Read Online Trouble by Ann Christopher - Free Book Online Page A

with her and nothing more.
    â€œYou ready? I’m starving.”
    â€œNot yet. I need to finish this memo.”
    â€œBy the way,” Sean said as he settled into the chair Mike had just vacated. “What was going on with you two when I walked in? Didn’t you say he was arrogant? If you don’t watch out I’m going to start thinking you actually like him.”
    â€œThat’s just crazy talk,” she said, her ears burning.

    Reassured by their polite conversation on Friday, Dara smiled at Mike when she passed his office first thing Monday morning. Apparently he didn’t have court today. “Good morning.”
    He was at his desk, typing on his computer. She took a good look at his office for the first time; he’d never invited her into his precious inner sanctum. His sleek glass desk sat in front of shelves full of books and African sculptures. His leather chair was tall and black, but the other chairs and the sofa were a muted black and tan pattern. African masks, paintings and mirrors hung on the walls. The office was sophisticated, light and airy and elegant. She loved it.
    He glanced up, his gaze skimming lightly over her and then reverting to his screen.
    His jaw tightened. “How are you?”
    â€œGood.” She lingered in his doorway, taking off her jacket. “How was your weekend?”
    â€œFine,” he said without looking at her. He typed a few more words and seemed to remember his manners. “How was yours?”
    Without waiting for her answer, he flipped through some papers on his desk.
    â€œGood.” She loitered for a minute, determined to sneak past his invisible KEEP OUT sign and recapture the relaxed communication they’d had Friday. “I had some more thoughts about the transcripts I’ve been reading. Maybe if you have a minute, we—”
    More typing. No eye contact. “Maybe later. I’m pretty busy.”
    Her heart fell, but she tried not to take it personally.
    So that was it. He was obviously busy right now. It had nothing to do with her.
    â€œOh, sure. I’ll come back later.” She turned to go, nearly bumping into Jamal.
    â€œWhat’s up, Dara?” he said amiably as he turned into Mike’s office.
    â€œHey, Jamal.”
    â€œWhat’s up, man?” Jamal said to Mike as she went into her own office, hung up her jacket and purse and settled at her desk.
    â€œDid you see the game yesterday?” asked Mike, his tone animated, his voice muted only slightly by the wall.
    She sat, trying to work, her blood doing a slow boil, while Jamal and Mike discussed the Bengals game for ten minutes or so. So much for Mike being “pretty busy.”
    When Jamal finally left, she marched back to Mike’s office to ask him about the transcripts. But he was putting on his jacket, briefcase in hand, and seemed unpleasantly surprised to see her, as if he’d looked up to discover a skunk headed his way.
    â€œWhat’s up?” he asked, glancing at his watch like Donald freaking Trump, too busy to give her the time of day.
    â€œI wanted to ask you about the transcripts. Remember?” she said, determined to be pleasant.
    â€œRight. Let’s do it tomorrow. I’ve got court.”
    He gave her the briefest hint of a smile, then left.
    â€œRight,” she said, her belly sinking with disappointment. “Tomorrow.”
    She was being too sensitive, she told herself. Tomorrow she’d catch him at a better time and she was sure he’d be more receptive. But when she poked her head in his office the next day, he was in the middle of a phone call.
    â€œSorry,” he mouthed.
    â€œNo problem.”
    She made up her mind to try again in an hour or so. But half an hour later, he e-mailed to say he wanted another memo on a different case. Flabbergasted, she read the e-mail twice. Sitting at her desk, she could hear Mike, still in his office right next to hers. What was