Eight white men, who her friend Faith insisted looked so much alike she could only identify them by how much hair they still had, sat around the conference room table with her. One woman, the managing partner, hadn’t lifted her head from studying whatever file she had in front of her.

The partner directly across from her, Jon Covington, who literally preferred to be called Covington in the office, started them off. “We need to talk about the Bartholomew case.”

So, Darren. She’d told the partners about what happened outside of the courtroom last week. Downplayed it. Said it was no big deal. Put it in a damn email rather than calling a meeting or asking for help, because this crowd would never invite her into the partnership club if she showed weakness. Last year a new associate cried when a senior partner screamed at her about forgetting to give him a message and was fired the next morning.

“If this is about the threat, I’ve decided—”

“No.” Covington waved a hand in the air as he cut Jessa off. “Those things happen in divorce cases because tensions are high. You’ll get used to it.”

Okay, that bit of condescension pissed her off. She was an expert in cases like these. And no one should get comfortable with threats. She knew that, and he should, too.

She tried not to let the you’ve got to be kidding anger seep into her voice. “I know that people aren’t at their best during a divorce. I’ve been doing this work for more than a decade now, but this was different. I thought—”

“Bartholomew’s attorney, Stan, is a friend of mine. He mentioned that you might not be the right person for the case. He pointed out you’re not married and don’t have children, so you might not understand the nuances of the situation.” Covington let out a labored breath. “It’s nonsense, of course, but we wanted you to know a whisper campaign has started against you.”

Jessa guessed she’d have to focus all her energy on not letting her growing distaste for Darren and his knuckle-dragging attorney influence what she told the judge or how she talked with her young client, Curtis, but damn. As far as she was concerned, Ellie Bartholomew couldn’t run far enough or fast enough to get away from the man she’d inexplicably married.

But she also wanted to be clear about her position. All of this posturing and good-old-boy crap made her more invested in Curtis. “I can do my job.”

Covington reached for his coffee. “No one is suggesting otherwise.”

Well, actually . . . “Good, because I have no intention of dropping this case.”