“McMillan wouldn’t know good work from bad if his life depended on it. And if he did, all he’d do is get so jealous of someone else being competent that he’d choose the bad work over the good. And he can’t fire you. Remember that.”
“He can’t, but my boss can, and my boss can listen to a judge’s advice. And probably will.”
“Not McMillan’s.” Martin sounded sure of that. “He’s in a class of his own. Disliking him is above any level of office politics.”
She exhaled. It did make her feel a little better to know that McMillan really was infamous to people outside the stenographers pool.
“Okay. I believe you.”
“Good.” His gray eyes were serious. Concerned. “Are you hurt?”
Besides her pride?
“I got shoved a little on my way out and bumped my elbow. Write your congressman and ask for shag carpeting on all courtroom walls. Very tasteful.”
He smiled, but something about the determination in that smile suggested that he really might.
“It’s really not bad,” Tiffani added, not wanting to be responsible for unleashing seventies decor on an innocent city courthouse. “Look.”
She unbuttoned the cuff of her blouse and rolled the sleeve back, exposing her elbow. With no warning, this suddenly felt like the sexiest striptease she’d ever done. No playful show for a boyfriend or grimly acrobatic performance for Gordon had ever come close to this open-air, sundrenched moment of showing just a little bit more skin than she’d been showing before.
She was glad it was just a bruise, not a mess of blood. Even aside from the embarrassment, the blouse had been expensive and she no longer had much money to throw around on clothes.
Martin seemed as hypnotized as she felt. He lifted his hand and laid one warm, callused fingertip just above the bruise, on the sensitive skin of her upper arm.
Proof one could be hot and cold at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” Tiffani said, pulling back.
She shoved the sleeve down hastily, his touch lingering on her skin. She gathered what resolve she could.
“I like you. But if I were your wife, I wouldn’t like... this.”
He looked stricken. “I—”
“I just don’t want to do that.”
He swallowed, clearly trying to find the right words. Then he said, “She’s gone.”
Tiffani raised her eyebrows. An out of town wife was not the way to her heart.
He shook his head. “Not like you’re thinking. She died. Three years ago last May.”
Tiffani closed her eyes as if she could hide from her own embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry. That’s—I didn’t know. That’s awful, and I’m sorry I made you think about it in such a terrible way.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
Theo could have told me, Tiffani thought darkly. Though why he would have was a little bit beyond her: she couldn’t exactly blame him for not realizing she might one day meet his boss and swoon for him like she was sixteen again.
Still, she wanted to retaliate by making him some of her infamous tooth-breaking chocolate chip cookies. Since Theo was some kind of homeschooled super-gentleman, he would struggle through the whole batch just to be polite.
“It’s fine,” Martin said. “Really. I should have thought about what impression the wedding ring would make. You were right to not ignore it.”
“My ex-husband...” She smiled a tight, unhappy smile. “Well, you know what my ex-husband was like. Everybody in the country does.”
He didn’t pretend to not know what she meant, and she liked him even more for that.