Gift （n.） – Olivia
GIFT (N.):
THE VOLUNTARY TRANSFER OF MONEY OR PROPERTY TO ANOTHER PERSON COMPLETELY FREE OF PAYMENT OR STRINGS WHILE BOTH THE GIVER AND THE RECIPIENT ARE STILL ALIVE.
OLIVIA
It’d taken exactly one week since that “totally didn’t happen” kiss—one week of avoiding this man in the office as much as possible—for me to come back to my senses and focus.
Thanks to him tapping back into my journalism days, I’d been working on a separate piece, and my takedown article on him was guaranteed to be epic.
I could see it now—a five-page spread in The New Yorker or a three-part rollout in The Wall Street Journal.
The Reddit board would probably combust in flames, hitting record comments and views, and Netflix would come running with offers for a documentary.
I even had a title in mind:
Dirty Judge: The dishonorable Judge Ashton Experience.
Of course, I would need to omit any mention of the tension between us, my vandalism of his cars, and whatever the hell happened in his office last week.
From here on out, I would be on my best behavior and stick to strictly business. I was also determined to record everything, starting now.
Carrying today’s set of dockets into the office, I doled them out to my coworkers’ stations before settling behind my desk.
I made sure my cell phone was angled properly on the edge of my drawer before reading through this week’s arraignment files.
By the evening, the only interaction I’d had with Judge Ashton was seeing him slip into his office after court.
So, he’s reversing course, too…
“Miss Spencer?” His deep voice made me look up around eight at night.
“Yes, Judge Ashton?”
“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, so sorry.
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 harassing me.”
I gasped.
He picked up my phone with a smirk and hit stop on the recording.
“Now,” he said, pausing, “if I were to ask you why you haven’t come back to my office and begged me to finish what we started last week, that would be sexual harassment. Correct?”
I said nothing.
I hated how this man was incapable of looking anything less than perfect at all times.
“I’m just asking what your size is so I can cash in a favor to a client I know,” he said. “It’s that simple.”
“How much will I owe you for this favor?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ll need that in writing.” I refused to believe him. “Then I’ll consider telling you.”
“Whenever you want to stop playing games with me...” He tore off one of my pink post-its and picked up one of my pens.
He scribbled a few lines onto it before pressing it on the edge of my desk.
“Email me your size in dresses, suits, and shoes. The more specific you are, the better.”
“I want you to promise that I don’t owe you anything,” I said. “I need that in writing.”
“That’s exactly what I wrote…” He pointed at the post-it. “And you should start calling me Liam whenever it’s just me and you here at night.”
“I thought you wanted to keep things formal?”
“That’s hard to do when I’ve tasted your mouth, Olivia.” He looked me over. “It’s just a small change. Don’t read too much into it.”