Page 55 of Dirty Judge

“You and I need to address a certain elephant in the room.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,sir,” I said. “I’ve barely talked to you today.”

“It’s a very huge issue we need to discuss…”

“I think continuing to avoid it will be just fine.” I pulled today’s Grant Jenkins research from a drawer and handed it to him. “I found some more intriguing things that might help you, though.”

“I appreciate this,” he said. “But that’s not what I need to discuss with you.”

He looked like he was waiting for me to say something or give him permission to continue, but I simply stared straight ahead.

“It’s come to my attention that you’re not following the dress code of my office.”

“What?”

“I personally haven’t been that strict on it, but a few of my older staffers complained, so I have to let you know.”

“Which one of them was it?” I asked. “Barbara who wears the church suits? Or Mandy who never wears the same designer pantsuit twice.”

He smiled, but he didn’t answer that.

“The dress code is business formal,” he said. “So, no more dark-colored jeans or khakis. You’ll need to wear skirts, appropriate dresses, or suits.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll need to work from home for a while.”

“Come again?”

“I’m not buying fancy new clothes for a job.”

“A job at a courthouse…” He narrowed his eyes. “No one else has ever had a problem with this.”

“I’m sure no one else has ever been hired at rock bottom either,” I said. “I have other things that take priority in my life.”

“Don’t make me fire you over an outfit,” he said. “Just follow the dress code like everyone else.”

“Can you—for like one second—try to actually listen to what I’m saying to you?”

“I’ve given you several seconds, Miss Spencer,” he said. “You’re not making any sense.”

“I can’t afford to waste any money on clothes right now.” I couldn’t make it any clearer. “Every dime I receive on my next six checks has a destination to a bill I’m months behind on, or an ‘IOU’ already and it can’t be rerouted, sosorry. I won’t be able to fit in with my runway-worthy coworkers for a while.”

“I see…” He tapped his finger against the edge of my desk “What size do you wear?”

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter,” he said. “What size do you wear?”

“That question sounds a lot like sexual harassment, Judge Ashton.”

“I don’t think I’d ever have to harass you for sex, Miss Spencer.”

That’s definitely going in the article…

“Can you say that a little louder, please?” I asked. “I don’t think I heard you clearly enough the first time…”

“I sure can.” He stepped even closer, eyeing exactly where I’d angled my cell phone. “I am not sexually harassing you, Miss Spencer, but since you’ve been coming to work with black lace bras, tight pants, and skintight dresses, I think you may be harassingme.”

I gasped.