Imperfect Justice

by Cara Putman

“He believes I’m sufficient to advocate on his behalf.”

  “Then you may inform your client he is wrong. To bring such allegations against a member of the bar is unheard of.” Again Wright started to speak, but Judge Robinson cut her off. “I am not finished. If anything changes and you have facts to support the petition, at that time you may refile. In addition, if opposing counsel does anything that may violate the rules of professional conduct, you may pursue those with the Virginia State Bar. However, if your client attempts to file another motion that is unsubstantiated, you may forewarn him I would consider requests for attorney’s fees and sanctions. Am I clear?”

  The judge’s gaze cut like a knife into Wright, and Emilie shifted back, wanting to avoid their power struggle.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Wright spat the words between clenched jaws. “If that’s all?”

  At the judge’s nod, the attorney spun on her spiky black heel and paced from the bench.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  The judge pulled her reading glasses down and studied Emilie. “You’re welcome, Ms. Wesley. Be careful in everything you do on this one. You’re under scrutiny, and I may not intervene with the constraints placed on me by my role.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

  “Good job getting your client here so quickly. That helped me make a record.”

  “Thank you.” Emilie blew out a slow breath, and at Judge Robinson’s nod left the bench.

  Reid slowly stood as she approached, pulling his shirt sleeves down by the cufflinks. The small monogram on the cuff peeked out, and Emilie smiled at the thought that her father would approve.

  “Everything good?”

  His gaze searched her face, and she allowed herself to meet it. “I didn’t need to say much.”

  “I noticed. That good or bad?”

  “Depends on the hearing, but today it was good.”

  He smiled slowly, and she felt the warmth of it wrap around her. If one of the sheriff’s deputies hadn’t cleared his throat to get her to step aside, she would have stood in that moment too long.

  Instead, she grinned at Reid. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As she walked out of the courtroom with Reid beside her, she felt the stare at her back. She whipped around, but didn’t see anyone who looked out of place.

  “You okay?” Reid studied her with a curious air.

  “Sure.” She couldn’t let him see how spooked she was by ghosts.

  “If you need help, you can tell me.”

  “I’m fine.” She pushed out a breath and turned to him. “Here’s the thing. Sometimes I see someone watching from a parking lot. And I find anonymous notes in my purse or bag.”

  “Or flowers sent without a signature.”

  She nodded. “That’s only happened once, and my office still smells good.” She broke from his intense focus. “Then I sense someone watching me everywhere.”

  “Should I go get the bailiff?”

  “No.” The word came out more forceful than she’d intended, and she sighed. “There’s nothing to tell him.”

  Reid quickly changed his clothes and ran through his notes one more time. When he reached Fletcher & Associates, the lobby had been transformed with soft lighting and a string quartet posted at the top of the stairs. Mr. Fletcher paced in front of them, looking like a penguin in a tuxedo.

  “I feel overdressed, Mr. Billings.”

  “You look great.” Reid bit back a nervous chuckle. His solid navy suit suddenly looked two steps too casual. “Have you seen Simone?”

  “I’m over here.” She waved as she stepped from beside the stairs, a roll of duct tape slipped onto her wrist like an oversized bracelet. “Everything’s taped down. The caterer is about set up. And the quartet has warmed up. All I need is your presentation and the guests.”

  “I’ll have the first for you in five.” Reid hurried down the hall to his office and quickly finished the slide deck. It might not be perfect, but it was the best he could do. He prayed it would be enough.

  Annabelle stopped at his door, looking killer in a navy dress that hugged her form and had threads of glimmer to it. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. How about the guys?”

  “Headed downstairs as we speak. Time to wow the prospects.” She sashayed away as he put on his suitcoat and turned off his office lights.

  The night was a blur of glad-handing those who came, talking about their unique circumstances, and addressing the ways the firm could help each. Then Reid made the short presentation, answering the questions that flew at him, energized by the back and forth nature of the exchange.

  As the evening wrapped, Mr. Fletcher found him. “Very well done. I had two sign agreements tonight. Many others mentioned how impressed they were.”

  “Thank you, but it wasn’t my idea. My team came together and made this happen.”

  “I like the way you say that.” Mr. Fletcher patted his shoulder with a glint in his eye. “A team is almost always more effective. I’d say you have a lock on this competition.”

  Reid let the words settle on him. “Thank you.”

  “I see someone else to get on contract. See you Monday.” With that Fletcher walked across the lobby to one of the key prospects. The man had asked intelligent questions and seemed pleased by Reid’s responses. That was the best he could hope for.

  After the last prospect left, the caterer had wrapped the last leftover veggie platter, and the band was gone, Reid called everyone together. “Great work. I think we can call this a success. Thanks to Annabelle for the idea and Simone for the implementation. We did our job, and Mr. Fletcher was pleased.”

  As they high-fived and fist-bumped, Reid let the satisfaction soak through him. Now to bring Kinley home.

  CHAPTER 40

  The doorman gave her an inquiring once-over as she approached the door to Reid’s building, burdened with paint and supplies.

  “Miss?” His high tone would have made her laugh if she hadn’t had so many butterflies raging in their chaotic circus act. While Reid had come to her townhome, this was her first foray to his place. A part of her still screamed she shouldn’t be here, that there was too much temptation to fall headlong for the man. The other part justified it, arguing that Kinley had to have a place to come home to. Emilie was choosing to listen to that part.

  “I’m here to see Reid Billings.”

  His eyebrows rose, and Emilie resisted the urge to thrust her hands on her hips and stick out her tongue, a feat that was impossible while holding a gallon of paint and bags of brushes and drop cloths. Reid hadn’t warned her there was a guard dog at the entrance. As she glanced through the plate glass windows on either side of the door she wanted to groan. There was a security desk inside too.

  The doorman looked past her as if listening to some voice. Only then did she notice the thin, curly cord coming down from his ear. That tight of security? Really? Even her family didn’t have that in her dad’s most paranoid moments. She hadn’t realized Reid operated in this space. Though if they could get Kinley home with Reid, these extra layers would be a good idea. Robert Adams seemed the type to push his way into control anywhere he went, but the doorman would disabuse him of that.

  “All right, miss. Charlie will clear you through the lobby.” He opened the door for her with a slight bow of his shoulders and chin. It made her wonder if he’d been a fan of Downton Abbey.

  “Thank you.” She tried to glide through with the haughty air Lady Mary had worn, but knew she probably looked ridiculous.

  Five minutes later she stepped from the elevator onto the fourth floor. Four doors spun out from the short hallway, and she quickly gained her bearings. She juggled the bags, then rang the doorbell on a plain door, the only one without a posted number.

  A moment later she heard footsteps, and she stepped slightly back, wondering in a crazy way if there might be a butler on the way.

  The door opened, and Reid appeared with a lazy grin on his face. Gosh, he looked . . .
perfect . . . even though he wore ratty khaki shorts and an old DC Talk T-shirt that had to have been washed a hundred times. There was something about how comfortable he was in his skin that made her want to melt. He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to curl on top.

  “You came.”

  “I told you I would.”

  “It involves paint and work. Maybe a little sweat.” His eyes dared her to tell him what she was thinking, but she wouldn’t.

  Some thoughts weren’t meant to be shared. Not yet.

  Especially when the thoughts whispered a forever call she’d steeled her heart against. She needed to remember how undependable men were, but as she looked at Reid she wanted to chuck that conviction to the side and run straight into the arms that were crossed so casually over his chest. She had no doubt he would catch her.

  The silence stretched, and she cleared her throat before holding up her bags and paint can. “I brought paintbrushes and snacks.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Snacks?”

  “One can’t work without proper sustenance.”

  “And that is . . .”

  “Double Stuf Oreos and gummy bears.” She grinned.

  “Of course. I have mint tea in the fridge. Should be the perfect accompaniment to a gourmet array like that.” He reached for the paint. “Let me take that for you.”

  “Well, if you don’t have milk, mint tea will do.” Still her heart sang. How many guys would notice a woman’s taste in tea? And go out of his way to provide it? She felt her heart expand. “Can I come in, or are we going to stand in the hallway flirting all afternoon?”

  He snorted and then stepped back with a sweep of his arm. “Welcome to my abode.”

  That he could live in this building in this zip code told her a lot about his net worth, but the way he furnished it said Pottery Barn simple. The lines were clean with lots of dark wood and beige upholstery. The wood flooring had a slight reddish tinge to it, enough to warm up the space. And the white walls had a swig of yellow to keep them from glaring.

  They took another step forward, and her jaw dropped. The focal point of the living room was a highly polished baby grand.

  “Do you play that?”

  “I do. My grandma taught me in an RV when we traveled. It kept me busy. Now it’s therapy.”

  She turned and studied the way the art was arranged on the walls.

  “Approve?” His hand landed at the small of her back as he guided her down the hallway past the living area toward the small galley kitchen.

  “It’s . . .” She let him wonder as he leaned closer, and her breath caught. “Nice.”

  “Nice?” His eyebrows shot up. “All right. I can live with nice.” He stopped next to the kitchen island. “Set your bag here, and I’ll show you Kinley’s room. Then you can decide how we start.”

  “All right.” That should be interesting, if she could quit staring at him and feeling her heart lurch about her chest.

  It was crazy watching Emilie take in his home. She didn’t gush the way some women did. Neither did she seem overwhelmed by the over-the-top security. When he’d found the apartment, he’d liked the location more than the protection. Now that he hoped to bring Kinley here, it seemed like all the wisdom in the world to have the double layer. If you got past the doormen and the security guard to the elevator, chances were good you were supposed to be there.

  Emilie’s eyes widened as she spotted the Remington model on the table against the wall.

  “That’s not real, is it?”

  “No. Just an excellent reproduction.”

  “Well, that’s good news.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my dad owns the original. At least that’s what everyone’s told him.”

  Her words startled a laugh from him. “Your dad owns an original Remington?”

  She shrugged. “He liked it, so Mom bought it for their thirtieth anniversary.”

  “That’s quite a gift.”

  “You should see what he got her.”

  So she was one of those Wesleys. Interesting. He’d resisted doing research, instead wanting to learn her story naturally. He waited for her to continue, but she took a short promenade around the room. “All right, I’ll bite. What did he get her?”

  “A vacuum.”

  “Really?” What would pop out of her mouth next? “Did it compare well?”

  “Yep. It was the one time she allowed him to buy something that plugged in as a gift.” She glanced at him, eyes dancing with joy. What he wouldn’t give to bottle that up and diffuse it around the town that took itself too seriously.

  “What?” The joy slowly leeched from her eyes. “Do I have something on my face?”

  He leaned toward her and touched her cheek. She stilled, and he felt time stop as her lips parted, whether in surprise or agreement, he wasn’t sure. “It looks perfect from here.” Her eyes invited him closer, and he took a half step. “Emilie, I’d like nothing more than to—”

  Her phone rang, some princess-sounding ditty, and she jerked back from him. “I’d better make sure that’s not a client.”

  Reid nodded, inwardly cursing the call, even though it had saved him from going somewhere neither of them was ready to head.

  “Jordan? Oh, hi.”

  Jordan? Not Jordan Westfall, the guy who could own two dozen Remingtons, real ones. When she hung up and turned back to him, her professional mask was in place. The one that would treat him kindly but maintain a clear do-not-cross line.

  “Where’s her room?”

  “Right. Down this way.” He guided her down the hall, but it didn’t feel the same. The electricity between them had vanished with the call.

  Reid had closed the door to his room and now steered her to what had been his man cave. What would Emilie think of the room? It had the required four walls, a door that locked, and a closet big enough to hold clothes for a small village. It also had an adjoining private bathroom. What more could a girl want?

  That was just it—he didn’t know. But Emilie would. He slanted a glance at her as she walked into the room; it felt small with all the furniture pulled toward the center, away from the walls. He’d ask Brandon to help move it to storage and his exercise equipment to the corner of his own bedroom. Then he’d get a bed and other furniture for Kinley. Or maybe he should wait until he knew if she’d need a special hospital bed for a while. The thought made his heart freeze. The journey she’d experienced was one no one should experience, and he wanted to protect her.

  “Hey, none of that.” Emilie must have read the anxiety in his face. “She’ll be okay, and we’ll get her here.” There was oomph to her words, yet as she showed him the pale lavender shade she’d selected he wondered if she believed her brave words. They had a long road to complete while the clock ran faster all the time.

  He shook the can of paint while she applied painter’s tape around the baseboards. “How many cans do you have?”

  “Just the one. I hope it’ll be enough.” She sat back on her heels and studied the walls. “I didn’t want to buy too much, but covering this brown might take an extra coat.” She kept taping from a position that looked like some funky yoga pose.

  He checked the gallon. “You got the paint with primer, so we should be fine. It goes on thicker.” He pulled out his phone and piped music through a speaker, then placed tarps over the carpet while she prepped the paintbrushes. “Sure you don’t want to roll?”

  “Oh no.” Her voice was adamant. “The last time I did that I had speckles all over my clothes and hands. Maybe my face too.”

  He laughed at the image. “I can picture that.”

  “I looked like I was trying to be a Smurf or had blue chicken pox. Not my finest hour.” She held up a brush with a sharp angle. “I’ll use this to edge.”

  The time passed quickly as they worked around the room, making easy conversation.

  Her intrigue factor escalated as he learned her favorite movies (chick flicks with a fair mix of epic movies), favor
ite novels (Pride and Prejudice and To Kill a Mockingbird), and favorite vacation destination (mountains every time). It would take time to piece together what all of this revealed, but he wanted to peel back more layers in the pursuit of her heart.

  He’d never considered pursuing a woman’s heart before. Any dates he’d had might be enjoyable, but he’d never seen any type of long-term future . . . until Emilie. And it felt too new to allow his thoughts to travel that direction. If their legal pursuit was successful, he’d also be extremely busy with Kinley. He’d never had a child, let alone a ten-year-old.

  As the paint went on the wall, the color had a richness that paled as it dried into a color that reminded him of fields of lavender he’d seen in southern France. “I hope Kinley likes it.”

  He didn’t voice the hope that she’d even get to see it.

  Emilie set the brush down in the tray, stood, and then slowly arched her back and twisted her neck from side to side. “This is a tween’s dream room. Wait until we get it decorated.”

  Should he mention the streak of paint on her cheek? Nah. He kind of liked the soft, vulnerable look it gave her. Like she was little more than a kid herself. But as she came to stand next to him and leaned her head against his shoulder to admire the room, he knew she wasn’t a kid. She was all woman. A rare breed of professional and caring. Sweet and spicy. Engaging and contained. And as she offered him a Double Stuf Oreo, utterly adorable.

  CHAPTER 41

  There was one thing Emilie would never admit to another soul. Clothes scared her. Hayden would never believe it, choosing instead to accept the carefully crafted image Emilie had created. If her best friend didn’t understand this intimate detail about her, then Emilie knew she was destined to be misunderstood.

  Strangely, that idea didn’t bother her, except today.

  Now that she needed to dress for an evening with Jordan, she felt ill equipped. He was far wealthier than her family, and if she were honest, that intimidated her. She also felt weird about accepting his invitation. He’d caught her on the phone at Reid’s, and rather than get into an awkward conversation Reid could hear, she’d said yes. Now she had to honor that promise, even though she wanted nothing more than a night at home in yoga pants and a tee. Muscles in her arms and back ached from her full afternoon of painting the day before.