So he'd accepted the judge's proposition. Judge Coale would make sure Easton knew all the right people and the right steps toward securing a seat on the bench. And the judge knew his stuff. He'd started his career as an elected probate judge, then stair-stepped his way up to serve many years as an elected justice on the Texas Supreme Court before receiving a presidential appointment to the Federal Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals. With those kinds of credentials, Easton figured he couldn't have found a better mentor.
Currently, Easton was planning to make a bid for a new district court seat in Travis County that had been established in the last legislative session. Since the seat was new, he didn't have to challenge an incumbent, and so far his drip campaign was working well. He'd garnered a lot of support among key players in the city, both in and outside the legal community.
Now he just had to keep up the momentum.
"What's on your agenda the rest of this week and next?" the judge asked. "Let's get you seen everywhere for the ten or so days, then waltz into the county clerk's office and formally announce a week from next Tuesday. We can put a bug in the ear of a few reporters so that The Austin Chronicle and The Austin American Statesman both run a story."
"And the Daily Texan," Easton said, referring to the University of Texas's daily newspaper. "Don't forget the importance of the new voters. Especially since I'm a UT law grad."
"I like the way you think."
"You should. You trained me."
The intercom on Easton's phone buzzed, and a moment later the thirtieth-floor receptionist's voice filtered over the line. "There's a woman here to see you," Sandra said. "Says she's an old friend and has a contractual issue to discuss."
"Did she give you her name?"
"Jean," Sandy said. "Jean Rockwell."
Easton glanced at the judge, then shrugged. "The name doesn't ring a bell. But tell her I'm in a meeting but will be out to see her in a minute."
She promised to do that, then the line went dead.
"I should probably get back to work," Easton told the judge. "I appreciate the lunch, though." He glanced over at the remains of the Franklin Barbecue take-out that still littered the top of his small conference table. The popular East Austin barbecue joint with its insane lines had become a destination for celebrities and politicians, with everyone from President Obama to Kanye West visiting the place. How Judge Coale had managed to get take-out without waiting for six hours was anyone's guess.
"We'll talk soon," the judge said, rising. "Your week is full?"
"Tomorrow morning I'm in Dallas for depositions, then at a fundraiser for the Austin Opera in the evening. Friday I have dinner with Senator Todd. And Saturday evening I'll be speaking at the literacy benefit at the Exotic Game Ranch."
"And Sunday?"
"Drinks with a friend," Easton said, then held up his hand. "He owns a gym and knows pretty much everyone in town. I'm not going to specifically ask him to chat me up, but he's a good enough friend that he will without asking."
"Then by all means, don't ditch him."
Easton tapped his nose. "Exactly."
"And tonight?"
"Booked," he said.
The judge nodded. "Deposition prep, of course."
That wasn't Easton's plan, but he didn't bother to correct his mentor. Somehow, Easton doubted that the judge would find attending this week's Man of the Month contest at The Fix on Sixth to be an appropriate candidate event. But his friend and client, Tyree Johnson owned the bar, and Easton was friends with a number of the bar's employees and regulars. Including Detective Landon Ware and Taylor D'Angelo, the woman Landon was protecting. Considering Easton was the one who suggested that Landon enter the contest as bait to flush out Taylor's stalker, Easton thought he ought to at least make an appearance.
He'd even seen Selma Herrington there a few times, and hadn't that been a punch in the gut? More than ten years had passed, but sometimes as he was falling asleep, he still trembled from the memory of the way her skin felt as her body slid over his, not to mention the magical things she'd done with that wide, hot mouth.
The judge slipped on his blue seersucker jacket. "And who's accompanying you to the fundraiser and the benefit?"
Easton cleared his throat, wishing the act would clear out the memories that were making him uncomfortably hard. And wouldn't a woman like Selma be interesting--and dangerous--on his arm?
That, however, wouldn't happen. For one, Easton wasn't stupid. He knew that playing it safe meant playing to win. And Easton never did anything if it wasn't with the goal of winning.
For another, Selma had disappeared on him after one of the most amazing nights he'd ever shared with a woman. A small fact that had pissed him off at the time.
He was over it now. But definitely not inclined to track her down and ask her out again just to end up rejected. In that direction lay madness. "Actually, I was planning on going stag." Easton kept his voice level. He and the judge had been over this ground before.
"I'm not suggesting that wedding bells need to start ringing, but taking a date gives you a--what do they call it?--a wingman. Someone starts asking you incendiary questions, she can subtly change the subject. You get trapped, she can signal to you from across the room. Trust me, son, a competent date can be one of your best election tools. And who knows where it might lead? Look at Deborah and me."