“I’ll be there in a bit. Can you e-mail back MSNBC and tell them I’ll only do the interview if it’s in DC? I’m not trekking up to New York.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine with that—they’ve been salivating over the chance to interview you. They’ll take whatever you give them.”

  “Then make sure they know that it’s Maddow or no one,” Genevieve said, climbing into her car. She started it, and her phone switched over to Bluetooth.

  “Roger that. And don’t forget that you have that forum on the Hill next week. I think our legislative folks have put together a packet for you.”

  “What’s this?” Genevieve said, double-checking her appearance in the rearview mirror. She looked pale. Maybe more lipstick would help.

  “The forum on violence against the trans community.”

  Genevieve rifled around in her purse until she found the perfect color, then reapplied her lipstick. “Who all is going to be there?”

  “Hang on, let me check.” He clicked away on his keyboard while she backed out of the driveway and began her traffic-filled drive to work. At least she could be productive while in transit.

  “A few senators, a dozen or so congresspeople, some state officials, and some members of the trans community. Jamie and Penelope too. Looks like about thirty people, total. And the forum will be televised on C-Span, so, you know, expect a wide viewing audience.”

  Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m sure some idiot will pick up on a few sound bites, strip them of their context, and repackage them for public consumption.”

  “Sounds delicious. Anyway, I’ll leave the prep materials on your desk. Oh, also, Chuck wants to meet with you about the fundraiser in Atlanta and some staffing issues.”

  Their conversation continued in much the same vein until she walked into the office. She hung up the phone only when she was standing in front of Frank’s desk, and they finished their conversation face to face. She went from meeting to conference call to brainstorming session, and by the time she finally caught her breath, alone in her office, it was six thirty. She’d forgotten about lunch.

  Her head was a bit fuzzy and her stomach grumbled. “Frank?”

  No answer. She stuck her head out of her office and discovered that the floor was dark except for the light in her office. Well, it was Friday, after all.

  She returned to her desk and opened her calendar to see what was on tap for Monday, which would determine what binders and materials she brought home with her. Because there was no way she was coming into the office this weekend. According to the meteorologists, the weather was going to break, and if there was work to be done, she’d do it in her backyard.

  Fifteen new calendar notifications from Frank. She clicked through them one by one, confirming as she went, until she got to the last one.

  Evidently food wasn’t the only thing she’d forgotten about during her hectic day.

  Bar Association Gala, March 29, 6:00 p.m.

  He hadn’t assigned the task to anyone. She closed it without confirming or rejecting the notification. All she had the energy for at that point was the drive home and the effort it took to collapse onto her couch and pull on a blanket as the beginnings of a headache started behind her eyes.

  * * *

  Her weekend had pretty much been spent on the couch, battling a migraine and working from her laptop and phone whenever she could focus enough to respond to e-mails. Her head felt better when she woke up on Monday, and she was nibbling on toast when her cell phone rang with a call from the Michigan Department of Corrections.

  “Hello,” she said and waited through the recording asking her if she was willing to accept the call. She pressed the number one on her phone and said, “Hi, Amelia.”

  “Uh, hi, Genevieve. Listen, I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I don’t wanna do the case anymore. So I wanted to call and let you know.”

  The spots that had been floating in Genevieve’s vision for the past two days returned, and she bit back a groan. “What? Why?”

  “I just. I’m worried we won’t win. Or, you know. Like, it’s a risk to take, and if we win, great, but if we don’t… I’d rather not risk it.”

  “Amelia, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s good. And I really appreciate all the work you’ve done for me. It means a lot.”

  Genevieve could hear raised voices in the background but couldn’t make out any words.

  “Gotta go now. Bye, Genevieve.”

  She stared at the phone for a full minute trying to process what had just happened before asking Siri to call Frank.

  “I need a flight to Michigan tomorrow. Tell the prison I’m coming to talk to my client. And I need more migraine medicine today, at home. As soon as possible.”

  If he replied while she stumbled back to her couch, she didn’t hear it.

  When she woke up later, medicine and crackers were on a plate next to a bottle of ginger ale on her coffee table, and a note from Frank read feel better soon. Tori had taken care of her a few times when she’d felt this awful. Frank had pretty much done the same thing—who needed girlfriends, right?

  Her inbox had an itinerary for a flight that left at 6:00 a.m. the next day, plus seventy-eight other messages. She made it through half of them before falling asleep again. The headache was a mere shadow when she woke up that evening, and she settled into the workday she should have started at eight that morning. She worked through the night, the morning, the flight, and the car ride to the facility housing Amelia.

  It was a dreary winter day, and the harsh sounds of the prison as she was escorted from the guard booth through the yard and to the concrete and metal meeting room felt like the pounding that had been in her head for the past three days. How did inmates not have constant headaches? It was the longest she’d ever had to wait for Amelia, and when her client finally arrived, she gasped.

  She had a black eye and scratches on her cheeks and chin, and she limped to the chair where she gingerly sat down, leaning to one side as if pressure on her back or behind was too much to bear.

  “Who did this to you?” Genevieve asked, and Amelia refused to look at her.

  “It’s not what you think. Just a disagreement in the lunchroom.”

  “You’re going to tell me this is unrelated to you suddenly telling me to drop your case?”

  “Oh, that. Is that why you’re here? I didn’t mean for you to get on a plane.”

  “Amelia, if someone is intimidating you, I need to know.”

  “No, you don’t. What could you even do about it? Sue? We’re already doing that, it’s taking forever, and it doesn’t really change how things are in here. The law doesn’t matter in here. Not really.”

  Genevieve sat back, the wind knocked out of her. “Amelia, I—” But she didn’t know what to say.

  Shifting in her seat, Amelia grimaced. “Look, Genevieve, I like you and all. And we’ve had some nice talks. But—”

  “Amelia, I’ve done civil rights work my entire career. What you need to know about intimidation is that it doesn’t go away if you give in to it. Someone tells you to give up this case, you do it thinking they’ll leave you alone, and then they just give you more demands.”

  “But I can’t lose my hormones again!” Amelia practically shouted, then clamped her mouth shut and looked away.

  “I see,” Genevieve said. Based on the stories she’d heard—from Amelia and others—it would be just like the warden to threaten her hormones if she didn’t drop the case.

  It wasn’t immediately clear to Genevieve what she could do to ensure that once she left the prison gates, Amelia would still be cared for as the law required. For an institution that acted as the enforcement arm of the law, prisons were pretty lawless.

  “Listen to me, Amelia.” She reached across the table to take her hand—the prison guard be damned; he was picking at his fingernails anyway. “This is your fight. It’s entirely up to you whether we proceed or not. But I believe in your case. I believe in you. I’ll keep fighting for you as long as you let me.”

  Amelia squeezed her hands, and tears filled her eyes, but her back was stiff. “I’m scared, Genevieve. I’m fucking scared. But I… I’m not a person who gives up.”

  “I know. Okay, look, I’m going to investigate what kinds of oversight we can have into your care—now and after your case is decided, whatever the outcome. We’re going to start a whole new team for your case that’s focused entirely on oversight. And I’m going to get a court-appointed sketch artist to come draw you tomorrow, before these bruises fade.”

  “Oh, this?” Amelia pointed at her black eye. “Honey, I meant it—this is just a cafeteria brawl.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m telling you, it sucks in here. People are nasty, no matter which uniform they wear.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “This has nothing to do with the administration threatening to take away your hormones?”

  “No. But it has everything to do with closed-minded asshats who are threatened by someone different.” She bit her lip and paused. “Okay, fine, we can keep suing. You’re right. I’m not going to let those fuckers win. And I… I trust you, Genevieve.”

  They smiled at each other across the table.

  “Then let’s get back to work,” she said.

  Chapter 26

  The night of the gala, Genevieve stood in her closet, naked, hair dripping wet from a quick shower, telling herself it didn’t matter what she wore. Tori would never even know she was there.

  When she’d finally made the decision to represent HER at this event, she gave herself permission to arrive late, stand in the back of the room, and slip out before anyone noticed her. And that would be that.

  So there was nothing behind her decision to wear the blue dress that clung to every curve, the one she felt powerful and sexy in, the one Bethany told her never to wear again unless she had a bodyguard to fend off other women. And the black-and-white pumps that Tori told her once to leave on, before stripping off all of Genevieve’s other clothes, was a completely coincidental choice. Absolutely.

  Well. All right. But, there was no way in hell she’d wear the pendant necklace Tori gave her, even though it did go perfectly with the dress, dropping right between her breasts. Tori had licked her lips the first time she’d worn it. But it didn’t matter—even Genevieve had her limits when it came to self-denial.

  She rifled through her jewelry box and came up empty. How was it possible she didn’t own a damn necklace that would work?

  Okay, fine, she’d wear the pendant necklace. Maybe she’d just leave her coat and scarf on, and no one would notice.

  No one would notice, because the choice to wear the necklace meant nothing, just like her going to this gala meant nothing.

  Absolutely.

  * * *

  As soon as she walked into the ballroom of the hotel, she stopped dead in her tracks. Tori and Jamie were chatting not five feet from the entrance. He said something and put his hand on her arm, and she laughed.

  Genevieve spun around and strode back the way she came.

  If she smoked, she’d have the perfect excuse for loitering outside in the cold. Instead, she took out her phone and…nothing. The whole Internet at her fingertips, and she couldn’t think of a damn thing to do with it.

  Sighing, she texted Bethany:

  How are things with Edward? Drinks tomorrow to discuss?

  She waited a few minutes for a response, stalking back and forth in front of the hotel. Occasionally she got too close, and the automatic sensors opened the doors, making her feel even more ridiculous.

  Bethany clearly wasn’t going to text back right now. She checked her watch—six forty. Twenty minutes until the keynote. Maybe Tori had moved away from the door. Oh, wait—of course; she had the solution in her hand.

  She punched up Jamie’s number and dialed, hoping he hadn’t silenced his phone just yet.

  His voice was muffled, and the din from the ballroom almost drowned him out, but to her relief he answered.

  “Hey, I wondered if you were going to the thing. The Bar Association thing,” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Not sure how I scored an invite because, hello, I’m a guy. But there are a few of us here. And, uh, your ex-girlfriend. But I guess you knew that.”

  Genevieve flinched, grateful she wasn’t having this conversation face-to-face. “Oh, that’s right. She’s speaking. Have you seen her?”

  “Um, yeah, she’s…well, right now she’s chatting with that woman who runs lobbying for Planned Parenthood.”

  “The hot one? Or the old one?” Genevieve asked in her most disinterested voice.

  “The old one. Anyway. What’s up?”

  Shit. She forgot to come up with a reason to call him.

  “I, uh, was wondering. If you wanted…to go running together some time.”

  What? Say no, say no, say no. Jamie was super slow and would totally cramp her style.

  “Really? Sure, I guess. I’ve never had a running buddy before.”

  “Great!” she said, even though it was anything but. “I’ve been in the market for one. Ooh, someone’s clicking in—gotta go!”

  Perfect. Smooth, Genevieve.

  At least now she knew that Tori had moved away from the door. But if Jamie saw her there, she’d have some explaining to do. She checked the time on her phone again—6:55. The lights would probably dim in another three minutes—just enough time to visit the ladies’ room and confirm that she looked okay. She peeked through the doors and found the lobby empty. Evidently, everyone had already moved into the ballroom.

  The lighting in the restroom was too bright, but she looked good. At least she had that, because she was an emotional wreck. Her palms were starting to sweat, and her cheeks were too pink. Whatever—she yanked open the door, strode to the ballroom, and ducked inside. The lights were low, and she walked along the back wall until she found the perfect spot in the middle to lean against. Considering everyone else was seated at circular tables, drinking wine and eating salad, she had a great view of the stage at the far side of the room.

  Someone from the DC Bar Association stood onstage and rattled off a handful of Tori’s accomplishments—which didn’t even begin to touch the breadth of her impact on the law in this country. Everyone applauded, and then there she was.

  Genevieve had been so startled by Tori’s presence when she first arrived that she’d failed to notice the dress. It was a red and white wrap dress that showed off her perfect legs and the collarbone that always drove Genevieve nuts. The dress was new, and a painful ache struck her chest at the knowledge that Tori had things in her life now that Genevieve didn’t know about. But then she noticed the earrings she’d given Tori for Christmas the previous year. Her heartbeat suddenly sounded like timpani in her head, and she had to strain to catch Tori’s voice, which might have been a bad idea, because the way her rich tones caressed Genevieve’s ears made her weak in the knees. It dawned on her then that she’d made a terrible mistake in coming.

  “…honor to be here tonight, among such distinguished and brilliant women, and a few of you men too.”

  Scattered laughter brought a smile to Tori’s face, which only made Genevieve’s condition more tenuous.

  How was it possible that after all these years, Victoria Willoughby still had this effect on her?

  “I’m here tonight to talk about what it means to be a woman working in the law. I thought a lot about what I wanted to say tonight. Should I focus on the trailblazers, without whose tireless efforts we wouldn’t be here? Maybe instead I should talk about agenda items for the future. Or I could list the roadblocks that we continue to face at every turn. But none of those topics seemed to suit this event. What I really want to talk about today is coalition building.”

  A murmur went through the crowd, although Genevieve couldn’t tell if it was surprise or approval.

  “As I look out there at all of you, I see women of all colors, who express their gender with varying degrees of femininity and masculinity. I see people who were born as women, whether or not their sex has always matched their gender. We are a diverse group in all ways save education—which also means that at this point in our lives, we are also not very diverse in terms of class.

  “As women, we face tremendous obstacles in this country. The nature of those obstacles varies depending on whether you’re a woman of color or not, whether you are cis or trans.

  “So I find it strange that I would stand up here and talk to you about being a woman in the law. We might have a lot in common, but my experiences aren’t yours. I don’t want you to just hear from me. Nor do I want you to just hear from, and talk to, the women you came here with—the ones you’ve known since law school, the ones whose offices you stop by on a daily basis. I want you all to talk to someone you don’t know. Learn her story. Share yours. Brainstorm ideas for how you can be allies to each other.” She held her hand over her eyes and squinted. “Can we get the lights back on?”

  Of course Tori would come up with an innovative, dynamic take on what was typically a tired speech. Murmurs in the room were unmistakably excited now.

  Oh shit—she couldn’t just stand there—the lights. Yep. Lights. Great.

  She moved quickly to the door, pulled it open a crack, and glanced over her shoulder. Thankfully, Tori was talking again, giving instructions for bringing strangers together and making suggestions for what they could talk about.

  Genevieve eased out the door and leaned back against it once it closed. Tori’s voice was muffled now, and she couldn’t decipher the words.

  Oddly, she knew in that moment exactly what she’d say to Tori, if the two of them had a chance to talk. And she wanted nothing more than to go back in, participate in Tori’s coalition building, find Tori when the event had ended, and say she wanted her back.

  But she knew that her presence there would send Tori spinning. She rubbed her face with her hands, squared her shoulders, and walked to her car.