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a break. Everyone knew the law partners weren’t pleased with his progress in the firm, and I didn’t want to contribute to his demise. “How did you create such a mess? I’ll show you how to fix it, just in case no one is around next time.”
    Waving him around to the side panel, I showed him how to open the various drawers, doors and roller pins. Finally, I tugged free an accordion folded piece of paper jammed under a row of clamps. The printer churned to life.
    â€œThanks. You saved my day.” A flushed Mark grabbed another sheet to place under the copier cover.
    â€œDon’t forget to put the client number on the log sheet.” I picked up my purse and left him to clean up the mess.
    In my office I went straight to work. Opening a green legal folder stretched to its limit with draft court documents, I entered the client number into the electronic billing system and sorted the pleadings by date. Unlike my home, my office was a bastion of order and organization. Reference books lined the shelves according to topic and my current case files were stacked neatly in deadline order on the credenza behind my chair. An hour later, I hefted several bulky files into my arms and stacked them in the outgoing file cart parked in the hallway.
    I pulled out my petition application, tucked into a thin manila file folder in my bottom desk drawer. These few pages were my passport to a real life. I wasn’t looking forward to asking for letters of recommendation. I thought of writing them myself, but I figured it wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught. A lesson I learned the last time. I decided not to question my better judgment.
    â€œHey, good morning.” Avery Mitchell, my supervising attorney, stood in the doorway.
    My breath caught in my throat. I hoped he didn’t notice the folder I slid out of sight into a drawer. I wasn’t ready to share my plans.
    â€œHey.” I closed the drawer with my foot. Avoiding those sexy green eyes of his, I feigned avid interest in my desk pad. “I want to get the Clarkson filings over to the clerks for the court run. Are you going to be around for a bit?”
    â€œI’ll be around. As always, you’re ahead of schedule. By the way, that Ninth District case you found saved the day.” The sincere note of appreciation in his voice brought a lump to my throat. I looked up.
    I struggled to sound breezy. “Thanks. I remembered California v. Ellison Trust from one of our conferences.”
    He looked a second too long into my eyes, gave me a thumbs-up and walked back down the hall. We were good at playing the game. A touch that lasted more than a moment, innuendos that only had one meaning. Thank god we hadn’t become lovers. We had come real close, but both of us were afraid of fire. Maybe after I got my pardon there might be a chance, but right now the pardon was my highest priority.
    I was gathering up my purse and coat to leave when one of our new female law school interns came in. “Excuse me,” she said. “I thought I heard you tell Avery you had some filings ready to go to the courthouse. Can you get the clerks to file a settlement conference statement for me, before lunch?”
    â€œNo.” I didn’t break my stride.
    Helping Mark was one thing. Interns were another. Besides, I had revisions to my statement to finish, fast.

    Abby finally called back, and we agreed to meet for lunch at Sam’s Deli. She worked downtown, not far from Triple D. Abby was easy to get along with. I knew she was forty, because she left her driver’s license on a store counter once, but she looked a lot younger. Over time we had developed a friendship. Not a close one—I don’t have any of those anymore—but I cared about what she thought.
    â€œI don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said, looking directly into my eyes.
    I knew I’d have a hard time convincing her. I wanted a special meeting