“I was sleeping off the night before. You?”

“For an hour. I’m glad I did. Gilmartin fell off the wagon again. Well, dove off it, really. In full view of half the law library.”

“That’s a surprise.”

Aifric couldn’t have agreed more. She took out her phone and acted as if her attention was absorbed by her screen. She needn’t have worried. She might as well have been a pillar for all the attention they paid her.

“I saw it coming months ago,” Aftershave Man said. “Come on, all that holier-than-thou talk?”

Aifric found that a part of her was bristling in Brian Gilmartin’s defense, which would have made her snort if she hadn’t been making her best effort at discretion. He hadn’t done a thing to deserve her protection or her consideration.

“He grabbed Anne French by the arse. I mean a full, two-handed grab. Then he overbalanced and fell off the stool. Nearly tore the backside off her.”

“Jesus. What did she do?”

“She waited until he climbed up off the floor and then she slapped him. Never did have much of a sense of humor.”

The conversation then evolved into a considered analysis about whether Anne French’s arse was worth a grab. Aifric tried to tune them out. A few moments later, the barista called them forward, giving Aifric a bit of space and a moment to think about what she’d just heard. Then it was her turn to place her order.

“Americano. Small. Actually, can I get a cappuccino, too? Large, please?”

She waited for her coffees, ignoring the obnoxious pair who waited beside her. Her attention was turned inward. Minutes passed, too slowly.

“Here you are, love,” the barista said.

“Thanks.”

Aifric took the coffees, one in each hand, and cast an appraising glance at the skies. The rain hadn’t stopped, but it had lightened at least, and from the look of the clouds this might be her best chance to make a run for it. Roundy and Aftershave were still huddled under the awning, sipping on coffees and gossiping, leaning out every now and again to look up at the sky, waiting for a better break in the weather.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance just as Aifric reached the office. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, then turned and watched in satisfaction as the rain redoubled into an absolute downpour, the kind that could go for an hour and soak you to the skin in ten seconds flat. Ha. She climbed up the stairs, already lighter at heart. When she reached her floor, she turned to the left, pushed open the door, and took a moment to assess the terrain. Behind the reception desk was a large open-plan area. Senior trial attorneys had private offices, but the secretaries and newly qualified trial attorneys, like Aifric, made do with desks in the open space. Delores King, the senior clerk, had a corner desk with her back to the wall. She was, as expected, already in situ.