Judge Fancy Lewis stepped from her private office onto the street, pulling on her gloves against the sharp autumn chill. Distracted by a puppy that dashed in front of her, she nearly stumbled into her old adversary, Judge Bornholdt. Taking her elbow, he steadied her. His hand was warm through her jacket, and she shook him off.
“You look nice today,” he said with a wink.
“Oh, stop flattering me,” she snapped. “It won’t work. You know how that leaves me cold.” She dug through her cluttered purse for a tissue and dabbed at her runny nose.
“Don’t be so cynical.” He grinned, his friendly tone artificial. “Your career has taken off like a rocket since you drew the Prater case. I’m not the only one who has noticed.”
“Oh, stop.” Fancy put up her hand. “I’m late already. If you have something to say, you’d better get to the point.”
“Let’s have lunch and discuss it,” he suggested. “What I have to tell you can’t be said in a hurry on a public sidewalk. How about one o’clock today?”
“Forget it,” she threw over her shoulder as she hurried away. “I’d rather have a wisdom tooth removed than go to lunch with you.”
He stood with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and watched her receding back, confident he had gotten under her skin.
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