Trouble by Ann Christopher

shut behind her.
    Dara turned on him in a fresh fury. “Why didn’t you tell her you wanted someone else?”
    He shot her a humorless grin. “I’m looking forward to firing you when you screw up.”
    â€œYou won’t fire me!” she snapped, too angry to care who heard her. She stiffened her back and raised her chin, determined now that, if nothing else, he would respect her work ethic and legal skills. “I’m going to be the best intern you ever had!”
    â€œI really doubt that.”
    â€œWho do you think you are?” she shouted.
    His sarcasm gave way to grim resignation.
    â€œI’m your new boss.”

    Dara’s first week as Mike’s unpaid intern—his firm was downtown in a rehabbed brownstone—passed in a blur. She settled into her hours, which were before classes, from eight to ten every morning. She met his staff, which consisted of a receptionist, a single mother going to night school named Amira, and an overworked secretary named Laura. She started on her first project, which was reading a trial transcript for signs of reversible error that Mike could use on appeal. She showed up early and worked hard.
    She did not see Mike. At all.
    Her first day, a Monday, she was relieved to hear he was in court most mornings. By Wednesday, her relief had turned to a generalized dissatisfaction. By Friday, every day she worked but didn’t see or hear from her boss, except through his secretary, felt like a personal affront.
    When an air-conditioning issue at the law school caused her classes to be canceled on Friday afternoon, she decided to go back to the office and finish her memo about the trial transcript. Just so she could give it to him and show how hardworking and conscientious she was, thereby forcing him to eat his words.
    Not because she wanted to see him again. Perish the thought.
    Dara waved hello as she breezed past Amira at the front desk and hurried to her office, feeling the thrum of excitement she always felt when she was in Mike’s territory. The brownstone was sunny and open, understated and beautiful. Heavy leaded glass with beveled edges cut in intricate patterns framed the massive oak door that stood at the top of several steps leading up from the sidewalk. Inside was a large foyer with a round mahogany table centered on a Persian rug and adorned with a beautiful arrangement of burgundy silk hydrangeas. A gracefully curved staircase led to the offices upstairs. The waiting area had overstuffed chairs in dark greens and blues and the mahogany woodwork everywhere was simple but elegant. There was also a small law library, a kitchen, Mike’s office upstairs, Dara’s small office next to his, a conference room and another office, barely a broom closet, that belonged to
Jamal
.
    Jamal, like Mike, had been invisible all week.
    She’d just settled into her chair and booted up her computer when she heard Mike’s voice in her doorway.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” he demanded.
    Gaping at her—he’d’ve been less surprised to see Jimmy Hoffa sitting behind her desk—he forgot about the coffee he’d wanted to get downstairs. She should have been gone hours ago, not turning up at the office at unauthorized times when he shouldn’t have to see her at all.
    He’d spent the last several days reliving their confrontation in the classroom and trying to understand what had happened to him that day. Never before in his life had he embarrassed a student in class--and he subbed up at the law school whenever his schedule allowed--but it’d infuriated him when Dara hadn’t backed down when they’d argued. People were generally a little intimidated by him, because of his size if nothing else, but Dara clearly wasn’t. So he’d needled her and hadn’t been happy until he’d made her speechless. Her rage thrilled him because it told him he got to her like she got to him. But then,