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I swallowed hard and shook my head, refusing the lifeline Mr. Callahan offered. Gavin’s dad was one of my father’s biggest political supporters and donors. I couldn’t let my personal weakness damage such an important relationship. My dad loved being mayor, helping the people of New York. I wouldn’t do anything that might sour his connections.
“No, sir. Gavin’s not harassing me. We just had a disagreement, and I…” My throat went tight, trying to hold in the false admission that I was unfit to work this morning because of my own carelessness. I squared my shoulders and forced myself to continue. “I’m not feeling one-hundred-percent today. I’m sorry I behaved unprofessionally. And I’m so sorry that I was late. I’ll put in whatever hours are necessary to get caught up. Please let me know what I can do to make this right.”
My tone barely wavered by the end, and my back was straight. There. The worst was over. I’d taken responsibility for my supposed personal failings. Now I just had to withstand Mr. Callahan’s judgment. At least he didn’t seem to be in the mood to fire me, so I kept a tiny spark of hope flickering in my chest.
His lips thinned, and I suppressed the urge to squirm beneath his scrutiny. Then, to my shock, he placed a warm hand on my shoulder in an undeniably reassuring gesture. “You can talk to me, Allie. You’re not in trouble. I already know Gavin’s no angel. You were right, by the way: his father made a call to my superiors. I wouldn’t have approved his placement if my hand hadn’t been forced. You earned your right to be here. He didn’t. Never think otherwise.”
“You heard that?” I squeaked, mortified that my boss had been privy to more of the awful conversation than I’d realized.
His hand squeezed gently, offering paternal comfort that I never would’ve expected from the wickedly clever and infamously tough prosecutor. “Relax, Allie,” he soothed. “I’m not angry with you. I wish I could give that little shit a piece of my mind, too.” He beamed at me, appearing almost proud. “But don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“I won’t,” I breathed, quick to promise him anything that would keep him smiling rather than yelling at me for my failings. I cleared my throat, struggling to maintain professionalism. “But I am sorry for being late today. Please let me know what I can do to make it up to you, Mr. Callahan.”
“It’s Mike.” He corrected me with a wink. “I’m not as scary as you seem to think, but I have to admit I’m a little flattered that you find me so intimidating.”
“Well, your record speaks for itself,” I gushed, marveling that one of my personal heroes was being so casual with me. “My dad’s always said that you’re one of the smartest people he’s ever known. I referenced your work on the Kassel case in my law school application essay. Totally inspiring.”
Mr. Callahan—Mike—laughed, a rich sound that warmed my insides and chased away the last of the chill in my bones. “Now I’m definitely flattered. Where did you apply?”
“Columbia. I won’t find out if I’m admitted until the fall, but I applied early. It’s my first-choice law school.”
“Your dad’s alma mater.” His voice was rich with approval, and I soaked it in. “I’m sure he’s very proud of you. Based on your work ethic and GPA, I’m sure you’ll successfully follow in his footsteps.”
I fiddled with my locket, slightly anxious but pleased at the praise. “I’m not planning on going into politics,” I admitted. Everyone thought I was trying to emulate my father—and I supposed I was choosing a similar path for my education and career choice. But that was about proving that I was capable and strong. My future would be very different. “I want to stay in Law. I want to make a difference.”
Mike’s brows rose. “You want to be a prosecutor?”
I nodded. “I plan to go pro bono after I establish my career for a few years. I want to help people.”
“You’re considering pro bono?” He seemed surprised and a little impressed.
I basked in his approval. “Yes. I want to help women who have been victims of assault. I want to help them get justice.”
My heart burned with familiar purpose as I said the words, and my fingers traced the outline of my locket. My mother had been my personal hero, and when it’d come time to choose a volunteering position as part of my high school curriculum, I’d followed her example: I’d spent four years helping out at a local women’s shelter. Once I got to college, I started pushing for women’s rights in my political initiatives with the Young Democrats.
I knew what evil men were capable of, and I would do everything I could to empower and protect vulnerable women.
