Approaching the Bench

by Chantal Fernando

  Callum nods and gives my hand a squeeze. “That would make me feel a little better.”

  “Good,” I tell him, taking a deep breath. “We can do this.”

  We can.

  We have no choice but to.

  chapter 9

  CALLUM

  “THIS IS NOT WHAT I expected,” I say to Trinity, eyes wide. “Holy shit, how can I be scared about our predicament when we’re flying in a fucking private plane. Whose plane even is this?”

  “I have no idea,” she murmurs, wriggling her feet, which are peeking out from the blanket the hostess gave her. She doesn’t sound as shocked as me though, so maybe she’s used to such treatment.

  “Is this what I have to look forward to?” I ask myself. “I knew I chose the right career path.”

  She turns to me, her face so close I can see speckles of green in her eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t just become a family lawyer or something, so you’d get to talk all damn day.”

  I chuckle to myself. “It’s funny you say that, because my friend Hunter is the chattiest at Bentley and Channing and he’s the family lawyer. Is that a thing? Family lawyers like to talk?”

  “All lawyers like to talk,” she tells me with a grin. “But in my personal experience, yes. I know Mr. Brayze.”

  “Is that who you’re basing this theory on?” I ask, grinning.

  “Maybe,” she replies, shrugging. “Whenever he’s coming into court I make sure I leave extra time before the next case.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. Fuck, I miss Hunter.

  “I’ve just always been fascinated by the court system,” I explain to her. “I used to watch all those judge daytime television shows growing up, and I don’t know . . . that’s just where I wanted to be.”

  “Aspirations to be Judge Judy?” she teases, and I bark out a deep laugh.

  “Judge Judy’s law clerk apparently,” I fire back. “Although the judge I work for is a little meaner than Judy.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not mean. And it doesn’t even faze you anyway, you’re still in my personal space and asking me about nonwork topics.”

  “Nothing fazes me really.” I shrug, turning my body to face her. “We’re opposites. You’re uptight, and I’m more laid-back.”

  “Is this plane trip to our unknown destination going to be filled with insults?” she asks me in a dry tone but sounds amused. “Because if so, I’m going to put my iPod on and turn up the volume.”

  “What do you listen to? Beethoven or something of the likes? Uptight music?”

  I like teasing her. I’d never have spoken to her like this before all this happened, and I don’t think she would have found it amusing. It almost seems like another time, even though it was only yesterday evening. We’re in such a different place now; we’re equals, instead of her being my dreaded yet talented boss, and my being her overly talkative law clerk. In her opinion anyway. I happen to find myself extremely charming.

  “You think classical music is uptight? Oh, that’s right: you’re young. Practically an infant,” she returns, kind of hitting a sore point for me. I don’t care that she’s older than me. Not one bit. But I care that she cares. I don’t want age to be any kind of issue for her, because that’s something about myself I can’t change. Yes, I’m a few years younger, but age is just a number. Chemistry trumps all of that.

  “I’m younger than you but I’m still a man,” I tell her, boldly resting my hand on the curve of her tiny waist. “Want me to show you?”

  She arches her brow and gently pushes my hand off her. “You’re my law clerk.”

  “Not right now I’m not,” I say, studying her. “Tell me you don’t feel any kind of attraction to me and we’ll pretend this little thing never happened. And if you lie, I’ll know.”

  “How?” she probes, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Yes or no, Trinity,” I push. If she says no, I’ll have to let go of any notions of ever being with her. It will be hard, because I don’t think I’ve ever been so intrigued by a woman, but I’ll do it. “Are you attracted to me?”

  She bites her bottom lip, then reluctantly admits, “Yes, but—”

  I cut her off. “No buts. You are, and so am I. And we’re both in this together and are stuck with each other until this is over, so I don’t see why we can’t . . . I don’t know . . . explore this attraction?”

  “Because you’re my law clerk and you’re much younger than me,” she replies, lifting her stubborn chin, her hands now clasping on to the edge of the blanket as if for dear life. “It’s inappropriate. Just because we’re attracted to each other doesn’t mean we should act on it. If I had never been attacked, then we never would have admitted even having an attraction.”

  “But you were attacked,” I remind her. “This is a different realm, Trinity. We’re not in the courtroom with people watching us. It’s just you and me, literally, against the world until it’s safe for us to resurface again.”

  “There is only one world, Callum,” she replies in a soft, subdued voice.

  “I think you’re amazing, Trinity. Beautiful, intelligent, and so accomplished. I know you hide behind your cold demeanor, and I think you enjoy that you’ve made a reputation for yourself as being tough. I bet you even like that they call you Medusa behind your back, but I know that—”

  “They call me what behind my back?” she asks, her voice going up an octave.

  Ahh fuck.

  How did she not know this? I guess everyone was so scared of her that no one ever let it slip around her, and no one ever told her. Not even her friends. Maybe she doesn’t have any, aside from Alyssa. And the way I saw her with Alyssa and Dina only confirmed my initial thoughts about her—she’s not as mean as she likes to portray to the world. She’s a good person. She’s just protecting herself, and maybe doing what she has to do to be successful in her place as a state judge. It’s her mask. Her protection.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her face look so pinched.

  “Medusa?” she whispers through clenched teeth. “Who calls me that? Did you make it up?”

  I shake my head vehemently. “No, no, I did not. I just heard someone reference you that way and yeah, some people might call you that behind your back.” I pause, and add, “And apparently now to your face.”

  They say true friends say shit to your face, right?

  “Medusa,” she says again, this time to herself. “So what? I turn people to stone? How does that work exactly?”

  Okay, now she’s definitely reading into it too much.

  “Only one part of me you turn to stone, babe,” I reply, glancing down at my cock. She follows my line of sight, and something amazing happens.

  Her lip twitches.

  And then a full-blown laugh escapes her. “Think you can tame Medusa, do you, Callum?”

  I grin, gaze softening as I look at her. I reach over and take her tiny hand in mine, the only form of contact I know I can make without her pulling away. I run my thumb along her knuckles, and she lets me, not pulling away even though it feels so intimate.

  “Don’t want to tame you. Just want you to let me in,” I reply in all honesty. “I don’t think you can change people, and I’d never want to; that’s not who I am.”

  She nods once and hands me one of the earbuds and places the other in her ear. She waits until I put mine in before she presses PLAY.

  “Hit ’Em Up” by Tupac starts to blast into my poor eardrum.

  “Not exactly Beethoven.” She smirks, then closes her eyes and starts to rap along to the song, including all the swear words, each one making my eyes flare wider.

  Judge Williams has a dirty mouth.

  “Medusa is full of surprises,” I mutter, and she nudges me with her elbow. “Guess I kind of deserved that.”

  “You did,” she replies, her eyes still closed. I take the opportunity to examine her pretty features, her long lashes fanning her cheeks in crescents, her pouty lips that hardly smile yet have b
een doing more of it as of late. Which is weird, considering everything this woman has been through recently. She truly is resilient. It’s almost like she just adapts to any situation thrown at her. She will probably thrive in it too.

  “You’re a bit cute, Trinity,” I tell her, and her eyes open, exposing pools of blue.

  “Cute?”

  I nod.

  “Cute means ugly but interesting,” she tells me, eyes narrowing.

  “No it doesn’t. It means sweet, and has character.”

  “I don’t think anyone has called me sweet.”

  “I don’t think anyone has gotten to know you properly,” I reply, tilting my head to the side. “Except maybe Alyssa and Dina. Or anyone else you’ve let in, but no one at work.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions here,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder. “And talking a lot. Again. Why don’t you just let Tupac do the talking for now?”

  I close my eyes, amusement filling me.

  Yes, Your Honor.

  chapter 10

  TRINITY

  I GLANCE DOWN AT MY new identification card and frown. “Do I look like a Taylor to you?”

  “Can I call you Tay Tay?” Callum asks, amusement dancing in his eyes. He scans his own envelope and suddenly looks extremely thrilled. “Castiel. Isn’t that the angel guy’s name from Supernatural? Hell yeah, I’m going to rock this name.”

  “You got Castiel? Are you kidding me?” I complain. I love that show, and I love Castiel, the character. Why did he get to have such a cool name?

  “Because I’m a cool guy. Cas and Tay Tay,” Callum says, trying out the new names. “I can work with this.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re happy,” I tell him, shaking my head and turning back to glance out the kitchen window from the sink. I push aside the very country floral curtains for a better view.

  We are only an hour plane ride away, but it seems like we are in the middle of nowhere.

  That cop was right—there’s no way in hell anyone will find us here because the place probably doesn’t even exist on a map. We’re in the desert. It’s scorching hot and sticky, and the few people I saw in the small town as we drove in were all wearing cowboy hats and farm clothing. The cops provided us with new wardrobes, probably because we’d stick out like a sore thumb in our city fashion.

  “This place is something else,” he murmurs, looking out of the farmhouse we now call home. “What are we meant to do with our time?”

  “I have no idea, but I don’t do idle, so we’re going to have to figure out something.” A cow appears in my line of sight. Are we supposed to look after the animals on this farm? I turn to Callum. “Hey, Cas, ever milked a cow before?”

  “I’ve never left the city,” he says, eyes widening. “Fuck no, I don’t know how to milk a cow.”

  “I wonder what other animals we have on the land?” I ask, moving from the window to sit down at the circular wooden table. The farmhouse is very quaint but completely not my style. I guess it was time for a change though. “Should we get changed and check it out?”

  “Get changed?” Callum asks, glancing down at his jeans and shirt. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “You didn’t check out your room yet, did you?” I ask, hiding my smile. “They put new clothes in the wardrobe. We can’t be wearing our city slicker getups around here.”

  “City slicker,” he mumbles under his breath, before storming into his room. He returns shortly with a fairly unattractive checkered shirt. “They want me to wear this? And don’t get me started on the overalls. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m tall. What’s the bet the pants they gave me only come to my knees?”

  “And I thought I was going to be the high-maintenance one,” I tease, pushing up from the chair, brushing past him and entering his room, turning back to him with a wink. “Let me see what we’re working with.”

  A double bed, a chair, and a wardrobe are all that occupy the room. We have to share a bathroom, which I don’t know how to feel about. I step to the open wardrobe and glance at the clothes that have been left for him. I understand what he’s saying—it can’t be easy to buy clothing, especially bottoms for a man of his height. I’ve noticed all of his clothes fit really well; maybe he gets them tailored.

  “Maybe there’s a men’s store here,” I grumble after I see his selections.

  “Told you.” He sighs. “I’ll just wear my jeans with one of those T-shirts. Who knows? Maybe they will grow on me.”

  “Hopefully, because then maybe they might actually fit you.” I snigger, earning a dirty look in my direction. I close the wardrobe doors and turn to face him. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. We don’t know anyone here, and we’ll never see them again. And we aren’t even Trinny and Callum. We’re Taylor and Cas, and we’re farmers, or something. I don’t know.”

  “You call yourself Trinny?” he asks, lips kicking up at the corners. “I like it. It’s cute.”

  “It’s what my parents used to call me,” I admit, ducking my head. “I’m going to get changed so we can explore.”

  I leave his room and enter my own, grabbing some loose shorts and a soft shirt from the pile. Not my style, but hey, what can you do? When my socks and shoes are on, I meet Callum near the front door.

  “You ready?” I ask him.

  “No,” he replies, but smiles and offers me his hand. I take it, and we open the door and step outside, the sun hitting me instantly.

  “Did they leave a hat for you?” he asks, eyeing my pale skin.

  I nod. “Yeah, I’ll go grab it.”

  My everyday moisturizer has a sunscreen in it, but I should probably still use the hat.

  “I can get it for you if you like,” he offers, but I decline.

  “Hold on, I will just be a second.”

  I find the floppy wide-brim hat and return it to him. This time, it’s me who retakes his hand in mine, almost like it’s natural. How can it be? I don’t waste my time questioning it; I just pull him in the direction I want to go as I turn my head every which way, taking in our new property. Well, temporarily ours, anyway.

  “It’s huge,” I say, letting go of his hand to do a full circle. “I’ve always wondered what farm life would be like.”

  “There’s a chicken coop,” he points out, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand as he looks out over the property. “Are you going to collect eggs in the morning and make them for me like a good farm wife?”

  “Probably not,” I admit, smirking at him. “But I do love a good poached egg if you decide that you will.”

  He barks out a laugh. “Can you not cook?”

  “I can cook to keep myself alive,” I reply, shrugging. “I can’t make anything fancy. And I don’t really like cooking, if I’m being honest.”

  I wouldn’t say I’m wifey material in that aspect. If a man wants a traditional woman who will cook and clean for him, he’s probably looking in the wrong direction. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—there isn’t, my mom was always in the kitchen, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of everyone, but I don’t think that’s me. But I’m loyal, honest, and loving. And I’m passionate.

  “Lucky for you I’m a great chef then,” he replies, surprising me. Callum is always surprising me. Nothing ever gets to him, or pulls out a reaction from him, other than humor. It’s refreshing. My ex-boyfriend hated that I didn’t cook for him every day and fuss over him, but I just don’t have the time or the want to do that. Did I try to spoil him and be good to him in my own way?

  Yes, I did.

  But men always seem to want more than I can give. I’m a career-oriented woman, and I’m a busy one. I need someone who can understand that and not get angry if I’m home late or if I miss a meal. I wish for once someone would see my work ethic and ambition as a good thing, not just as me being busy all the time.

  I crave independence, and I’m not willing to give mine up for a man.

  “What’s your specialty?” I
ask him, pulling him toward the stables.

  “I make a pretty good seafood gumbo,” he says, again surprising me.

  “I love gumbo,” I say, smiling to myself as I hear the horses neigh. “They have cows, chickens, and horses, and just us here? Maybe we’re meant to look after them. We have nothing but time on our hands until that asshole is caught.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, but then asks me, “It’s a new day, do you know what that means?”

  “That we survived another night?” I joke ill-humoredly.

  “Well, that, yes, but I also get to ask my question of the day,” he says.

  “Really? Are we still doing that then?” I grumble, watching tumbleweeds roll through the field.

  “Yes. We can’t let what happened ruin our lives.”

  “Your questions are also ruining my life,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re really nosy, do you know that?”

  “Yes,” he replies, unashamed. “And for the record, I should have been nosier and handed in those threatening letters to the police without your permission, then maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

  I open my mouth to argue but then close it, because . . . fuck. He’s right.

  I guess there’s a first time for everything.

  “You’re right,” I admit. “I should have listened to you. And I’m sorry, Callum. I never would have wanted to drag anyone else down with me.”

  “I know,” he whispers, then changes the subject. “And you know what I’m going to ask.”

  I puff out a breath. “You want to know why I’m single,” I guess.

  “Exactly that.” He grins, flashing his teeth at me.

  Where do I start with this? “Aside from the obvious?”

  “What’s the obvious?” he asks, glancing up at the sky.

  “I work too much; I can be a little . . . difficult at times. And to be honest, I like being single. I can do what I want, answer to no one, and be as selfish as I like.”

  “What about sex?” he fires back.