The Pegasus Marshal's Mate (U.S. Marshal Shifters 2)

That afternoon, Tiffani was unflappable. The trial was postponed until tomorrow. She could have felt robbed of purpose, but instead she went about the backstage work of running a courtroom with the distinct feeling that she was glowing in a way no exfoliating scrub could have ever caused.

She felt like some sort of cheesy, earnest power ballad should have been playing as she walked through the halls of the courthouse. It wasn’t love, of course. (Right?) She couldn’t deny the champagne flutter of excitement in her belly at the prospect of seeing Martin again, though. No more than she couldn’t deny how pleasant her sore body felt after their lunchtime lovemaking.

But despite whatever quirk of chemistry or animal magnetism had caused such a spark between them, she was sure she could keep herself from getting carried away.

You’re telling yourself that often enough, anyway.

No. Her feet really were on the ground. She knew her worth and she knew exactly how unlikely it was that a man as great as Martin had really instantly fallen for her the way she had fallen for him. And it wasn’t like she wanted to completely upend her life before she had even finished putting it together, anyway, so what did it matter? She wanted something nice—she deserved something nice, dammit—and he wanted someone fun.

And that was what she was, wasn’t it? Fun, fun, fun. And never anything more than that.

But at the same time... her opinion of her own worth was a lot higher than it had been after she’d gotten that first talking-to from Judge McMillan.

Maybe I could have a little more to offer Martin than a good time.

With all that in mind, who had the time to be afraid of the big bad judge? He was just a cranky, narcissistic jerk whose biggest concern about the bomb threat was that it could have wrecked his chance at being part of such a big-deal trial. That thought gave her the confidence she needed to walk into Judge McMillan’s chambers when he called for her.

The judge had a glassy-eyed law clerk with him. The poor guy had clearly spent all day listening to his boss’s complaints.

“We can’t have any more of these interruptions!” McMillan said, as if they had personally called in the bomb threat.

“No, Your Honor,” the law clerk mumbled.

“This is not how I run my courtroom! Starting tomorrow, we are going to have an orderly, safe, uneventful trial, and the two of you are going to make sure that happens.”

Judge McMillan started going into great, mind-melting detail about his expectations of them.

Tiffani decided to just sit there and nod. She had Martin to think about to make this whole thing bearable. If the judge wanted to spend the afternoon ranting to her and his poor clerk about what all this meant for his career, that was fine with her.

She?

??d been married to Gordon for years. She knew how to tune someone out and still nod at just the right times.

Probably every trophy wife knows that. And doesn’t Martin deserve someone better?

That was the only time she felt her glossy, “yes, I’m listening” smile falter.

Luckily, it happened at exactly the right time for the judge to assume that this, like apparently everything else, was all about him: “Yes, I know, it would be catastrophic.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “You know, Ms. Marcus, you might not be the worst possible fit for this trial.”

Didn’t he say the sweetest things?

“I’m glad you think so, Your Honor.”

“Well,” he said. He cleared his throat. “The two of you might be able to spend tonight doing nothing, but I can’t afford to. I’ll see you both in the morning, then. Bright and early.”

Thank God. Tiffani had rarely been so happy to leave a room.

To her surprise, McMillan’s clerk stopped her before she could leave the courthouse. He’d come jogging after her, even, his striped tie bouncing up and down against his chest.

“I just wanted to shake the hand of a fellow survivor of that conversation,” the clerk said. “If you could call it a conversation.”

Tiffani laughed. And since he really did stick his hand out, she shook it.

“I really don’t think it counts as a real conversation, no. I don’t think you got to say a word and—and he didn’t even introduce you! I’m Tiffani Marcus, the new court reporter who is apparently going to bring down civilization as we know it.”

“Now, don’t be so hard on yourself. Evidently you’re not the actual worst stenographer in the world. From him, that’s the highest possible praise.”

“I’m terrified that you might be right.”