eyes. “Like the fact I haven’t asked you my personal question of the day?”
I expel a deep sigh. Why won’t he let this go? I’ve never met anyone so stubborn before. Well, besides myself, anyway. “Okay, well, hit me with today’s one then.”
See, I’m not an asshole. I can be a very easygoing person.
“Are you single?” he asks, staring me dead in the eye as he waits for my reply. If he looks closely enough, I’m sure he will see my eye twitching.
Why would he ask this? He has to know how inappropriate it is. It doesn’t matter if I’m single or not, because it doesn’t affect him in any way.
I open my mouth, then close it. “Yes, I’m single.”
“Why?” he asks, looking genuinely curious.
“You used up your question,” I remind him. “Guess you’ll have to wait until next time.”
“I’m a patient man,” he replies, winking. “I can wait.”
Wait, what?
Does he mean . . . ?
I clear my throat. “Well, we better get started on our work then.”
Yes, work.
Work is safe. Work I understand. I don’t need to be getting distracted.
He nods, taking the hint, and backs away from my desk.
When he turns, my eyes lower to his tight, round ass.
Fuck.
I sigh and pick up the coffee again.
I’m going to need it.
“I’M GOING TO GET something for lunch,” Callum says to me, glancing down at the pile in front of me. “I’d ask if you want anything, but I know you don’t appreciate any form of common courtesy or thoughtfulness, so I’m just going to leave you here with your giant pile of work.”
Shit.
My stomach rumbles loud enough that he hears it. I’m starving, and I won’t be able to grab lunch until I get some of the work on my desk completed. Still, my pride isn’t going to allow me to give in and go back on what I said earlier.
“Enjoy,” I say to him, pretending that I’m fine, which seems to be my life motto.
He doesn’t leave; he just stares at me, a frustrated expression on his face. Finally he leans down, bracing himself on my desk, biceps flexing through his shirt.
“I’ve never met a woman more stubborn.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I reply, a saccharine smile making an appearance.
“Of course you have,” he says, gaze dropping to my lips.
And here we are, back in dangerous territory.
I don’t look away from his eyes, therefore not missing the frustration in them. The lust. The uncertainty.
He licks his bottom lip, and now it’s me who can’t look away from his mouth.
He leans in closer. “I’m going to get you lunch. Please just eat it and don’t give me a hard time, and I won’t mention it again. That way, you don’t have to admit any kind of defeat.”
I don’t say anything.
He storms out of the office and I exhale, not realizing I was holding my breath.
Something has to give. I can’t work under these conditions, because I’m suddenly feeling a little flushed.
Concentrate.
I’m not a woman who usually gets distracted, and I don’t like the out-of-control feeling he gives me.
When he returns with my lunch, it’s one of my favorites. I don’t think this is a coincidence either—I’ve ordered the chicken and avocado a few times since he’s been here.
When he sets it in front of me without a word, I hesitate for a few moments before I unwrap the sandwich and eat it, refusing to look him in the eye.
When he raises his head and smirks, I want to throw something at him, but my hands are full of food and I’m fucking starving.
He’s thoughtful.
He pays attention.
And he will never be mine.