Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

Anyway, because of what Nate said, I’m unable to focus on the file. I read a few lines and then I go back to thinking about all the words he said to me.

Baby girl.

Behave.

Pay.

Oh, and truly fucked. That one is the most important.

They’re just measly words, but they’re digging beneath my skin and jamming themselves against my bones. Maybe I should make a list for them, too, like the negative words, because they’re triggering something a lot worse than my empathetic reactions.

“Hey, new girl.”

I lift my head abruptly and kind of bite my lip in the process. Ow.

But that’s not the issue here. It’s that someone called for me. I’m the only new girl in the intern area today and every single one of the other interns is avoiding me like the plague. That’s what happens when they know I’m Kingsley Shaw’s daughter. As in, the Shaw of Weaver & Shaw. They either kiss my ass or avoid me.

The ass-kissing isn’t necessary now that they have the internship and my dad is out of the picture. It’s the first time I’m glad no one knows about my marriage to Nate. That could get too complicated too fast.

Anyhow, the partners like me, but the interns don’t. I think they may even hate me because they don’t think I’ve worked as hard as they have to get the internship.

Try impressing Nate, assholes.

So being called out of nowhere and referred to as “new girl” instead of Ms. Shaw is coming out of left field. I look up and find the person behind the name-calling. A short woman who’s wearing khaki slacks and a shirt that are both maybe a few sizes too big. Her thick, black hair frames her small face and she’s wearing black-framed glasses. She must have bad eyesight, because I can barely see her eyes—they look like tiny brown dots.

And she’s looming over my desk, even though her height doesn’t really give her that luxury. Her aura does, though. It’s dark, like pitch-black. And her poker face doesn’t help.

“You called for me?” I ask.

“Yes. Follow me.”

“To where?”

“Less talking and more working, would you?”

I want to ask her who she is, but she’s already walking away and I have no choice but to go after her. What’s with people telling me to follow them today?

We take the elevator to the IT department. I squint, absolutely clueless about all the machines and things lying around. Jeez. If I get lost in this place, I’ll never find my way out.

There are a few guys typing away and staring at a million screens. I guess a big firm like W&S does need this much protection. I’m kind of impressed by their support work. The lawyers get all the credit, but without the IT techs, the firm will crumble.

The short girl leads me to a computer off to the side and sits in front of it, then motions at a chair beside her. “Sit down.”

I do, still unsure about what’s going on. Now that I study her closer, she looks younger than I thought. Maybe a few years older than me, but she’s definitely in her twenties.

She retrieves a log and drops it on the table in front of me. Despite her outside demeanor, she has a very soft, feminine voice. “Help me sort through those case dates. I’m creating a chart.”

“Uh, I think you got the wrong person. I’m interning for—”

She types away at rapid speed, her full attention on the screen. “I don’t care who you intern for. You’re interning, and that means you can help instead of daydreaming.”

She saw me daydreaming. Yikes. That must be why she picked me.

“I’m a pre-law, though. I really don’t know how I can help with IT.”

“They teach you how to read in college, right? The time you’ve spent complaining could’ve been used to get some work done.”

“Fine, you don’t have to be so snarky.” I open the log. “I’m Gwen. What’s your name?”

“Jane. Now, work.”

It’s actually a lot more fun than I thought. I help her in making lists of cases by year and she makes charts for them that can be sorted alphabetically, by lawyer, by nature, by docket number, and even by judge.

And she does it so fast that I’m a little ashamed it took me hours to go through the files Nate gave me. It was the hostile looks from the other interns, maybe. Jane, however, makes me motivated to work.

“That is so beautiful.” I motion at the result on the screen, but Jane doesn’t even crack a smile, just continues on as if her fingers are fluid and all they know is the colorful keyboard.

“Doing needless things again, Plain Jane?” a guy with frameless glasses asks as he stands beside us. He’s one of the techs who were sitting in front of the screens earlier.

His friend, who’s wearing a tacky flannel shirt, joins him, laughing.

“I get bored when I finish my tasks earlier than you, boys,” she says without looking at them, and I can tell it pisses them off, because they’re not smiling anymore.

“Screw you,” the flannel shirt guy says.

“You might want to pick your dignity up off the floor before you say that,” I say. Standing up for injustice is instinct for me. No clue who I take after for that. It sure as hell isn’t my dad, though, because he only believes in merciless justice. He thinks normal justice is weak and useless.