Frivolous （adj.） – Olivia
FRIVOLOUS (ADJ.):
REFERRING TO A LEGAL MOVE IN A LAWSUIT CLEARLY INTENDED MERELY TO HARASS, DELAY OR EMBARRASS THE OPPOSITION.
OLIVIA
“All rise for the honorable Judge Ashton!” The bailiff announced later that morning.
I was tempted to remain seated, but I had a feeling he would notice and use it against me later.
Looking sexy as hell in his robe, he emerged from his hellhole and settled onto his bench.
“You may all be seated,” he said.
“Pay close attention to Mara,” his secretary softly whispered to my left. “She wants you to see the flow of the court this week since you may have to step in for her on certain days.”
“Like, the day she gets sick or something?”
“Or, whenever she feels like taking a week or two off.”
“We get to decide when we take vacations?”
“She does.” She shot me a pointed look. “Only her.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s Judge Ashton’s favorite.” She paused as Mara read a case number aloud. “I used to think they were fucking each other.”
A pang of envy hit my chest, and I wasn’t sure why.
“They weren’t?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s ever slept with anyone who works for him.”
“Too honorable?”
“Please…” she scoffed. “It’s because he gets his rocks off by making people miserable.”
I snorted. “That actually makes perfect sense.”
“Miss Spencer.” He looked up from his folder, his eyes meeting mine all the way in the back row.
Everyone was now staring at me, as if I was the jerk.
“There’s no talking allowed in my courtroom,” he said. “Unless it’s with me. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” I gritted my teeth. “I understand.”
“Good.” He returned his attention to his case while I silently seethed.
You’re lucky I’m too broke to quit…
The moment he banged his gavel and dismissed the court for lunch, I slipped into the hallway and headed to the luxurious coffee break room.
I gulped down two mugs of hazelnut blend for myself before grabbing a coffee cart and putting in the orders for the chambers staff.
Luckily for me, the baristas already knew his staff’s orders by heart.
They must’ve also assumed I wouldn’t last too long here because they simply wrote “New Ashton Clerk” on my cup instead of asking for my name.
I took my time rolling it to the elevator, trying to savor every precious second away from Judge Ashton’s gaze.
When I returned to his chambers, he was leaning against the edge of my desk, waiting for me.
“Good afternoon, Miss Spencer,” he said. “Are you having a good second day on your job?”
“Not really…”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Sure you are.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asked.
“Is that a real or rhetorical question?”
“The latter, obviously.” He handed a blue binder to me. “You have a new and important assignment to handle and it’s time sensitive.”
“What is it?” I was almost too scared to ask.
“I need you to look into as much information as you can on a former DUI and tragic death case of mine,” he said.
“I want you to do a deep dive on details that didn’t make it to court, facts that might make a jury sympathetic, and things that only a former journalist like yourself would catch.”
“I’m confused,” I said. “Are you asking me to write an article?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Just compile all the research like you’re about to write an article.”
I was still confused.
“For example,” he said, “the one you wrote about the bookstore owner who was secretly laundering money and running a sex trafficking ring. That was fascinating and very well-written.”
“You’ve read my old work before?”
“I’ve never seen a word of it.” He stepped back. “But I’m sure whatever you used to write at The Wall Street Journal was impressive to some people.”
I stared at him, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult.
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Should I assume that I can just work on this instead of the dockets this week?”
“Of course not, Miss Spencer.” He looked at me like I was insane. “You’ll do this in addition to your normal work, and you’ll give me an update about whatever you find by eight thirty tonight.”
“Eight thirty tonight?”
“Do you just enjoy repeating me when I bring up a time, or is that your personal way of saving my demands into your brain?”
“Maybe there’s an echo in this room.”
“I’ll have the engineer check on that and see.” He smiled and tapped his watch. “Eight thirty. Tonight.”
He walked away and disappeared into his office as usual, and for the first time in my life, I totally understood why people committed murder.