Reasonable Doubt

by Whitney Gracia Williams

  I shut my eyes, letting my other hand squeeze my breast, letting my thumb pinch my nipple.

  “I’m giving you two weeks to come to your fucking senses...”

  “What?”

  “Two weeks,” he whispered. “That’s when you and I are going to meet face to face, and I’m going to claim every inch of you.”

  “I can’t...I can’t agree to...that.”

  “You will.” His breathing was now in sync with mine. “And the second you do, you’re going to invite me over and I’m going to remind you of everything you’ve teased me with over the past six months.”

  I was speechless. My clit was swelling with each rub of my finger, and my breaths were getting shorter and shorter.

  “I’ll be gentle at first,” he whispered, “especially when I slide my cock into your mouth and pull on your hair, showing you exactly how I like it to be sucked.”

  “Stop...” I was panting. “Please...Stop...”

  “Trust me, I won’t.”

  “Thoreau...” My legs were trembling.

  “I can’t just talk to you anymore. I need to feel you, I need to taste you. Say yes to two weeks...”

  I bit my lip, knowing that if he said it again, if he asked me one more time, I would say yes.

  “Alyssa...” He was begging.

  I was seconds away from coming, seconds away from screaming “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “Promise me you’ll let me fuck you in two weeks...”

  As if my mouth was under his command, it freed my bottom lip and prepared to say yes, but I hung up.

  Keeping my eyes shut, I lay in bed and let the waves of an orgasm roll through me as I screamed the three yeses he couldn’t hear. When I finally stopped shaking, I rolled over and grabbed a pillow, pulling it to my chest.

  Before I could force myself to sleep, I heard my phone ringing beneath me.

  It was a text from Thoreau. “I’ll take that as a yes. Fourteen days.”

  Burden of Proof (n.):

  The obligation to prove or disprove a disputed fact.

  Andrew

  “Did I tell you that I landed the leading role for that ballet I auditioned for?” Alyssa said to me the next morning.

  I’d been talking to her since I arrived at work, but I’d made no mention of the fact that she’d hung up in my face last night; I was going to punish her for that later. Severely.

  Thirteen days...

  “Did I tell you about it?” she asked again.

  “No, and if you’re not going to tell me when and where the show is, then I don’t care.”

  “Oh, wow.” She laughed. “You’re mad about last night, aren’t you?”

  “Furious.”

  “Because I hung up?”

  “Because I know you screamed yes when you came, and you hung up because you didn’t want me to hear it.”

  She was silent, and I was about to say something else, but Jessica suddenly stepped into my office, smiling at me.

  “Hold on one second.” I put my phone against my chest. “Yes, Jessica?”

  “The final interviews are going to start in twenty minutes. They need you in the conference room now.”

  “I’ll get there when I get there.” I acted as if the kiss she was now blowing me wasn’t happening, and waited until she closed the door. “I’ll have to call you back later, Alyssa. I have a meeting.”

  “Must be bad timing for both of us. I have a meeting, too.”

  “Your doomed gunshot client?”

  “No, something much worse. An intern interview.”

  “Must be in the air then.” I sighed as I slipped into my jacket. “I have to sit through a few of them myself, unfortunately.”

  “Any advice you want to share?”

  “Try to look like you’re actually paying attention while they answer the questions, and make sure your cell phone is fully charged so you can get on the internet.”

  “Not for me.” She laughed. “For the interns. Something I should say if one of them is nervous.”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “Tell them my motto.”

  “And what motto would that be?”

  “It is what it is.”

  “Why do I ever ask you anything?”

  “Because I always tell you the truth.” I hung up.

  “Mr. Hamilton?” Jessica stepped into my office again. “They want you to look over the files before they begin.”

  “I’m right behind you.” I followed her into the conference room, where Will Greenwood and George Bach were waiting, and I sat next to them.

  “Good to see you out of your office today, Andrew.” Will laughed.

  “Yeah,” George added. “Thank you for bestowing your presence upon us this afternoon. We know how much you love being sociable.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why do the three of us need to conduct intern interviews? What’s the purpose of having an HR department if the partners do their job for them?”

  “This is a family, Andrew.” Mr. Greenwood spoke sternly. “Whether it’s an intern, the secretary, or the young man who stays overnight and cleans this office, I want everyone to feel like they’re a part of a huge family. Don’t you?”

  “I’m not answering that,” I said. “How many are we picking this year?”

  “Not too many.” Will slid me a folder. “We have our top five picks. We just need to narrow it down to three. Two from law school, one from pre-law. We’ll add two more next semester.”

  “Hmmm.” I pulled out the applications and pretended to pay attention as the two of them went over each applicant’s achievements.

  “Okay, Jessica!” Will pressed the intercom button. “You can send in the first applicant!”

  When the door opened, I expected to see the usual plainly dressed stiff with a wooden smile, but the woman who stepped inside was far from that. Dressed in a light grey dress that clung to her hips and a pair of nude high heels, she was one of the sexiest women I’d ever seen; I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  Her eyes were a deep ocean blue that matched the sapphire necklace hanging around her neck. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail—the loose strands slightly grazed her breasts, and her lips—her bright pink, fuck-able lips, seemed to be mouthing words of some kind.

  I have no idea what you’re saying...

  As I was noticing the pink bra strap that had slipped from underneath her dress and onto her bare shoulder, her stunning eyes met mine. I raised my eyebrow and she blushed. Then she immediately turned away, looking at my partners.

  “Welcome to GBH, Miss Everhart,” George said. “We’re happy that you’re here for an interview, but as you know we can only select one undergraduate intern for our program at this time.”

  “I understand, sir.” Her eyes met mine again, and my cock twitched.

  I tried to stop the images that were flooding my brain, images of me bending this woman over the table, fucking her against my office wall, and tying her hands above her head and torturing her with my tongue all night, but they wouldn’t stop. Each image dissolved into another one, and before I knew it, I’d visually undressed her and there was no one in this room but the two of us.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Attracted to a prospective intern? An UNDERGRADUATE intern?

  “Well, let’s get started then.” George interrupted my thoughts. “Mr. Hamilton, would you care to start with the first question?”

  “Not particularly,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that Miss Everhart was smoothing her dress over her thighs.

  He nudged me under the table and whispered under his breath, “Family, Andrew...Family.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why do you want to be a lawyer, Miss Everhart?”

  “I enjoy screwing people over,” she said. “I figure I might as well get paid for it.”

  My lips curved into a smile, and George and Will laughed.

  “In all seriousness, gentlemen,” she continued, “I come from a large family of lawyers and judges; it’s what I’ve known my
whole life. I know the justice system is far from perfect, but nothing makes me happier than seeing it at its best. There’s no greater feeling than working for the good of society.”

  “Good answer,” Will said. “Now, we’re going to ask you a series of questions regarding the real-world case study packets that we mailed you. Were you able to complete everything?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Great. Question number one: Your client walks into a federal bank with a loaded gun in his pocket. Upon being brushed by a stranger, the gun fires—shooting him in the leg. Regarding the charges that the prosecution filed, how would you have your client plead?”

  “What?” I looked over at him. “Could you repeat that question, Will?”

  “The prompt?”

  “Whatever you just asked.”

  He nodded and happily repeated it, putting extra emphasis on the crime of walking into a bank with a loaded firearm.

  My mind immediately flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Alyssa last night.

  I smiled, thinking that maybe Alyssa’s “friend” was a headline story in the local news, that maybe I could figure out who she was without her telling me. I pulled out my phone and held it underneath the conference table, googling “Man shoots himself in federal bank. North Carolina.”

  Nothing relevant appeared.

  Hmmm...

  “How would you make him plead, Miss Everhart?” Will asked again.

  “No contest,” she said quickly.

  “No contest?” He sounded slightly impressed. “Why so?”

  “He doesn’t have a license to carry, so I’m sure the prosecution will try to make it seem like he carried that gun into the bank for a reason. Regardless of if he only hurt himself, he’s looking at a prison sentence, so we could bypass the trial and try to limit it to the lowest terms possible.”

  I blinked, refusing to believe that her answer was anything more than a coincidence. As a matter of fact, as soon as she started to further explain her logic, I knew that it was; only a student would start talking about “emotional appeal” right after a no contest plea.

  As Will and George continued to pepper her with questions, I googled variations of that federal gun case. “Man fires gun in bank.” “No contest plea in federal bank case.” “Man injures himself in bank shooting.”

  Still, nothing.

  “Miss Everhart, are there any lawyers that you wish to model your own career after?” Greg asked.

  “Yes, actually,” she said. “I’ve always admired the career of Liam Henderson.”

  “Liam Henderson?” I raised my eyebrow. “Who is that?” Usually, interviewees named a federal judge, a well-known prosecutor, or a familiar district attorney. But an unknown? Never.

  “Well, he made history as the youngest lawyer to ever uncover a government conspiracy, and he—”

  I tuned out her answer. I’d just thought of another phrase to google.

  “Interesting choice, Miss Everhart,” Will said. “Do you have any current mentors in the law profession besides your family members?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you in close contact with this mentor? If so, how often?”

  “We talk almost every day, so I’d like to think that we’re close.”

  Why isn’t this case popping up? If it’s a “federal” bank shooting, it should be plastered all over the papers...

  “Would your mentor be able to speak to us, or send a letter regarding your character?” Will was definitely impressed with this woman, and she had this job. The second set of questions he had yet to ask weren’t really necessary.

  “I’m sure I could ask him to do that if need be,” she said just as I was starting a new web search.

  “Great. So, tell us, what’s the last bit of advice that your mentor gave you?”

  I looked at my watch. As soon as today’s interviews were over, I was going to call Alyssa about this case. Maybe she’d fudged some of the details to continue shrouding her identity.

  “When I told him I was nervous about my interview today,” Miss Everhart said softly, “he told me, it is what it is.”

  My head immediately shot up.

  “Did he now?” George clutched his chest, laughing. “That sounds like something our Andrew would say!” He patted me on the shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Andrew?”

  “Yes.” I narrowed my eyes at ‘Miss Everhart.’ “That sounds exactly like something I would say...”

  She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be sure to tell my mentor that someone actually enjoys his odd sense of humor.”

  “Please do.” I watched as she answered the next questions with ease, as she barely blinked her big blue eyes when the questions became tougher. And the more I heard her talk, the more I heard the familiarities of her speech pattern, I had to force myself not to fucking lose it.

  One coincidence was fine, but two? Damn near unfathomable.

  As they asked her about her favorite inspirational quotes, I scrolled down to Alyssa’s number and dialed. I knew for a fact that she never silenced her phone for some strange reason, and I had to know if what I was thinking was true, or if my mind was playing a cruel joke on me.

  I could see the rings on my phone’s screen, see the seconds as they passed, and when it rang three times, I let out a huge sigh of relief. But then the sound of bell chimes filled the room.

  “I am so sorry.” Miss Everhart’s cheeks turned pink and she picked up her purse. “I have a weird thing about never putting this on silent...I really meant to leave it in my car.” She pulled out her phone, slightly smiling once she looked at the screen, and then she hit ignore.

  WHAT. THE. FUCK!

  “Happens all the time.” Will laughed. “We were going on and on anyway. It’s a good thing it went off so we can close out with the final questions. Anything from you, Andrew?”

  I glared at ‘Alyssa’. I was confused, pissed, and unfortunately aroused all at once.

  “Andrew?”

  “No,” I said, noticing that she was blushing again. “I have absolutely nothing to say.”

  Will and Greg both stood up and smiled, reaching out to shake her hand, but I remained seated.

  I couldn’t believe this shit.

  She wasn’t a green-eyed redhead like she’d said over the phone, far from being a licensed lawyer, and she was a fucking liar...

  “Mr. Hamilton?” She was standing in front of me with her hand outstretched. “Thank you for interviewing me today. It was an absolute pleasure meeting you.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine.” I shook her hand, trying my best to ignore the smooth softness of her touch. “Good luck.”

  She nodded, said goodbye to the three of us once more, and then she left the room.

  As Will and George discussed how impressed they were with her interview, I forced myself to look through her file.

  Double major student at Duke: Pre-law and Ballet. Perfect 4.0 GPA. Recently cast as the lead of Swan Lake, recently listed in the top ten percent of her class. There were ten letters of recommendation in her folder—all from impeccable lawyers; there was even one from the newly appointed assistant district attorney.

  As amazing as her personal accomplishments were, it was her birthdate that stood out to me the most. She was twenty two.

  Twenty fucking two.

  And, even though she was the most accomplished out of all the undergraduates, she wasn’t even a senior.

  She was a junior...

  ***

  I ignored Alyssa’s text tonight, the one that read, “If you haven’t found another unfortunate date for tonight, call me when you see this.”

  I was too angry to say anything to her. After all the hours we’d spent on the phone, all the times that I’d told her that I hated liars, she’d lied to me. Repeatedly.

  I’d wanted to vote no for her employment, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Once we’d finished with the last interview of the day, the decision on the top pick w
as unanimous: Aubrey Everhart.

  Yet, while they frenziedly weighed the pros and cons of the other applicants, I sat there in a daze—angry with myself for not seeing through all of Aubrey’s lies earlier.

  In the six months that we’d spoken, she’d always asked questions that were a little too simple, questions that sometimes made me wonder, but I never thought twice about it. She’d mentioned Duke University a few times, but she never talked about it for long and she always made it seem as if she’d graduated from there. But her constant talk of how she wanted her parents’ approval and had conflicted feelings between choosing dance and the law should have been a dead ass giveaway.

  At this point, I wasn’t sure which lie to be more upset about: The fact that she wasn’t a lawyer, the fact that she was still in college, or the fact that she’d lied about her physical appearance.

  Pouring my sixth shot of the night, I realized that that last lie—although irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, was the one that hit me the hardest. She was definitely my ‘type,’ and the second she walked into that interview I wanted her, before I found out who she really was, before I found out her age.

  Tossing back a shot, I heard my phone ringing. Her.

  I rolled my eyes and let it sit on the table. I grabbed one of my last Cuban cigars and stepped out onto my balcony. I needed to think.

  The sky was starless tonight—nearly pitch black, and the moon was hiding underneath a curtain of dark clouds. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, tonight’s sky bore a horrid resemblance to a certain night that occurred six years ago.

  It was the night my life changed forever, the night that left me broken, shattered, and numb. All because of lies—a series of heartbreaking and inconceivable lies.

  I tried hard to prevent myself from picturing the memories, but I could still hear that strained, ragged voice in my head: “Andrew...You have to help me...You have to get me out of here...Please... Save me, Andrew...”

  I shook my head and blocked out the rest of that memory. Unlike six years ago, I was in control of this situation, and “Alyssa” lying to me meant that our friendship was over, done.

  There was no justification for what she’d done, but before I cut her off, I needed to make her pay for lying to me, and I needed to figure out how.