“Yes, well, this is fortuitous. I was just thinking of you for an assignment. It follows up on that research you did a few years ago, so it shouldn’t take too long. Could you fit it in?” Malaburn said, his nasal voice bringing back memories of his late-night calls with constant changes.

When hell freezes over. Or when I don’t already have a full caseload. Same thing.

“Thank you for considering me. I’ll check my schedule and let you know,” Audrey said, forcing a polite, measured tone into her answer.

“Stop by my office tomorrow . . . or now?”

“I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Then tomorrow.”

They’d reached the twenty-third-floor landing. Her chance to exit, get rid of him. Suddenly, she felt the heat of his body next to her. She tensed—way too close—but then he reached past her and slapped at the crash bar. Only after the metal door slammed behind him did she let out the breath she’d been holding. She shook her head. Rules, girl, rules. He needed to go through the assignment partner. That was the protocol to ensure work was assigned evenly. She would not be in his office tomorrow.

The cement block walls of the staircase mocked her. Stop thinking about him. She was about to defend the Popflicks litigation. Her Hen Bank case was busy, and its success crucial to the firm.

She jogged down the stairs and pushed open the exit door. This staircase exited separately from the lobby, on the other side of the building. Total bonus. She checked to confirm no law firm colleagues were in sight and stepped into the sauna that was Manhattan in the summer.

She merged into the throngs of suits heading for the subway station. Black sedans were double-parked, waiting to pick up the office building escapees. Her phone buzzed. Watching where she was going, so she kept pace with the fast-moving current of New Yorkers, she read the text from Winnie: Need to talk ASAP. Just stopped by office.

She side-stepped out of the herd and stood off by the curb. Winnie was wasted as a lawyer; she should’ve been in CIA intelligence.

She texted back: Escaping. Promised Eve dinner. Why?

The heat shimmered off the asphalt street. A messenger guy on a bike swooped in and out of the cars on Eighth Avenue, blowing his whistle.

Winnie: This is my friend Audrey, right? Who lives at the office? Who wants to make partner in six months?

Audrey: Haha. Very funny.

Winnie: Call you later. Have fun!