by M. S. Parker
The box gouged my hips with its sharp corners as Bethany strode out of the office, Pierce at her heels. Staring at their backs, I briefly imagined giving into the childish urge to stick my tongue out at them. I didn’t, of course, but it would've been satisfying.
“You have an office.” Darcy gave me a small, nervous smile when I looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“You already have a space to work. I'm not sure I'd call it an office, but it’s yours.”
I nodded and grimly tightened my grip on the box. “Lead the way.”
Some nine plus hours later, I collapsed face-down on the couch in my apartment, more thankful than ever that I didn't have a roommate. I had a sweet little place in Chelsea, and it was my pride and joy. Just then, though, I couldn't take the time to appreciate the restored brick walls or the view, or anything else for that matter.
All I wanted was peace and quiet, and maybe in a little while, a glass of wine.
Fuck that. I might just have the whole damn bottle.
My first day as an ADA hadn't exactly been what I could call glamorous. It hadn't been exciting. I couldn't really even say it had been fulfilling. I could have handled the lack of glamour and excitement. Those stars had been wiped from my eyes a long time ago. But it would have been nice if the day hadn’t completely sucked.
Once Darcy had shown me into my office – it was hardly more than a closet – I had spent the first hour dealing with a computer that had come straight out of the Stone Age.
Then I’d spent several hours going blind on legal briefs. There were filings and reports, things that were generally handled by paralegals. Except Bethany didn't seem to have any paralegals around. I knew things were tight since they'd let Pierce and I slide on the usual training, but it still seemed excessive.
Then again, my boss seemed like that kind of person. Excessive. And not in a generous kind of way. When I’d been coming back from lunch, Bethany had found me and demanded to know how far I'd gotten.
“You’re not done yet?” she'd snapped. Then with a shake of her head, she’d shoved a clipboard into my hands. “People up for parole. I argued the cases in court. Write the letters. You can pull up the details on your computer.”
I'd seen the conference table through the glass behind her, and both she and Pierce had looked to be working on something else, something that apparently required them to have meals brought in. Rather than ask why he was working with her rather than me, I simply nodded end and retreated to my cell. My office.
And that was where I'd stayed until I'd realized it was after five. When I left, I saw Pierce coming out of an office a few doors down from Bethany’s. I'd managed to catch a glimpse into the room before he shut the door completely.
“My new office.” He'd given me a smug smile. “You like yours?”
“It suits me just fine,” I’d lied.
I wasn't a superficial person, but I did believe in equality and fairness. Two people starting out the same should be treated the same. There was no reason for Pierce's office to be an actual office, with room for a real desk and some movement. But there it was.
Now, I was lying on my couch and trying not to brood too much. It didn't mean anything. Maybe he actually had more experience than I did. I was pretty sure he was nearly a decade older. Maybe he'd transferred from another DA's office, and he had more seniority. It didn't matter.
That was what I told myself. I didn’t particularly believe it, though. The phone rang, but I ignored it. I didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to deal with anyone asking me how things had gone, didn't want to have to listen to anyone else talk about their problems. I just wanted to be left alone.
I ignored pretty much everything right up until my bladder forced me off the couch and into the bathroom. I could see the screen of my phone showing that I had messages, but I didn't answer any of them. I didn't even look at them.
What I did do was get myself something to drink.
After pouring myself a glass of wine, I retreated into my bathroom and settled down for a nice long soak.
“Tomorrow will be better,” I said. Relaxing back into my lavender and vanilla bubbles, I sighed. “Tomorrow will be better.”
What a line of bullshit.
The next day wasn't any better, nor were the days that followed. I felt like I was an associate all over again, and it annoyed the crap out of me.
It only got worse on Wednesday morning when I took some files to Bethany's office. I paused in the doorway, listening while Pierce explained a tact he would have tried if he was first chair on some case they were working on.
I stood there stiffly, my hands gripping the files I held, waiting for them to notice me. When they finished, Pierce glanced over at me and gave me a surprised look as if he’d just now realized I was there. Bethany, however, eyed me dismissively before going back to the notes she was working on.
“Did you need something?” Pierce asked.
“I just need to give Bethany the research notes she needed.” Keeping my voice level, I walked across the floor and put everything down. As I was turning away, I heard papers rustling.
“Oh, great. I needed this for that filing I was doing for you, Bethany.”
I stiffened even more, one hand curling into a fist. Unlike a lot of lawyers, I didn't thrive on conflict. In fact, I didn't even really like it. I liked making logical arguments, presenting clear and concise evidence.
But a girl could only take so much for so long, and I was heading down that path.
I was being jerked around and I knew it. I'd need to address it, but I wouldn’t do it without thinking things through. This wasn't some asshole at a club. This was my job, the place that I'd always dreamed of being. I wasn't going to lose that in a moment of rash temper. No matter how justified.
But just as I reached the door, Bethany spoke, “Actually, Dena, it's a good thing you stopped by. It saves me from having to hunt you down later.”
I turned toward her, letting her know I was listening.
“I've been given the okay to put the two of you up for the next case that comes across my desk. You'll be taking second chair, of course. I’ll be arguing the case, but you'll be there to see how things work.”
I blinked, almost certain I’d heard wrong. Pierce grinned as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Bethany ignored him, her pen scratching across the surface of her notepad.
“In the meantime, I’m presenting you two with a case. It’s already been closed, but I want to hear strategies on how you would've handled it had you been trying it.” Now she looked up, sliding her gaze from Pierce to me. “Consider this trial by fire. Don’t fuck up.”
Something hot and pleased settled inside me.
Pierce glanced at me, but I didn’t waste my time looking at him now.
Trials by fire suited me just fine.
Chapter Five
Arik
“I have news for you.” I looked up at the sound of my new boss coming from the doorway of my office.
While I wasn’t a senior partner anymore, I had a big office, and once I did make it, I expected to move from this office to a corner one.
Charles Sheldon stood in the doorway, smoothing down his burgundy tie in a gesture I'd already come to recognize. “Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the door.
“Of course not.” Giving him an easy grin, I added, “After all, you are the boss.”
“For now.” His eyebrow quirked, reminding me of the response I’d given him when I agreed to take the job his firm had offered me.
I’d been a senior partner at my old firm back in Chicago, well on my way to convincing them to make me a named partner. I hadn't been overly enthusiastic about the demotion to junior partner here, but the promise of practicing for one of the most prestigious defense firms in the country had been one hell of a lure.
I’d agreed to take the job, and then told them I planned to be a senior partner in a year. Sheldon had been the man to make the final call
. He’d laughed, but he hired me.
“What can I help you with, Sheldon?”
“Got a case for you.” He hitched up his pants and sat down in the chair across from me. “It seems like it’s right up your alley. Regular clients of ours – well, I should amend that. Client. Anyway. We’re on retainer. We just got a phone call. The man who retained us is now dead. You’ll be defending his wife.”
Holding up my hand, I cut him off before he could say anything else, “Don't give me any more information. Just tell me where she is and how I can contact her.”
“She's at home.” He gave me the address and rose. “And you might want to hurry. You might get there before the cops do.”
For a split second, I gaped at him. Was he kidding me? He'd sat there, all casual, while our client was facing the possibility of having to talk to the cops without us. I didn't know what the circumstances were, but any woman whose husband just died shouldn't have to worry about saying something incriminating, even if it was something petty.
I jumped to my feet and grabbed my briefcase. As I hurried past Sheldon, he gave me a small smile, as if he'd done all of that on purpose. It was too bad, I thought as I stepped outside. I'd actually liked the guy. Now, not so much.
Then I pushed the thoughts aside. I had a job to do, a client to defend.
The address, thankfully, was close.
Sheldon, Simon and Sharpe chose to operate out of a converted house not too far from Central Park and the over-priced, and overdone, glamour of the Trump International Hotel. They weren't the biggest defense firm in the city, but they had one of the best reputations.
My client, one Leayna Mance, lived in a house just a couple blocks away. If I hadn't wanted to seem unprofessional, I would've walked rather than grabbing a cab, but something told me that this wasn't about some parking ticket or even a home invasion.
Now, standing at the door, I pounded on it after my polite knock didn't garner any response. The place was quiet, and that worried me. There weren’t any police cars, no uniforms hanging around.
And still, no one answered the door.
If my gut hadn't been telling me something was off, I would've wondered if maybe this was some strange joke they played on the new guy.
I knocked again, pounding hard enough for it to make my hand hurt. “Ms. Mance? It’s Arik Porter, from Sheldon, Simon and Sharpe.” I paused and then added, “Charles Sheldon sent me. I understand you’ve got a problem.”
I had a bad feeling that the problem was going to be a dead body. I'd stopped Sheldon from telling me too much because I didn't want to form an opinion before I met with my client, but I couldn't stop hearing his comment about Mrs. Mance's husband being dead.
From behind the door, I heard a slight noise. The door unlocked and through a crack, I saw a woman’s face. She peered at me and through that narrow slit, I could see that she held a phone clutched to her chest. “I called the cops.”
“Good. That’s good. Why don’t you let me in, Ms. Mance? They’ll be here soon–”
Sirens sliced through the air and she jerked.
“Mrs. Mance, may I come in? I'm your attorney, ma'am. I think it's a good idea I come in before the police get here.”
She hesitated, then nodded as she opened the door. I went inside, and even before I crossed the threshold, I smelled it.
Death.
The metallic, sickly sweet smell of blood. Something else underneath it. Something that made it clear that, here, blood meant death.
I breathed slowly and tried not to focus on the smell. I had a clearly freaked out client. “It would appear you have a problem, ma'am,” I said calmly.
She started to cry as she nodded. “My husband’s dead.”
The next few hours were a rush of cops, questions and tears.
Leayna hadn’t made the wisest decision in calling a lawyer first, not as far as the cops were concerned. And the fact that I'd gotten there before them just added to their annoyance.
I already knew the district attorney would find plenty of ways to spin that in a bad way if this went to trial, and it wasn’t a far stretch to see things getting to a jury, even though I believed she was innocent.
Maybe her tears had gotten to me, or maybe it was easier to con me than I thought, but as Leayna sat there holding my hands and repeating the same statement over and over again, I believed her.
I didn’t do it. I know it looks bad, but I didn’t.
I hadn’t asked her if she did it. Each defense attorney has their own way of handling client guilt, but personally, I didn't want to know. Even the guilty were entitled to a defense, but it was easier to move forward with the knowledge in my gut that the woman sitting next to me hadn’t killed her husband. Plus, it kept me from knowingly supporting perjury if I had to put her under oath.
It had been cleverly arranged to make it look like she was guilty, but in my gut, when she said I didn’t do this...my instinct was to believe her. And I'd spent most of my life trusting my gut.
“What am I going to do, Arik?” she whispered, her voice raw and broken.
Her grass green eyes were red rimmed and swollen, not the sort of thing one would've expected from a trophy wife decades younger than her late husband. She sniffed, then blew her nose on the handkerchief I’d given her when we left for the police station.
She'd been officially arrested, though I would do my best to get that thrown out since they'd made the arrest without any clear evidence. They hadn't found her standing over the body, and there'd been no time to process any real forensics. Someone had gotten a little overzealous.
Leayna sent a furtive glance toward the door to the interrogation room. “Am I...do I have to stay in prison or do they let me out on bail or what?”
“There will be a hearing to determine whether or not you get out on bail. Then we'll look over every piece of evidence...” I trailed off. She wasn’t fully taking this in.
She’d heard the words whether or not. “I might not get out on bail?” Her voice cracked and I wished I’d worded that differently. “But I didn't do anything!”
“Leayna,” I said firmly, trying to ground her. She was slipping away, lost in a maze of fear and confusion. Squeezing her hands, I said her name again.
She patted down her short hair. It was a warm hazelnut color that I was pretty sure wasn't natural. She looked at me, her lashes sweeping down before slowly lifting back up.
“I won’t get out on bail,” she said, her lips stiff.
“We don’t know that–”
There was a knock at the door, but before I had a chance to say anything, it swung open. Immediately, I stood up, a hand on Leayna’s shoulder, placing my body partially between her and the door. She might've been close to my age, but I felt strangely protective of her.
“Excuse us, we’re...” Shit. “Hello, Bethany.”
Assistant district attorney Bethany McDermott stood in the doorway, her lips pursed as she looked from Leayna to me. “Oh, I’m sorry, Arik. I thought you were ready for me. Hello, Mrs. Mance.” She glanced to her watch and then back at me with a lifted eyebrow. “Should I give you a few more minutes?”
“I’m not sure a few minutes will be enough.”
“It’s going to have to.” She started to tap her foot. “We’ll be seeing the judge shortly for a bail hearing. I thought you might want to confer for a few minutes before that happens.”
“Bail hearing?”
Leayna flinched at the abrupt sound of my voice. I mentally kicked myself. Out of all the ADAs in the city, I had to get the only one I'd already met.
And loathed.
I gestured to the door. “Let’s step outside.”
“I do have other cases, Arik.” She gave Leayna a look of mock sympathy. “Not everybody has a high priced defense attorney who can hang around all day. I need to prepare for an appearance before the judge shortly, and then several other things need my attention.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at the obvious theatrics. “
Fine. Now, outside for a few minutes.”
She followed, so I counted that as a win. I closed the door behind me and took an extra few steps.
“What is this about the bail hearing? She was only processed thirty minutes ago. We’ve barely had time to talk.”
“Bail hearing is at two.” Bethany gave me a wide-eyed smile before reaching up to smooth down my tie. “Really, Arik. You should be more up on what is going on with your client.”
“I’m trying to figure out why nobody bothered to tell me about my client’s bail hearing.” I brushed her hand aside and resisted the impulse to rub my hand on my pant leg.
“Well, I’m sure they tried to contact you.” She gave me a sweet smile that I knew only went skin deep. “Now that we’ve settled that, shall we go back inside? I’m sure your client is just beside herself with...grief.”
My mouth flattened into a line. “She is. She’s also scared and confused.”
“With the prospect of life behind bars, she should be scared.” Bethany shrugged, absolutely no sympathy in her expression or voice.
“She didn’t kill him,” I snapped.
“Save it for court.” Bethany rolled her eyes and took a step to go around me.
I barred her way. “You don’t talk to my client without me being present.” I scowled down at her. “I’m not in the room so you’re not going in there.”
“Then get in there.” She scowled back, any pretense of politeness gone. “Or I’ll make it clear you’re getting in the way of me doing my job, and that won't do anybody any good. She’s in enough trouble as it is, Porter. Your best bet is to get her to plead out. Either we talk now or you can make an appointment with my office, and we’ll talk when I’ve got time in a few days.”
“I don’t much care for having you trying to steamroll me,” I said softly. “I’m not one of your puppets, Bethany.”
She gave me a little smirk. “Whatever do you mean by that, Arik?”
