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“You know what they say,” Jasmine said with her mouth full. “It’s a thin line between—”

“Don’t you dare,” Ari cut her o at the same time she cut o a distracted driver to get on the highway without making as long of a line. Now that she was finally moving faster than a crawl, a breeze cooled her overheated skin.

“I mean, that saying comes from somewhere, right?

Cliches start from truth. Plus, why else would she be pushing up on you in the elevator if she wasn’t feeling some kind of way about you?”

Ari’s head spun. There was no way on Earth Sloane was suddenly interested in her. They weren’t even friends. “To mess with me,” she decided. “Why does she ever do anything to anyone? To get something out of it.”

“But are you two even competing over anything? What does she get out of messing with you?”

Jasmine asked a fair question, but after a little thought, the answer was obvious. “Because she’s sadistic and only feels good about herself when she’s getting one over on someone. She wants to see me squirm because she wants to feel superior, and because I’m smarter than her, this is the only way she can do it.”

“And the fact that you were . . . actually squirming?”

“She just caught me o guard, Jaz. That’s it. And you know what else? Two can play at this game.”

Jasmine chuckled. “I used to think this rivalry of yours was one sided, but maybe you’re both nuts. What are you going to do? Corner her at the water cooler?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, “but when the opportunity presents itself, I’m going to strike. I’ll beat her at her own stupid game.”

CHAPTER 10

SLOANE STRETCHED after stepping out of her car. As she strode toward the monstrous pink building, she wondered whether she’d ever get used to this place. At least the DV o ce was in a decent looking building downtown. The main o ce was like a Pepto Bismol induced nightmare.

Chin up, maybe in five years you’ll get a window o ce overlooking the parking lot.

Sloane groaned. If she was still there in five years, she’d quit law and join the circus.

She thought about her aunt’s advice to pull herself out of her bad mood. The litigation she’d get in three years at the State Attorney’s O ce would be more than a decade at a private firm. When she finished her commitment, any of the top Miami firms would be jumping at the chance to snag her.

She knew it was true, but nothing would be the life she was supposed to be living in New York.

Once inside, Sloane ignored the trainees clumped together in the lobby. Was there really that much to update each other on? They’d only been apart two weeks. Sloane strained her hearing anyway as she passed them. It was hard

to make out over the ambient noise of a very busy, sprawling space, but she was almost sure they were trading intel about the moot court case.

Cheaters.

Sloane followed a group of young prosecutors o the elevator despite being on the wrong floor. The chaos of the second level was unexpected, but Sloane walked behind the group like she belonged.

How many people work here? She wondered as she passed hundreds of small o ces and cubicles crammed with papers and boxes. Haven’t they heard of digital storage?

When the group started splitting o as people approached their o ces, Sloane started questioning her plan. What if no one went to the kitchen like she expected? How else was she supposed to start a casual conversation about the moot? Out of five people, at least one of them needed to make co ee before work, right?

When the last person stepped into his o ce, she noticed that nearly everyone had their own stupid pod co ee machines. Despite the setback, Sloane didn’t give up and turn back. She’d already made it this far. What would another few minutes of wandering around cost her?

After several wrong turns, Sloane found a break room.

Unfortunately for her, it was empty. Accepting that her hastily formed plan had been a bust, she popped open the fridge and found nothing but cases of bottled water.

“Those are only for depositions,” a man’s voice warned.

Sloane turned toward the sound. The man was tall, dark, and conventionally handsome. Not the worst mark she’d ever tried to hustle.

“What makes you think I don’t have a deposition scheduled?” she asked, letting the door close softly.

The man washed out his co ee cup under the faucet.