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“Here we go,” Ari said with a smile as she pulled the handle, revealing the back of a massive waiting room capable of holding a hundred bodies. With molded plastic chairs a shade of brown not seen since the Nixon Administration, it had a dull DMV-esque quality. To Ari, it had the beauty of a Renaissance painting.
Judging by the forty or so suited people sitting with matching manila envelopes in their laps, at least a dozen others were either late or in the wrong place. Ari had passed the first test, and she was about to congratulate herself when she stopped her advance toward the friends she recognized from her internship.
No. Way.
Her skin turned cold and burned with the sensation of a thousand needles piercing her at once. Her stomach dropped and her head reeled. Vaguely aware that people were calling her name, she couldn’t make sense of the sounds over the deafening ringing in her ears.
It couldn’t be true and yet it was unmistakable. She was sitting there with her legs crossed in a white dress and matching jacket. A flame in an otherwise dark sea of black and navy blue.
Sloane. Fucking. Medina crashed the best day of her life and set it on fire.
CHAPTER 3
SLOANE WASN’T a fan of being trapped in an overstu ed elevator. The confined space was bad enough, but the mix of cologne and perfume was truly nauseating. At least the building was wide and not tall. If she had to go higher than four floors with a nose full of Acqua di Gio, she’d be forced to take drastic measures.
“This way, y’all,” a tall man with flu y white hair waved over the herds filing o the many elevators and meandering toward him.
In a Herculean display of self-control, Sloane refrained from rolling her eyes. Whoever didn’t know that the only open door with a big TRAINING ROOM sign was their destination didn’t deserve to be an attorney.
“Go ahead and take a seat where your nameplate is,”
Flu y Hair said as she crossed the threshold.
How many more unnecessary instructions am I going to get today?
Inside, the long rectangular room was drab and windowless. Nothing like a gleaming, glass conference room
overlooking the Hudson River and other Manhattan skyscrapers from the fortieth floor.
Before Sloane could drown herself in misery and self-pity, she found her nameplate. Sloane Medina, Assistant State Attorney. A rush of nausea choked the breath from her lungs.
She focused on the positive. Frodo wasn’t sitting next to her.
Sloane glanced around the room as she waited. There were two very long tables facing each other with roughly thirty people stationed on one side of each table. The other side of the table was empty, so they’d have room to spread out. Judging by the identical laptops and massive binders behind every nameplate, they’d need space. At the front of the room was a huge projector and lectern.
As people settled into their spots, Frodo was talking to Flu y Hair near the door with her nameplate in hand. She recognized her expression. Flustered with a pinch of indignation. Her usual.
Who the hell names their kid after a fictional character?
Sloane rolled her eyes when Flu y Hair walked out into the hallway. Someone who doesn’t want their spawn to succeed in life.
When he returned, he had a paper nameplate in his hand.
Frodo took it like it was a bike on Christmas morning and bolted for the only empty seat at the end of the conference table. The buzzing in Sloane’s pocket pulled her attention away. She silenced her phone. She didn’t need to look at it to know who it was.
“Alrighty, let’s get started. I’m Hal Silver and I’ll be your cruise director. . . I mean training director for the next six
weeks,” Flu y Hair said with a delighted chuckle and slight southern accent.
Sloane took note of who o ered him a pity chuckle and judged them harshly. Rewards would only encourage him.
“I like to start these things with a little ice breaker,” he said, earning a collective groan from the group. “I know, I know, but it’ll be more fun than going around the room asking you your name and what law school you graduated from, okay? I promise.”
What do I get if you break that promise?
“Right side of the room.” Flu y Hair gestured toward Frodo’s table. “Bring your chairs over to this side and put
‘em right in front of somebody. We have an even sixty-two of you this year, so it should work out perfectly. Don’t worry, we’ll switch it around a few times to ensure everyone gets a chance to meet.”
