They’d met at a Whitney Museum fundraiser. Jill was a twenty-two-year-old intern, preparing for the life of a privileged docent. Ted, four years older, was the new hire at the family law firm, having clerked for a year with Jill’s grandfather on the New York State Court of Appeals. She was tall and willowy, blonde, with eyes the color of lapis lazuli. Ted was also tall, but broad shouldered and round of face. Black Irish with dark hair, dark eyes, and a complexion that tanned easily. They complimented each other.

“You must be Jill Fitzmaurice,” he said.

“Why must I?”

“You have the Fitzmaurice look.” She moved with a fluidity that could have been the result of good genes or years of ballet lessons. She wore almost no makeup or jewelry and didn’t need it. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but Ted thought she was beautiful.

She frowned. “Are you sure? I love my grandfather, but he’s got a nose like an ax blade.”

“I meant you have a regal look. You hold your head in such a way that mere mortals, such as myself, must stand in awe.”

She laughed. “Bullshit.”

“Admittedly.”

“But you get points for both originality and chutzpah.”

“I write all my own material.”

“It’s a good line. Does it often work for you?”

“I don’t know. This is the first time I thought I might be able to carry it off.”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh?”

“The golden boy. Grandfather ‘discovered’ you. You’re being groomed.”

Ted was very aware that his presence at the venerable law firm of Hasting, Fitzmaurice, and Barson was an abnormality. Though he had been top of his class, his degree did not come from an Ivy League institution. The Judge had championed him, giving him a chance, but also putting a target on his back. “Local boy makes good.”

“I bet you’ve always made good.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Any way you want.”

“Then I’ll assume it’s a compliment,” he said.

“You’re a fast learner.”

Ted laughed. “I think I’ll have to be to keep up with you.”

“I’ll assume that’s a compliment.”

“Touché.”

“Ooh. And he speaks French.”

She was enjoying herself, but Ted felt she was holding back. Hiding behind the sass. Rather than put him off, this made him more determined. He wanted to learn her secrets. “Would you like to continue this conversation over dinner?”

“I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m working.”

“Another time?”

“Attaboy. Sure.”

“Then I’ll need your number,” he said.

“I’ll call you.”

“Then you’ll need my number.”

“No. I think I’ve got your number.”