“Objection!” I’d had enough of this shit. “Your Honor, last time I checked, this was an evidentiary hearing, not a trial. Why is Ms. Kline being allowed to address a nonexistent jury?”

The judge took off her glasses and shook her head. “Ms. Kline, as hesitant as I am to agree with Mr. Hamilton, he does have a point. Have you concluded with your presentation of evidence? Barring a closing statement to the jury?”

“I have, Your Honor,” she said, puffing out her chest as if she’d just presented the case of the century.

“Mr. Hamilton...” The judge looked my way. “Do you care to surprise me today by refuting any of the evidence presented?”

“No, Your Honor.” This hearing was a waste of time, and she knew it as well as I did.

“I see.” She put her glasses on again. “Let the record show that while the prosecution has presented a compelling and rather large collection of evidence, it’s this court’s ruling that it is not enough to warrant a trial.” She banged her gavel and stood up.

Ms. Kline walked over to me and held out her hand. “So, I’ll file an appeal, get more evidence, and see you on this matter again soon, right?”

“Are you asking me or are you telling me?”

“Your client committed the highest degree of fraud, Mr. Hamilton.” She crossed her arms. “Someone has to pay for that.”

“No one ever will if you remain on top of it, will they?” I put my files in my briefcase. “I’ll be waiting for your next move. And yes, you should get more evidence since the judge clearly ruled that what you had was not enough.”

“So, that means I should appeal? Do you think I could win this thing?”

“I think you could go back to law school and fucking pay attention.” I scoffed. “Either that, or do your clients a favor and find them a better lawyer.”

“You mean someone like you?”

“There’s no one like me.” I slid a pair of shades over my eyes. “But anyone would be better than you.”

“Are you always this rude to your opponents, Mr. Hamilton?” She cracked a smile. “I mean, I’ve heard stories, but you are really—”

“Really what?”

“Intriguing.” She stepped closer. “You are really intriguing.”

I blinked and looked her over. If I’d met her on Date-Match she might’ve been worthy of one night, but I never mixed business with pleasure.

At least, I didn’t used to.

“I’m not sure if you’re seeing anyone or not,” she said, lowering her voice, “but I think you and I have a lot in common, and—”

“What exactly do we have in common, Miss Kline?”

“Well...” She stepped even closer and rubbed my shoulder. “We were both staring at each other during the hearing, we both have high profile careers, and we both have a passion for the law—a passion that could clearly be transferred to other things.” She licked her lips. “Right?”

I stepped back. “Miss Kline, I was staring at you during the hearing because I was trying to comprehend how someone could show up to court and be so unprepared, unprofessional, and utterly annoying. We do both have high profile careers, but if you continue presenting cases like the one you presented today, I’ll be interviewing you for a secretary position at my firm within the next six months.” I ignored her gasp. “And if your passion for the law is anything like the way you fuck, then you and I have absolutely nothing in common.”

“Did you...” She shook her head, stepping back as her face reddened. “Did you really just say that to me?”

“Did you really just proposition me for sex?”

“I was simply probing—seeing if you were interested in going out.”

“I’m not,” I said—noticing that I wasn’t even the slightest bit aroused. “Am I free to leave the courtroom now or would you like to probe me for something else?”

“You are an asshole!” She spun around and grabbed her briefcase off the floor. “You know, for your clients’ sake, I hope you’re a lot nicer.” She spat out as she left the room.

I wanted to tell her that I actually wasn’t nicer to my clients. I didn’t put up with bullshit from anyone, and since I hadn’t lost a single case since moving to Durham, I didn’t have to.

Looking at my watch, I figured I’d wait a few minutes before leaving. I didn’t want to run into her in the parking lot, and since the remaining courts were adjourning for lunch, I figured I’d wait a while.

I stuffed my hands into my pocket and smiled at lacy fabric that grazed my left hand. Pulling it out, I smiled at Aubrey’s black thong from this morning.

I took my phone out of my briefcase to text her about it, but she’d emailed me first.

Subject: Wet Panty Fetish

I’m not sure if you’ve realized that I left my thong in your pocket yet, but I want you to know that I did it for your own good, and that your secret is safe with me.

Ever since you fucked me in the bathroom at the art gallery, I’ve noticed that you have a tendency to stare at my panties before taking them off.

You run your fingers across them, pull them off with your teeth, and then you stare at them again. I have no problem continuing to appease your panty fetish. I’m sure you place them over your face at night, and if you ever need more feel free to let me know.

Aubrey

Subject: Re: Wet Panty Fetish

I did realize that you slipped your thong into my pocket this morning. I’ve noticed that you’ve done this all week.

Contrary to your unfounded and silly assumptions, I do not have a panty fetish and I do not sleep with them over my face at night. I do, however, have a new fetish for your pussy, and if you’re interested in letting me sleep with THAT over my face at night, feel free to let me know.

Andrew

I waited for a response—watched my screen for several minutes, but then I realized it was Wednesday and she wouldn’t see my email until later.

I made my way outside and slipped into my car. I didn’t feel like going back to the firm—my case files were all up to date, and it was too early to go home.

Revving up my car, I coasted down the street in search of a decent bar. As I was turning past the law school, I noticed Duke’s dance hall across the street.

I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I made a right turn and pulled into the parking lot. I followed the signs that read “Dance Studio” and parked in front.

There was a sign on the double doors of the auditorium that read “Private Rehearsals: Dancers Only,” but I ignored it. I followed the faint sound of piano keys and violin strings and opened the door to a colossal theater.

Bright lights shone directly on the stage, and dancers dressed in all white were spinning. Before I could come to my senses and make myself leave, I spotted Aubrey in the front.

Wearing the same feathered headband she wore at the art gallery, she was smiling wider than I’d ever seen her smile before—dancing as if no one else was in the room. There was a gleam in her eyes that I never saw while she was at GBH, and although I didn’t know shit about ballet, it was extremely clear that she was the best dancer onstage.

“Extend, Miss Everhart! Extend!” A grey haired man walked onto the stage, yelling. “More! More!”

She continued dancing—stretching her arms out further, extending her hands. “No! No! NO!” The man stomped his foot. “Stop the music!”

The pianist immediately stopped and the director stepped in front of Aubrey.

“Do you know what the characteristics of the white swan are, Miss Everhart?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” He looked offended.

“Yes, Mr. Petrova.” She stood still.

“If that’s so, why don’t you enlighten us all as to what those special characteristics are...”

“Light, airy, elegant—”

“Elegant!” He stomped his foot again. “The white swan is all about smooth, gentle movements... Her arms are well poised, graceful.” He grabbed her elbow and pulled her forward. “Your arms are erratic, rough, and you’re dancing like a pigeon on crack!”