Jessa never understood the ongoing Retta-Covington friendship. Their personalities didn’t match except that both excelled in their fields. Jessa assumed being law partners before Retta’s appointment to the bench forged some sort of bond.

“He’s upset about the case.” Jessa took a sip of water, impressed with her ability to tiptoe through the truth.

“True.”

“He’s actually worried about the firm’s reputation and potential fallout as the Bartholomew family grows more frustrated by this custody case.”

Retta laughed. “Very astute. I’m happy you see his concern for what it is.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to stay on the case.” But withdrawing meant letting Darren win, having Tim be right . . . suggesting to Covington and the rest of the partners that she couldn’t hack the pressure. Jessa hated all of those options.

“Sometimes you need to hold your ground, Jessa. No matter how difficult that may be. That’s what you’re paid to do. You were appointed by the judge to protect that little boy.” Retta’s words echoed through the long room. “You put your body in front of his. You take the heat. You give him the best chance possible. And if you can’t handle those objectives, then you find another job.”

Retta never minced words. She didn’t pretty her thoughts up and make them easier to swallow by delivering them with a spoonful of tact. Not ever.

Retta sighed. “Why do you think we bought this house?”

Jessa’s gaze shot to the desk then to the French doors lining one wall and the lighted patio outside. She knew a fountain, stone walkways, and a dazzling pool all sat just out of sight. “Because you like to entertain or—”

“We bought it because we could. Not that many decades ago we wouldn’t have been allowed to own it.” Her words rang out as if she were lecturing a lawyer from the bench. “This house has a rich history. Powerful people have paraded through here. The structure and its lineage demand respect.”

All true, but Jessa wasn’t sure how any of that related to the Bartholomew topic. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s obscene, but it’s better than the gaudy mess it was when we first moved in.” Retta swore under her breath. “Everything was gold, white, and over-the-top. Not a clean line in sight.” She topped the description off with an eye roll. “But the point is my husband wanted to own a house some people didn’t believe we’d earned or deserved. He wanted to send the message that strong, successful Black couples exist and deserve to be in every space. To dare anyone to contradict him.”