Approaching the Bench

by Chantal Fernando

  “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 ot
her 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.

  chapter 5

  CALLUM

  I’M ABOUT TO WALK to my car, exhaustion filling me, when I see Judge Williams walking to hers with hands full of paperwork, folders, and that giant handbag she lugs around every day. I have no idea what’s in there, but it’s big enough that she must be prepared for any situation life may throw at her. I also don’t know how she walks around in those high heels, but it can’t be comfortable. I rush to help her, calling out her name. She stops in her tracks, whirling toward me, her soft, red hair billowing all around her.

  I hold out my hands as I reach her. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  “Oh,” she murmurs, sounding surprised. “It’s okay; you don’t have to.”

  She’s stubborn and doesn’t like to ask for help; that much is clear. Without bothering to argue, I grab the two large folders and her giant bag and nod my head toward her silver Mercedes-Benz SLC, eyeing the two-door beauty that suits Judge Williams perfectly.

  “Great choice,” I murmur, waiting until she unlocks the car and opens the passenger door, setting all her belongings on the seat.

  “Thanks,” she says, and I don’t know if she’s thanking me for the compliment or because I helped her carry her things, but I nod and smile.

  “Any time,” I say, meaning it. I close the passenger door, then walk around to her side and open the door for her. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning?”

  She’s about to answer when a black van skids up right next to us, the side door sliding open hastily.

  A masked man jumps out of the van and pulls Judge Williams back against his chest, lifting her in the air as he starts trying to pull her inside the van. She screams and starts kicking and squirming against his hold.

  “Callum!” she yells out, fighting him off like a hellion. I see her trying to claw his face, doing anything she can to him to let her go. Judge Williams is not getting into that van, at least not while I’m still alive and breathing.

  Knowing I don’t have time to fuck around, I rush to Judge Williams and hold on to the only thing I can—her legs. I kick out my own leg and hit the guy in the balls, making him drop her. Before she’s safely away, he grabs on to her hair, trying to pull her back.

  “Let go of me, you asshole!” she yells, reaching her arms up to her hair. Without thinking, I move behind him and hit him across his head. He lets her go, then turns his attention on me.

  “Run!” I call out to her, but instead of listening to me, she jumps on the guy’s back and starts hitting him across the head with her small hands. I punch him in the stomach as hard as I can, and he doubles over, so I give him another hit to the face this time.

  The man driving the van gets out and runs toward us, pointing a gun at me. I put my arms up and take a deep breath. Is this how it’s going to end? In the parking lot behind the courtroom? At least the gun is pointed at me and not her.

  “You don’t want to do this,” I tell the man.

  “Put her in the van and you get to live,” the gunman says to me.

  I hear Judge Williams cry out and turn to see her on the ground, hands covering her face, the first man towering over her, his hand forming a fist. Gunman forgotten, I jump on him and start attacking him, getting in as many hits as I can.

  No one hits a woman in front of me—no one—and especially not this woman.

  Just when I think this is going to be all over, that they’re just going to shoot me dead and take her with them, sirens approach and the two men hurry to get back into the van and speed off, the police chasing after them. I rush to the judge, she’s so small and I shudder to think of the damage the man double her size just inflicted. I feel so fucking shitty; why didn’t he hit me instead? Why wasn’t I able to get to her in time? I cup her face with my hands. “Are you okay?”

  Her nose is bleeding, but I don’t think it’s broken. Bastard hits like a pussy. “I am, thanks to you,” she replies, looking into my eyes. “If you hadn’t moved quickly, a few more seconds and I would have been in that van.”

  “Yeah, but you still got hit,” I
murmur, running my thumb along her cheekbone.

  “Nothing I haven’t endured before,” she replies, confusing me. Who has hit her before? “I’d rather that than an abduction. Besides,” she adds, a smug look entering her eyes, “I scratched him, hard. They should be able to do a DNA test from what’s underneath my nails and find out who he is.”

  My eyebrows rise—I’m impressed. Even in a moment of crisis, she’s thinking of ways to bring criminals down.

  “You’re something else, Your Honor.”

  “I think after everything we’ve just been through, you can call me Trinity,” she says as I help her up. She stumbles a little, but I hold on to her arm to steady her. Her skin is soft and warm, and she is so calm even after everything that just transpired. It’s almost like nothing can shake her. Either that, or she’s extremely talented at hiding her reactions and emotions.

  “Trinity,” I whisper softly.

  Beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Somehow the word beautiful seems to be lacking, but it’s all I can come up with right now.

  “You’re lucky he didn’t break your nose,” I tell her, shaking my head to myself. “Why didn’t you run when I told you to?”

  “I know,” she agrees, touching the bridge of said nose. “He would have if he used a closed fist. His backhand hurt enough as it is. And I wasn’t just going to leave you. It was me they wanted, not you.”

  “I hope the cops caught them,” I tell her, starting to pace. “I can’t believe this happened. Did you recognize the man? I know his face was covered, but anything else seem familiar?”

  She sighs and closes her eyes. “I see so many people every week. I have no idea. It could be anybody.” Her eyes open. “I don’t know, Callum. I don’t even know what to say right now.”

  She starts to twist her hands. “How many people have I sentenced to prison? Any of them could be out to get me. Nothing like this has ever happened before, Callum. How bold can they be to try and kidnap me right outside the courtroom? It’s not even dark out. Someone needs to check who has been released from prison recently, or let out on parole. I don’t think they’re going to give up so easily.”