In Her Defense
By Julianna Keyes
Caitlin Dufresne has never loved anyone as much as she loves winning. A ruthless fifth-year associate at an elite Chicago firm, she’s on the fast track to partner...until a stupid, serious error enrages her bosses. Caitlin’s continued refusal to share work—or credit—lands her a forced two-week vacation. She needs to “regroup” and “learn to be part of a team, not just the star.”
When she meets Eli Grant, head of the firm’s IT department, Caitlin knows the overgrown frat boy isn’t her type. But too much alcohol and a very public game of Truth or Dare turn into a dirty, breathless one-night stand. Which turns into a (mostly naked) two-week fling. Which turns into something that makes Caitlin incredibly nervous, despite the great sex.
Eli shows her the many upsides to sleeping in, and for the first time ever, Caitlin has more than the law waiting for her at home. But when she returns to the office and the relentless demands of a high-profile case, Caitlin must decide if winning this one is worth losing Eli forever.
Book two of Time Served
91,530 words
Dear Reader,
I don’t know about you, but I need more hours in my day just so I can get more books read. No matter how much I read, I always feel like the next great book is right around the corner waiting for me, and that there just aren’t enough hours in the day to get to everything I want to read. I love my job, but sometimes I wish I’d win the lottery so I could just spend my days reading.
This month’s Carina Press releases will have you wishing you could just spend days reading, because it’s an incredible lineup of books from Marie Force, Shannon Stacey, Lisa Marie Rice and so many other talented authors. You won’t want to take a pass on any of them!
Sam and Nick are back in Marie Force’s romantic suspense Fatal Frenzy. With Inauguration Day fast approaching, Sam’s loyalties are divided between a heartbreaking case at work and her need to support Nick as he takes the oath of office as vice president. You won’t be able to turn the pages fast enough to find out what happens next! Don’t forget, the first seven books in the Fatal series are now available in print, starting with Fatal Affair!
Shannon Stacey launches a brand-new trilogy this month, and it’s available in print, digital and audio. What do you get when you mix the sexiness of Boston firefighters with Shannon’s trademark humor and romance? In Heat Exchange, the first book in this hot new contemporary romance trilogy, meet Aidan Hunt, one of the men of Boston Fire, and the woman he just can’t stay away from, bro code or no, Lydia Kincaid. Look for Controlled Burn, Rick’s story, in December 2015.
Love the Men of Midnight series by Lisa Marie Rice? Never picked one up before? Don’t miss this sexy, sexy installment of her cracktastic romantic suspense series. The boy Summer Redding loved and thought dead is back—now he’s a hardened warrior, a man out for revenge, and he’ll fight to the death to protect what is his, and that includes her. Midnight Fire can easily stand alone, but you’ll want to pick up the other books in this series as soon as you turn the last page.
In another cracktastic read, Caitlin Dufresne swears she doesn’t regret any of the sacrifices she’s made in her ruthless quest to be the best lawyer at her elite Chicago firm, but a one-night stand with the sexy, stubborn IT guy makes her realize she may have been missing out on more than she knew... In Her Defense by Julianna Keyes is a sexy contemporary romance that will hit all the right buttons.
Also in the sexy contemporary romance category this month is author Jill Sorenson with Shooting Dirty. Seasoned stripper Janelle Parker gets tied up in a dangerously sexy affair with Ace Clemmons, the tattooed criminal who shot her ex. Now she has to deal with both him and his motorcycle club.
A.M. Arthur’s popular Restoration Series wraps up with another great male/male romance, Taking a Chance. The last thing Ell wants is a broken heart, but that doesn’t stop him lusting after the sexy carpenter working on his kitchen. Auggie can’t stay away from Ell, but intense attraction may not be enough to overcome a secret from their shared past.
If you read Caitlyn McFarland’s debut dragonshifter romance, Soul of Smoke, you’ll be anxious to get your hands on Shadow of Flame, the second book in her Dragonsworn series. To end a war that has raged for a thousand years, Kai Monahan and Rhys ap Ayen, her shapeshifting dragon mate, must navigate a labyrinthine network of spies, prejudice and divided loyalties—but if they can’t stop denying how much they need each other first, they’ll lose everything to an enemy they never saw coming.
Maybe mystery is what you’re craving this month? In Cover Story, another intriguing mystery by Brenda Buchanan, Maine newspaper reporter Joe Gale’s vigorous coverage of a murder trial involving a member of a high-profile political family leads to a relentless campaign of intimidation by a shadowy force determined to keep the truth buried.
Also this month, Dee Carney starts a new paranormal romance series, Fire Creek Shifters. All shifters live with their beasts, but in Taming Her Wolf Chris “Brick” Preston’s is dangerously close to the surface. And it wants Kim Sharpe. Sex keeps the beast sated for now, but unless Kim can help him find a more permanent solution, Brick risks becoming a feral, doomed to be banished—or put down—by his pack.
With all of these to choose from, you might want to call in sick to work one day. (I’ll write you an editor’s note. I’m sure your boss will accept that, right?)
Until next month, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Contents
Who Is Caitlyn Dufresne?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Excerpt from Time Served by Julianna Keyes
Acknowledgments
Also by Julianna Keyes
About the Author
Who Is
Caitlin Dufresne?
By River Smith, Chicago’s Finest Lifestyle Editor
If you’ve never heard of Caitlin Dufresne, you are a member of a small minority. Even now, our appointment scheduled weeks ago, she is in demand, desk and cell phone ringing, secretaries, paralegals and fellow lawyers knocking on her door.
We meet in her corner office on the thirty-second floor of the famous King Building in downtown Chicago, a tidy, efficient space done in neutral grays with white accents and limited accessories. Her Yale degrees hang next to a silver plaque etched with the famous Veni, Vidi, Vici phrase. On another wall, a painting whose price tag undoubtedly ran five figures does its best to compete with the stunning city views, but the most eye-catching thing in the room is Dufresne herself.
Our cover photo does her no justice. In fact, it’s entirely possible there’s no justice in the world, because it’s not fair that someone can be this beautiful, this smart a
nd this successful, at just thirty-one. And yet, here she is. In the flesh. Very much real. And very much in demand, I’m reminded when I hesitate before asking a question and a flash of irritation flitters across her face, making her check her watch, her phone, her constantly uploading email.
Dufresne was in demand before settling the famous Fowler case earlier this year, and now it would seem there is no one in the world who doesn’t want a piece of her. (If you’re in the aforementioned minority that is not familiar with her work, the Fowler case is the massive class action suit brought against a manufacturer who used a carcinogenic cleaner that destroyed the lives of thousands of low-income workers.) Class action cases can drag on interminably, but with Dufresne at the helm, it was settled in less than a year for an eight-figure amount that left jaws on the floor.
Because that’s just what Caitlin Dufresne does, folks. She comes, she sees and she conquers.
(Article continued on page 61.)
Chapter One
Whoever said it was lonely at the top was wrong.
My father wore the phrase like a badge of honor, trotting it out on special occasions, reminding everyone that he had started his own law firm at the age of twenty-eight and quickly turned it into one of New York’s top practices. It wasn’t easy, he pointed out frequently, usually when explaining why he couldn’t come to my softball games—tennis matches, swim meets, debates or soccer tournaments—and I’d never doubted him. He and my mother lived together but apart, sharing a home and two daughters, but little more. They’d been happy enough with their arrangement, and I’d considered it a by-product of success.
Sometimes, on the rare night he was home before bed, he’d take me up to the roof and we’d study the blinking city below. I looked up to my father in every way, took his wisdom as gospel and vowed to follow in his footsteps, but I knew then as I know now, that he was wrong. It’s not lonely at the top—it’s the top.
He was right about the other part, though: it’s not easy, and he didn’t make it easy on me, either. Everyone assumed I’d work with my father and rise swiftly through the ranks at his firm, Dufresne Proctor, but I’d known since age twelve, when I announced that I’d be attending Yale, then Yale Law, then becoming a lawyer just like him, that I would never work at his side. He told me people would call it nepotism and refuse to take me seriously. I had my father’s drive but my mother’s looks, and people saw three things when they looked at me: blond hair, blue eyes and big breasts.
Despite the fact that I moved to Chicago without knowing a soul, interviewed at a dozen different firms and ultimately accepted an entry-level position with Sterling, Morgan & Haines, people still refuse to believe that I’ve worked for everything I have. Growing up, teachers complained to my parents that I didn’t work well with others. Even now I don’t pawn off less appealing tasks to paralegals or junior associates; I do the work myself. Some people call it vain or selfish, but I call it getting things done, and it’s served me well in my five years at the firm. It’s why I’m the best.
It’s also why I’m at the office at 11:17 p.m. on a Saturday when nearly everyone else has gone home to be with their wives or husbands or cats, or whatever it is people do when they’re not here. The thirty-second floor of the King Building in downtown Chicago isn’t the top of the world, but on clear summer nights like this, it feels pretty damn close.
I worked my ass off to make it this far, and for some people, this is as good as it gets. But not for me. The company plans to launch a new office in Los Angeles this fall, and I’m the one they’ve selected to head it up. A new city, an office on the forty-fourth floor and guaranteed fast track to partner. Right on schedule.
I’ve got dozens of active cases, but at the moment my focus is my biggest client, Teller Manufacturing, a home appliance maker being sued by a woman who makes her living fabricating lawsuits. I could win this single-handedly, but the partners have insisted on assigning a second lawyer to the case, even when I could get things done ten times faster on my own. Right now I’m saddled with a fellow fifth-year named Arthur Wong. We started at the firm on the same day, but that’s where the similarities end. I win where Arthur loses; I push where he pulls. I stand out where he shrinks back; I am competent where he is... “Arthur?”
“Yes?” His head pops up from beneath the conference table.
“What are you doing down there?”
“I’m...looking for something.”
A backbone? Legal acumen? Confidence?
“You’re hiding from the picture again, aren’t you?”
“What, um... What?”
Working with Arthur is like toting around one of those fake babies they use to discourage teenage pregnancy: pointless and cumbersome. He’s as helpless and hapless as a newborn, cries at least half as often and I have not learned anything from the experience.
“Do you need a tissue?” I ask when he sniffles.
“No, thanks. I have one.”
“It’s a photo of a finger, Arthur. The woman is still alive.”
“I know.”
“And she’s suing our client.”
“I know.” Shaky breath.
“She’s a manipulative liar who hacked off her pinkie in order to come after Teller for millions of dollars.”
“I know! I just have allergies.” Now he does snatch up a tissue, dabbing at his eyes.
“For Christ’s sake.” I restack the evidence photographs. “Stop looking at the pictures if they aggravate your ‘allergies.’”
He looks relieved but merely says, “We should probably wrap up for the day,” as he randomly tucks papers into his briefcase. “It’s getting late.”
“It’s quarter after eleven.” I take a sip of my energy drink, underscoring the message that we’ve still got lots to do.
“At night.”
“We’ll be here until we’re done. You’re deposing Petra Moreno next week, and you’re nowhere close to ready.”
“Yeah, um, about that...” He carefully refastens his briefcase. It’s monogrammed. A.W. As in, Aw, as in pity, the sentiment he most inspires in people.
“What about it, Arthur?”
People who want to win work until they succeed, they don’t go home because they’re tired or hungry or their wife recorded The Amazing Race. How Arthur managed to get hired is a mystery. He dresses the part, but that’s as close as he comes to belonging here. His short black hair sticks out in every direction, there’s an unidentified stain on his silk tie and one of his shoelaces is perpetually undone. Nothing about him inspires confidence, not even when he manages to stare at me without blinking for twenty full seconds.
I sigh. “Did you forget what you were going to say?”
“Um...”
“It may have been about the Moreno deposition.”
“Yes. Right. I’m not sure we should be doing this.”
I roll my eyes. We’ve had this conversation half a dozen times, and it always ends the same way: We’re definitely doing this. “We’re doing it,” I say.
“It feels wrong, Caitlin. They met in a depression support group. Called the Whispering Angels.”
“I know where they met, Arthur. I’m the one who found Petra. And the only reason Laurel Frances was meeting with the Whispering Angels—” It takes all my willpower not to gag uttering that dreadful name, “—is because she burned through the money she got from her last settlement.”
“And she was depressed.”
“Of course she was. If I spent three hundred grand on lottery tickets and didn’t win, I’d be depressed too.”
“So—”
“But I don’t spend three hundred grand on lottery tickets because I’m not an idiot. And I don’t stick my hand in the PrestoChop and act surprised when it chops off my finger, because it’s called a PrestoChop. And I definitely don’t tr
y to sue the company that made it for seven million dollars because I’m an idiot with poor judgment.”
“I’m just not sure...”
“Fine. I’ll do it. You can hold her hand afterward. Don’t worry—she’s got all five fingers.”
Arthur picks at a hangnail and avoids my eyes.
I bail on the pep talk and flip through a stack of less offensive photos until I find the ones I’m looking for. “Here. Remember these?” I slide across photos of Laurel, a career protester, fighting for various causes over the past two years. In five of the photos she’s pictured next to the same young man. In two particularly memorable pictures, they’re protesting a factory that produces stuffed animals. Laurel is dressed as a unicorn, her partner is a flying tiger. Her handmade protest sign reads Stuff This: Animal Gender Diversity Is Not a Myth! Not even I know what that means.
Arthur studies the images and nods. “Should I—”
“Identify Laurel’s friend and bring him in to talk? Yes.”
“Okay, I—”
My phone, set to vibrate, jitters across the table, and I frown when I see the name on the display: William Eldard, son of Julian Eldard, an old man with too much money and too little impulse control who also happens to own one of the largest construction companies in the city. He’s sixty-six, dying of liver cancer and convinced the cure lies with a reclusive shaman in the rain forests of Brazil. William, vice president of Eldard Construction, has been urging his father to sign over power of attorney so he can run the company while his father searches for a cure—or dies trying—and Julian has finally agreed. We’re drafting the paperwork now, and he’s set to sign it on Friday before he hops on his private plane, most likely never to be seen again.
“William,” I say, picking up. “What’s wrong?” A dull roar drowns out his answer. “William? I can’t hear you.”
A faint thud, then silence. “Caitlin? Are you there?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
William exhales shakily. “At the airport.”
“Please tell me your father has not gotten on a plane.”
In Her Defense Page 1
