Page 19 of Another Girl Lost

The Judge laughed. “You’ll survive. Don’t go far. I have two donors to thank, and then it’s showtime.”

“Terrific.”

The Judge placed her hand on my shoulder, and I only flinched a little. “Have a drink. The white wine is decent.”

“Right.” I crossed to the bar and got in the back of a line ten people deep.

“Are you the star of the evening?”

The familiar deep masculine voice had me turning toward the man I’d met here this morning. He still wore the same suit but had changed his shirt and tie. “I hope not.”

“Why?” He looked genuinely curious. “You should be proud of the work.”

“I am. Just not a fan of the attention.”

Gray eyes appeared to be cataloging every detail associated with me, including a black silk blouse, faded jeans with a raw-edge hem, and Doc Martens sandals. Gold hoops winked from my ears, and most of the paint was scrubbed from my hands. This was as good as it got for me.

However, I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t see the appreciation in his eyes again or that he was an attractive man. Oddly, I didn’t mind his attention. However, the attraction was doomed to be metaphorically strangled in the cradle.

“Hard to say no to Judge Thompson,” he said.

“You’re right about that.”

“Are you drinking?”

“Judge has ordered me to drink a glass of wine.”

He turned, plucked a glass of white wine from a waiter’s tray, and handed it to me. “Never ignore a judge’s ruling.”

“Thank you.” I sipped my wine. “What hold does she have over you?”

He laughed. “Always good to support the judges.”

“Do you handle a lot of juvenile cases?”

“I worked in the prosecutor’s office for ten years. She and I crossed paths many times. I like Judge Thompson. Fair but tough.”

“You saidworked. What do you do now?”

“Criminal defense. I focus on adults. The kids are tough and heartbreaking.”

“I can only imagine.”

“That mural was a serious time commitment. You must really owe the Judge.”

“Maybe a little.”

The comment piqued his attention. What had I done to fall under the Judge’s radar? No doubt he was compiling a series of crimes in his head.

“You can see my mind working, can’t you?” he said.

“I’m likely not guilty of ninety percent of what you’re considering.”

“Now I’m curious about the ten percent.”

He was flirting with me. Subtle. Charming. And I appreciated that. Wine always loosened my bowstring nerves, but as soon as the tension eased, I put the glass down. I knew a second glass of wine would stir an unwanted, dangerously enticing curiosity about couples who held hands casually and kissed easily.

“How did your early-morning meeting go with the Judge? Did she sell you on a board position?”

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