“Madison. You’re here late,” the judge said.
8
Judge Conroy picked up the pages off the printer. Madison forced a smile, but her heart had stopped beating for a second. The judge handed her the pages without so much as glancing at them, and she placed them face down on her desk. She wasn’t out of the woods yet. The computer screen was tilted away from the door. If the judge took a step to the left, she’d see the research into Logue, the dirty lawyer she was supposedly in league with, according to Danny. Not that Madison believed that. She didn’t. Not for a second.
“Shame on the law clerks, leaving the new intern to man the fort—on a Friday night, no less,” the judge said.
She stood beside Imani’s chair, her hand lingering on its back, looking impossibly glamorous in a navy sweater dress, a long strand of pearls, and sky-high heels that must pinch at the end of a long day. If she decided to sit, she’d have a bird’s-eye view of the screen.
“They told me to go home. But I wanted to finish up my assignment so you’d get it first thing Monday.”
To her own surprise, Madison’s voice came out calm and steady. She had to hand it to herself: she was smooth in a crisis. Moving her hand to the mouse, she clicked, and the list of Raymond Logue’s disciplinary complaints vanished. Not a moment too soon. The judge sank into the chair with a sigh and kicked off her shoes, looking right at that screen.
“You wrote a whole research memo on your first day. I’d say that calls for a reward. Have you eaten?”
She was confused by the question.
“Have I— Oh. Yes. The clerks took me to lunch.”
“It is after eight o’clock. I was asking about dinner.”
The judge’s question made her realize she was famished, and her stomach let out an audible rumble. The judge laughed.
“That answers that. I’m heading out to get a bite. Join me.”
“You want me to, to come to dinner?” she stammered.
“Yes, was I not clear?”
So much for the idea that the judge only socialized with her staff on special occasions. Maybe she liked Madison more than the law clerks. They did have that special connection because of high school. Too bad she had to ruin it. This was her chance to speak to the judge alone. To admit she’d—what? Fudged? Omitted? Forgotten to mention Danny? One way or the other, she would spit it out.
“I’d love to join you. I, um, just need to finish up a few things—if that’s all right.”
She couldn’t leave without covering her tracks. Getting caught researching Danny’s case would make her transgression a thousand times worse.
“I can wait. Do you like sushi? There’s a little place in my neighborhood. I could go on Resy and see if they have a table.”
“That would be awesome. Thank you.”
“I’ll be in my office. Come get me when you’re done.”
She watched in amazement as the judge picked up her shoes, walking away in stocking feet. Not only hadn’t she been caught, but she’d been invited to dinner? Hanging with Kathryn Conroy. She felt chosen. But she couldn’t let herself get distracted, or she’d blow it. Nancy would come in, find a document with Danny’s name on it, and Madison would be toast. Clicking around the computer screen, she searched for minimized documents, carefully closing each one before exiting the database and logging off. She stashed Danny’s documents in her backpack and headed to the bathroom.
After a long, stressful day, her makeup had melted, giving her a shiny look. She freshened it, slicked on some red lipstick, brushed her hair till it shone, and twisted it into a quick bun to look dressier. If only her clothes were better. She wore what she could afford. H&M, Uniqlo, Zara, whatever she found on the sale racks marked down to nothing. Her outfit was office appropriate; that wasn’t the issue. But she looked like a poor student playing dress-up. Which she was. Someday soon, she’d be a lawyer with a lawyer’s paycheck—and oh, the clothes she’d buy. Maybe then she would look the part of the friend of the renowned judge dining on fancy sushi. Until then, well, fake it till you make it, right?
Walking up to the judge’s door, she took a deep breath and knocked.
“Come in.”
Judge Conroy had on a plaid trench coat—Burberry, Madison thought—with the collar turned up to frame her face, and had swapped out heels for a pair of chic weatherproof boots.
“Ready?”
Madison nodded, stepping aside and holding the door open, but the judge shook her head.