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“Aren’t you supposed to be giving New York the Godzilla treatment?”

Sloane’s lip twitched, but she withheld evidence of her amusement. “Is that what you want to do with our three minutes? Ask me things unlikely to lead to a winning response?”

Frodo’s nose flared as she glanced down at Sloane’s mostly blank sheet before contorting into a smug grin. “I wasn’t going to bother since you obviously aren’t playing.”

Sloane’s pulse danced in her neck, pulling her out of the stasis she’d been in for a month. “Ah, come on. I know how much you need a win. I’ll make it easy for you. Let’s pretend my favorite movie is Land of the Rings.”

She kept the grin plastered on her face, but Sloane could see the irritation burning in her big, dark eyes.

“It’s Lord not Land,” she corrected, falling into her irresistible trap.

It was low hanging fruit, but Sloane couldn’t help herself.

There’d been no time for co ee that morning. She wasn’t at the top of her game yet.

“Right.” Sloane smiled, picking up her pen and readying herself to write. “I stand corrected. You’re going to have to remind me how to spell it. I don’t know Klingon.”

“Hilarious,” she replied with an eye roll before looking around the room as if hunting for an exit.

Sloane knew she should drop it, but she couldn’t help herself. “Is it really not your favorite? I mean I just figured

—”

Frodo glared at her. “You think I named myself Arwyn as a baby?”

“No,” she admitted “but never changing it is . . . a choice.”

Tightening her jaw so hard that Sloane was sure she’d crack a molar, Frodo’s eyes dimmed and narrowed.

Contempt oozed from her body like lava spewing from a volcano. “Why are you here?”

The edge in Frodo’s accusation robbed Sloane of her grin.

Surprised by her seething anger, Sloane almost explained that she wasn’t thrilled about it either. This certainly hadn’t been her plan at the start of the summer, but the words died in her throat. Instead, she smiled with just the corner of her mouth.

“Well, I missed you, of course,” Sloane replied with feigned innocence. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Before Frodo could lunge out of her seat and throttle her, Flu y Hair called time. Her longtime rival stood and moved away without so much as a second glance.

Sloane usually reveled in their sparring, but this time had been di erent. More hostile than usual. Pushing thoughts of raining on Frodo’s parade aside, Sloane endured the rest of the game. When Frodo won a candy bar like a fourth grader for having the most names, Sloane couldn’t be bothered to clap. She was more concerned with the three-year commitment she’d signed and whether she could break it.

After several more hours of tedious on-boarding tasks, it was finally time for lunch. Sloane wasn’t all that hungry, but she was desperate to escape her beige confines.

“Ms. Medina,” Flu y Hair approached as she stood. “May I have a quick word?”

Sloane slung her large purse over her shoulder as she held him in her gaze until he looked away. When the room cleared, he looked up from his phone.

“I’m not keen on remarking on a woman’s appearance, but this was in the initial materials you received,” he started opaquely. “Pantyhose are mandatory.”

She’d seen the pantyhose thing but was certain the arcane mandate would extend only to the courtroom. That was bad enough.

With unblinking eyes and a set jaw, Sloane couldn’t help but challenge him. “Are they mandatory for men too?”

Flu y Hair’s face reddened, and he chuckled nervously.

“If they want to wear a skirt.”

Sloane didn’t smile to put him at ease. Instead, she turned on her heels and wondered if she’d been hasty in staying in Miami and accepting this job.