"Oh, god, what is he doing now that's worse than spreading rumors that I hate anyone who's queer and plan to weed out all diversity in the firm, then accusing me of deleting my own files and making up a saboteur?"

"Plenty. First, he's been telling everyone - and by everyone I mean including lawyers outside the firm - that he's uncomfortable with your unethical" - she puts that word in air quotes - "behavior."

"My what?"

"He's saying that you brought in a known crime boss as a client of the firm."

"Okay, I know he's been saying that all along. He made a point of that at the attorney meeting and my grandfather shut him down pretty quickly."

"I remember. But it's not just the fact that the owner of the art gallery has a shady reputation. It's . . . well, what he's saying is that you have sex with your clients, and that he thinks it's unprofessional and if it isn't against the Florida Bar rules, it should be."

"He's saying that I have sex with my clients," I repeat slowly.

"Yes, and that it's a conflict of interest, it's unethical. He was standing with a group at the local Bar luncheon the other day - you weren't there, you were in court - and he went on and on . . . " CJ's voice trails off, probably due to the look on my face.

"That little worm is trying to slut shame me at the Bar luncheon?" I feel like my head is going to explode.

Martina is mumbling something about fuckheads getting what's coming to them. I can't quite make it out, but it sounds suitably vicious.

"I'm afraid so," CJ confirms, not meeting my eyes. Suddenly they seem unusually focused on their sandwich.

"Okay," I say, trying not to grit my teeth. "Let's get a few things straight. "Yes I was dating Max Bennett, one of the owners of the art gallery. I'm not anymore, but that's beside the point. And yes, while dating him I was also having sex with him."

"Look," CJ, says, "it's not like you owe me an explanation. I just thought you should know what he's saying."

But I'm on a roll now. I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. The nerve of that guy to try to use Max against me, especially after he tried to get in on the art gallery matter himself, going to my grandfather and, when that didn't work, coming directly to me to offer his expertise.

I lean in closer. "I was in a relationship with Max Bennett. I also happen to be a lawyer, and he asked me to handle a legal matter involving his art gallery. These two things are not mutually exclusive. Is there some Bar rule I'm unaware of that says that a lawyer is prohibited from doing business with someone they are in a relationship with?" I plow on before CJ can answer.

"Of course not. Leave it to Dylan Barclay to take something perfectly normal and try to turn it into something sleazy. Are you try to tell me that if your mom asked you to review a contract you'd say no because you're related? Lawyers handle matters for friends and family all the time, and that certainly includes representing someone you just happen to be sleeping with!" I can feel my voice rising in indication.

"Hey, hey," CJ says, putting a hand on my arm. "Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger."

"I'm going to kill him," I say through clenched teeth.

"Um, maybe you shouldn't say things like that in public," CJ suggests, glancing around.

Martina nods in agreement. "Especially since the guy you were dating does have kind of a reputation. Or at least his family does."

"Well, I'm dating someone else now," I tell them. "A travel writer. And no, I haven't slept with him. Not yet, anyway. So maybe I better be worried if he asks me for any legal advice over dinner."

"Okay," CJ says. "I get the point. Dylan is just blowing smoke."

"Maybe," I say, "but plenty of people follow the old adage that where there's smoke, there's fire. If he throws enough mud at me, some of it's bound to stick eventually."

CJ lets out a long breath, then takes a bit of potato salad, nibbles on her sandwich. Looks anywhere else but at me.

"What?" I say. "There's more, isn't there. You said you had two things to tell me." And now I'm thinking the second one is probably worse.

"Yeah, there's more. You know Bob, my legal assistant?"

I nod. "Sure."

"Well, he came to me yesterday and said that Dylan's legal assistant - the one he brought from his old firm - got a little drunk when a group of them were out the other night after work and said a few things that got him thinking."

I narrow my eyes. "What kind of things?"

"Bob said it was just a few casual comments, but it seemed off. That she made some comment about what was the point of having a criminal law department when we had to refer the business elsewhere. And a few other comments."

"What? That doesn't make any sense." But there's this cold feeling in the pit of my stomach that's telling me it does. That's telling me Dylan has gone even further in his efforts to sabotage my reputation.

"Did he ask her what she meant?"

"Not right then. They were out with people from the office, and some staff from a few other firms, so he just let it pass. But he kept thinking about it. It didn't sit well with him, so a couple days later he asked her out to lunch to pump her for information."

"Did she actually tell him anything?" I'm skeptical. Dylan may be an ass, but typically a legal assistant is going to be loyal to their boss regardless, since that's the person who determines whether they have a job or get fired. So even if she doesn't like him, would she really throw him under the bus to a new coworker she hardly knows?

Or is Dylan just using her to plant information in the office that he actually wants me to find out about?

"Well," CJ says in a clearly conspiratorial tone, "she accepted the lunch invitation right away, but she was reluctant to spill any information."

"Probably realized she'd said too much when they were out drinking," Martina puts in.

CJ nods. "Yeah, but Bob's good. When you're the legal assistant to a queer lawyer working in firms that gives lip service to inclusion but don't really mean it, you learn how to get information without being obvious." She glances at me. "I don't mean this firm. Mr. Reese doesn't just talk the talk, his actions show he means it. I've worked a couple places in the past that, well, where that wasn't the case."

"Was Bob with you at the other firms?"

"Absolutely. When you find a good legal assistant, you hang onto them."

Martina gives me a grin. "Wise words."

"We've been together five years and three lateral moves. I'm hoping this is the last one."

"I sure want to keep you," I say. "And by the way, you're one of the lawyers my grandfather told me I should get involved in some of my cases, if you're interested. I'm sure you know he thinks highly of you."

They nod. "Good to know. Because actually, he doesn't go around showering praise on people. You pretty much know you're doing a good job if he hasn't hauled you into his office to tell you that you screwed up and need to do better."

I mentally add that to my list of recommended changes to talk to my grandfather about. Number one, stop the overly formal way people address each other in the office. Number two, a little more focus on praise so people know they are appreciated.

Right now, though, I need to focus on whatever else Dylan has been up to. Or potentially there won't be an office full of lawyers and staff to implement those changes. Not if he manages to drive everyone way.

"So I'm assuming Bob got some information."

"He sure did. Hadley, Dylan's legal assistant says he specifically told her not to refer any clients with criminal issues to you. And she overhead him on the phone with an existing client whose brother-in-law, some big wig at a financial services company, is under investigation for embezzlement. That's exactly the kind of case your grandfather was talking about bringing in. White collar crime, right?"

I nod, already starting to feel sick.

"He sent them to Carrigan Greenbriar," she says, naming a top Miami firm in business law that, like our office, recently branched into white collar crime.

"He didn't even offer handling this here as a possibility?"

"Oh, there's more. Apparently the client had heard we had a criminal law department and actually asked about it."

"I can't wait to hear what Dylan told them."

"He told them we have, in his words, a junior lawyer who dabbles in criminal law, but that he could not in good conscious recommend her for a serious case like this. That the client's brother-in-law "deserved the best."

I'm stunned. I didn't think even Dylan would go this far.

"He's not just attacking Hadley when he does that. He's undermine the entire firm," Martina says, her eyes wide.

"That's definitely a firing offense," I say. "Why would he take that risk? And why would his legal assistant share the information with anyone?"

"As to the first," CJ says, "he clearly feels like he's in a powerful enough position to take a risk like that."

"What I don't get," I say, "is why he would think that. But maybe that's just his ego. What I absolutely don't get, though, is why that cockiness also applies to his legal assistant. I mean, I get that maybe she's been with him for years and figures he's got her back, but-"

"She hasn't, though," Martina says, and CJ and I both stare at her.

"He brought her with him when he came to the firm," CJ says, "so I just assumed they'd been working together for a long time."

"No," Martina says. "A friend of mine actually knows her. She was working as a temp for him for about a month at the other firm. She was with an agency."

"What?"

"Yeah, I think the deal was that his old firm didn't really have a permanent spot for her once Dylan was leaving, plus they would have had to pay a fee to the temp service if they wanted to convert her to a permanent employee, And since the lawyer she reported to was leaving, why would they?"

"But he was with that firm for several years. What happened to his old legal assistant?"

Martina shrugs. CJ and I just look at each other.

"I don't know," CJ says, "but Bob did tell me she let it slip that there was some kind of trouble around Dylan leaving."

"What kind of trouble?" I'm dying to know the answer to this.

"She claimed she didn't know, but she gave the impression that Dylan leaving was not all his own decision."

"Wow. I bet the old legal assistant knows what happened," Martina says.

"Yeah, but we don't even know who that is. It's not like law firms put a list of all their personnel on their website. And anyway, that person obviously isn't there anymore or Dylan wouldn't have been using a temp." I frown. "I'm sure my grandfather called someone there for a reference. But then again, maybe not. Maybe Dylan asked him not to and said it was because he didn't want them to know he was looking around until he had a firm offer. Since he was planning to bring his whole book of business with him."

"We need a plan," Martina says.

I wrap up what's left of my sandwich. I've completely lost my appetite.

"The first thing I'm going to do is bring my grandfather up to speed. I'm sure this isn't the first time he's dealt with a sleazy operator like Dylan."

CJ looks uncomfortable.

"Yeah, about that," they begin.

"What? Is there more you haven't told me?"

"I'm afraid there is."