Hardass (Bad Bitch)(25)

Mr. Palmer forced a laugh. “Tim, have you met another one of our associates, Yvonne Evans?”

I hadn’t noticed Yvonne standing at Judge Lane’s back. She stepped around him and sidled up next to Terrell and me. I hated to admit it, but she looked stunning in a crimson wrap dress. It fit her willowy form perfectly, and her hair was half back and done in loose waves.

“Hi, Judge Lane.”

“Another one? Well done, Trent. Your office has turned into quite the honey hole. I try not to hire women clerks. They just distract, but I wouldn’t mind having a little more distraction in my life.” Judge Lane elbowed Mr. Palmer, who cleared his throat.

Some of the men in the circle laughed.

I cleared my throat. “Well, I, for one, am glad Ruth Bader Ginsburg never had a chance to work for a jurist of your abilities and discriminating tastes.”

Judge Lane turned back to me and raised his flask in a toast. “Couldn’t agree more. Women really aren’t cut out for the legal profession. Too emotional.”

“Funny. I seem to remember just last year a certain judge getting red in the face and giving a livid interview on TV news about the state bar’s ruling that the use of campaign money by some judges—this one included—to fund private vacations was a violation of the Code of Ethics.”

The circle quieted around us. Judge Lane was a well-known blowhard who was frequently in the news for berating attorneys, as well as for his creative use of campaign funds.

“What did you just say? What?” His flask hand dropped a bit as he gaped at me. “Why, you—”

“Judge! So good to see you again. I have a little something for the reelection from all of us at Palmer & Granade.” Mr. Granade stepped through the crowd and handed the judge an envelope, but only after giving me a stern look.

“That’s mighty generous of you, Wash.”

“Of course. We only want the best on the bench.” The men shook hands, and the conversations began to pick up again.

I opened my mouth to give Judge Lane a refresher course on discrimination in the workplace, but Terrell squeezed my hip and spoke up first.

“How’s Tom Weldon doing these days, Judge? I heard he was done clerking for you.”

Judge Lane launched into a diatribe about how awful Tom was as a clerk and how the firm who’d hired him should be shuttered for malpractice.

I began to breathe again, not even realizing that I had gone into fight-or-flight mode at Judge Lane’s comments. The mood changed back to jovial as the judge continued. Terrell relaxed his grip, and Yvonne looked to the judge and back to me before rolling her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t a huge thundercunt after all.

Then my thoughts, or whatever tenuous strands held them together, were shot to pieces when Mr. Granade moved around to stand next to Yvonne.

She leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and said something back to her, but I couldn’t hear it over the conversations and the continued bloviating of Judge Lane. I had been mistaken. Yvonne was definitely a thundercunt.

Mr. Granade cut his gaze over to me even as she put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer. When she pressed her body into his under the guise of conversation and he did nothing to stop her, I’d had it.

I craned my neck back to Terrell. “I need to go to the ladies’. I’ll be back.”

“Want me to come with?”

“No. I’m fine. I just need to breathe a little. That’s all.”

“All right. I’ll keep our song and dance going as best I can. Come back soon.” He patted my hip and let me go.

I turned and scooted past him and some other guests. I wanted to look back at Yvonne and Mr. Granade, but I didn’t. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I wasn’t certain if they were from the humiliation of Judge Lane or the way Mr. Granade had acted. It didn’t matter. I had a “no crying in public” policy that I strictly enforced.

“Caroline?” Someone grabbed my elbow, and I stopped.

Sandy blond hair and a smile. Matt Turnbull.

“Hi. I was just going to the ladies’—”

“Fancy meeting you at a place like this.” His gaze was glued to my neckline as he slurred his words.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I pulled my elbow from his grip and tried to maneuver past him, but he blocked my way.

I was almost at eye level with him in my heels, so I gave the best death glare I could manage.

“How’s Wash doing with his newest piece-of-shit defendant?” He scanned the crowd at my back. “He here?”

“He’s talking to the judge.” I sidestepped again, but he only moved closer and put his hand on my waist.