The juror’s head dropped back against the seat, and her mouth fell open.

Taylor grinned. Another one bites the dust.

Seemingly oblivious to these goings-on, Frank stood at the podium asking one long, drawn-out question after the other. Apparently, he was unaware of the torture he was inflicting upon these jurors he would later ask for $30 million.

“. . . And like I said earlier,” the witness rambled on, “on many occasions, I would overhear my manager refer to women as ‘chicks.’ ”

“How many times did you hear your manager use that word?” Frank asked.

The witness took a moment to answer, as if needing to compose herself. Taylor tried to keep from rolling her eyes at Derek, who sat next to her at the defense table.

“Oh, I couldn’t even guess,” the witness tearfully responded. “My manager used that derogatory term too many times to count.”

Frank nodded sympathetically. “Then perhaps we should go through all the occasions you can remember your manager using the word ‘chicks.’ One incident at a time, in detail.”

This was too much. Taylor rose from her table.

“I have to object to this line of questioning, Your Honor.”

The judge peered over at her. “Grounds?”

“Well, for starters, it’s entirely too boring for four o’clock on a Friday afternoon.”

The jurors—the ones that were awake, anyway—laughed.

Frank pounded the podium furiously. “Your Honor—Ms. Donovan’s objection is highly inappropriate! I ask that she be admonished for her conduct, and I move to strike her comment from the record!”

Taylor shrugged amiably. “Fine—I’ll modify my objection to include the fact that nothing in this witness’s testimony even remotely resembles sexual harassment.”

The judge held up his hand before Frank could respond further.

“All right, counselors, that’s enough. I agree that it’s getting late. It might be a good time to take a break.” He peered down from his bench at Frank. “Counselor, do you intend to continue this line of questioning on Monday?”

“Your Honor, if I may,” Taylor interjected, “in order to keep the trial moving, the defendant will stipulate that this witness would testify that she heard the word ‘chicks’ in her workplace on several occasions.”

“Not several, Your Honor, numerous occasions,” Frank replied pissily.

Taylor held up her hands innocently. “Now counsel is just getting greedy, Your Honor.”

More titters of laughter could be heard coming from the jury box. The judge rapped his gavel lightly.

“In order to keep this trial on schedule, I will accept the defendant’s proposed stipulation. The record will reflect that this witness would testify that she heard the word ‘chicks’ in her workplace on several occasions.” He gave Frank a stern look. “Mr. Siedlecki, you’ve already fallen two days behind on your witness list. I suggest you find ways to structure their testimonies more succinctly.”

Then the judge turned to Taylor. “As for you, Ms. Donovan, in the future, please try to keep your objections within the confines of the Federal Rules of Evidence.” His words were firm, but his expression held a trace of a smile.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Taylor said demurely. She knew when she had pushed a judge just far enough.

“Good. Ladies and gentlemen, you are excused until Monday morning,” the judge told the jury. “I remind you that you are not permitted to discuss this case with anyone, including each other, until it’s time for your deliberations.” He banged his gavel. “This court stands in recess.”

“All rise! This honorable court is in recess,” the clerk of court shouted.

The judge stood to leave, and the entire courtroom rose with him. As the bailiff escorted the jurors out, a few nodded and smiled as they passed by Taylor.

Derek leaned over. “They adore you,” he whispered.

Taylor grinned proudly. God, she loved this stuff.

After the jurors left the courtroom, she quickly began throwing files into her briefcase.

“I’m late—I gotta run,” she told Derek. “But we should plan to meet on Sunday evening to go over next week’s cross-examinations.”

Derek watched her with amusement. Taylor suspected that his knowing smile had something to do with the fact that she had received flowers on Monday from Scott Casey. The news had spread through the office faster than the clap.

“Big plans for tonight, Taylor?” he inquired. “Let me guess—happy hour at L’Ermitage with Johnny Depp, perhaps?”

Taylor looked up, surprised. “Well, well, well . . . so there’s a smart-ass lurking inside you after all, Derek. I like it.”

The junior associate grinned. “I think I’m turning into you. Another week and I’ll be dropping F-bombs around the office.”

Taylor patted his shoulder affectionately. “I think you’re safe. I would never use the term ‘F-bomb.’ ” With a teasing wink, she grabbed her briefcase, wished Derek a good weekend, and left the courtroom in a hurry.

DRIVING TO THE airport, feeling her excitement build, Taylor practiced various ways to tell Val and Kate about everything that had unfolded since she had moved to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, every scenario she had come up with so far made her sound totally, criminally insane.

“Hi, guys,” she supposed she could always say, “guess what’s happened to me? I’ve been working with Jason Andrews on his new film and he flew me in his private jet to Las Vegas where we almost kissed, and then I went to this glamorous party where Scott Casey asked me out, and oh—by the way, he and I did kiss, several times actually, after he cooked me dinner at his multimillion-dollar house up in the Hollywood Hills.”