Dirty Rich One Night Stand: a sexy standalone novel

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I don’t remember!”

  “Did you kill Jennifer Wright and her unborn child?”

  “No. No, I did not.”

  “Did you agree to meet her that night?”

  “No.”

  “And yet you were the last person to talk to her that night.”

  “Objection,” Dan shouts. “Badgering the witness.”

  “I’m done with this witness.” I walk to my table, and Dan walks toward the stand.

  “Did you kill the victim and her unborn child?” Dan asks, echoing my question.

  “No,” Kelli says.

  “Did your husband?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “That’s your opinion, not a fact, correct?” Dan presses.

  “It’s a fact,” she says. “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “Do you make a point of claiming opinions as facts?” he asks.

  “I do not.”

  “But you needed to bet on this one because there were no facts,” the prosecutor states.

  “Objection,” I say, but Dan moves on before I finish.

  “Were you with your husband at the time of the murder?” Dan asks.

  “Yes, according to the timeline I’ve been given.”

  “Are you being truthful with us today?” Dan asks.

  “Of course,” she states.

  “Did you tell your husband that you wanted to confess your conversation with Ms. Wright, or did he tell you to confess?”

  “As I stated, I wanted to confess.”

  They go back and forth for an hour until the prosecution takes his seat. I stand up. “Judge, permission to redirect requested”

  “I’ll allow,” the judge states and Dan remains silent.

  I immediately focus on Kelli. “Where was your husband at the time of the murder, as stated by law enforcement?”

  “Asleep in bed.”

  “Where were you?’

  “Also asleep.”

  I sit down. Dan stands up. “Judge permission to recross.”

  “Objection,” I say. “He had his time.”

  “The jury needs the facts,” the judge replies. “Recross allowed.”

  Dan moves quickly to questioning Kelli. “Could your husband have left the house while you slept, without you knowing?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That’s all,” Dan says, and he sits back down.

  I stand. “Judge permission-”

  “Last time counselor. This is it. Make it good.”

  “Objection,” Dan shouts.

  “You’re late,” the judge says. “I’ve granted his request. Make it quick, Mr. Summer.”

  I nod and look at Kelli. “Have you ever left the house while your husband was asleep without him knowing?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Yes or no.”

  “I— Yes.”

  I look at the judge. “The witness is dismissed.”

  The judge looks at Dan, and he approves. I stand now and make my declaration: “The defense rests its case.”

  The judge looks at his watch. “It’s now ten-thirty a.m. In the interest of time and the weekend, we’ll break for a thirty-minute lunch and proceed with closing statements.” He hits the gavel on the block.

  The courtroom erupts in voices and movement, and I, along with my team and client, head toward the door, while I prepare for the war I’m about to fight. Nelson and Kelli are guided into the conference room first, and as soon as I step inside, Kelli slaps me in the face. “You bastard.”

  She tries to slap me again, and I catch her arm. “What are you mad about? You just ensured your husband’s freedom.”

  “And turned the police attention to me.”

  She tries to slap me again, but one of my co-counsels obviously got guards, because they grab her. “Do you want to press charges, Mr. Summer?”

  “No charges,” I say. “Just get her out of here.”

  They drag her out of the room. “You’re fired,” Nelson growls.

  I arch a brow. “You want to deliver your own closing statement? Are you sure about that? Because this trial is ending with or without me.” I don’t tell him the judge won’t let him fire me this far into this thing. I want him to fear being lost and lonely in that courtroom.

  “You’re fired.”

  I smile. “Well. Good luck.” I turn and walk toward the door.

  “Wait. Fuck.”

  I face him. “Did you want pointers?”

  “Since when does an attorney ignore his client’s wishes?”

  “You told me to get you off at all costs. The cost was what just happened in that courtroom.”

  “If they come after her, will you defend her?”

  “No. Because I don’t defend killers unless they had a justified reason for their actions, namely survival. Is she worth becoming a play toy in jail?” I ask. “Because you will be. The pretty boy who gets everyone off. Literally. And I’m not sure the guards will provide Vaseline.”

  He covers his face with his hands, and he’s trembling. “I love her.”

  I walk to the conference table and press my hands to it, angry now. “A woman and her unborn child are dead. Do you really love a woman who would kill them?”

  He opens his eyes. “I don’t know that she did it.”

  “Don’t you? And you know what? If you let her get away with it, you are just as evil as she is. In fact, I’m not sure I can even do the closing. Maybe I should hand it to my co-counsel.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Do you have proof that she killed Jennifer?” I press.

  “No. Yes. Maybe. I found something last week.”

  “What?”

  “In her purse. There was a necklace that Jennifer always wore. I saw it in her purse, but it doesn’t mean she killed her.”

  “Tell the police.”

  “I will,” he assures me and he sounds like he means it.

  “And get the fuck away from her before you end up dead, too.” I push off the desk and exit the room, entering the one across the hall. I don’t rehearse my closing that I’ve beaten to death. I call Cat.

  The short break is over at eleven, and I swear I’m so nervous for Reese that I feel like I’m the one about to deliver a closing. I have to force myself to sit, and when Reese finds his way to his table and his eyes meet mine, that connection between us is more powerful than ever. He lets me see the nerves that no one else in this room can see, and I watch them transform into hard determination. Somehow, in that brief moment, a million words pass between us without one spoken.

  The court is called to order, and Dan takes center stage. His closing is a short twenty minutes, but despite this conciseness, at its conclusion, I can say that it is far better than I expected. He uses words like “dead baby” and “young woman kept from motherhood.” He talks about the brutal hit to her head as she was pushed to her death. And the real kicker that he plays on over and over: A rich, powerful man who didn’t want his business and his life destroyed by a pregnant mistress. A rich, powerful man that didn’t know the baby wasn’t his.

  I’m feeling pretty worried until Reese stands up. He speaks for forty minutes exactly in what is a powerful, intelligent delivery of the critical points. He recaps the key points about no evidence and details the only evidence in the crime: Fingerprints on a door that could have been left at any time.

  “If I,” Reese says, “visited the victim two days before her death, should it be assumed I killed her? Is that the way you would want our justice system to work if you or your loved one was innocent and sitting on the stand? Let’s talk about reasonable doubt. Did the prosecutor prove to you that my client put his fingerprint on that door the day the victim died? If not, if you aren’t sure he was there that day, that’s reasonable doubt. If you have reasonable doubt, you must acquit.”

  He ends his statement with a list of suspects. “If you have any inclination to believe one of these people I’ve presented as suspects killed the victims, then y
ou also have reasonable doubt about my client. Reasonable doubt equals acquittal. Guilty until proven innocent is another country. This is America. Here we are innocent until proven guilty.”

  The jury is attuned to him, listening, nodding, scribbling notes. I didn’t see them doing that with Dan. By twelve, all eyes are on the judge. “The jury foreman has spoken on behalf of the jury and asked that they begin deliberations this afternoon rather than Monday morning, in hopes they can end their sequestration. We will reconvene at four thirty, at which time we will either read a verdict or adjourn for Monday morning.” He bangs the gavel.

  When I would exit the courtroom with the rest of the crowd, a bailiff catches me. “This way, miss.” I follow him to a private hallway, and it’s not long before I’m in a private office with Reese, who immediately kisses me.

  “Well?” he asks.

  “It was as brilliant as I knew it would be.”

  His hands settle on his waist under his jacket. “Did you watch the jury?”

  “You had them.”

  “Dan?”

  “Not like you. And you ended the trial. You have this. What do Elsa and Richard think?”

  “I don’t debrief with my team. I don’t want opinions when I can’t change history.”

  But he asked for mine. “Where is Nelson Ward?”

  “With my team. He forbade me from entering. He has his panties in a wad over Kelli.”

  “After all you’ve done for him, he forbade your entry?”

  “Fuck him. I defended the hell out of his ass.” He puffs out a breath. “Let me go check with my team and let’s get some air. I need air.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we are at a coffee shop around the corner with an outdoor area and heaters, talking nonstop about everything but the trial while Reese’s phone blows up with text messages and calls, most of which he ignores. “Anything on the publishing deal?”

  “No, but when a board has to approve money, it takes time.”

  He glances at his watch. “It’s been almost an hour.”

  “Do you think they will even call us back until four thirty?”

  “I was hoping they’d walk into a room, cast a vote, and be done.”

  “One and done,” I tease.

  “That’s right, sweetheart. This time, I wanted a one and done.”

  “What’s next after this trial?”

  “I actually have a case that I have a junior partner working on, but it’s my client and someone I went to school with.”

  “So it’s personal.”

  “Not personal but he’s a casual friend and like I said a good guy in a bad situation that hit him right as I went to trial. I actually need to go to the office tomorrow and catch up on the case, so I can hit the ground running Monday.”

  “Tomorrow? You are a beast, aren’t you?”

  He laughs and nuzzles my neck. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, sweetheart. After I have that meetup with him, though, I’m decompressing. No anything.”

  I have this sudden realization that after this trial, I don’t know what comes next for him or me. Or us. I’m only staying with him until the trial is over, and it’s basically over. His phone rings and he glances at the number, a strange look on his face. “I need to take this,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

  He stands up and leaves me here alone to take the call in private.

  I’m dumbfounded. I don’t even know what to think. He’s never acted like something was too private for me to be privy to it. I feel odd. I feel out of place. I feel like I have never felt with Reese. Maybe the ride is over. Maybe I just got too serious. He’s gone for almost fifteen minutes. I watch the news on a television nearby after ruling out working. I can’t write. I’m too off right now.

  Suddenly, Reese is rushing back. “The jury is back.”

  “Oh God,” I say. “That was fast.”

  “The Friday night cure for a long deliberation,” he says. “Let’s go see if we’re drinking to celebrate or wallowing.”

  I grab my coat and he helps me slip it on, and it’s not long before we’re running toward the courthouse. Fifteen minutes later, I’m holding my breath as the judge reads the jury’s ruling. “We the jury find the defendant not guilty on the charge of first-degree murder.”

  Reese, his team, and Nelson Ward all slump forward in relief.

  The formality of the jurors verbally confirming their vote begins, and then I’m led to the back room again with Reese, who grabs me, picks me up, and spins me around. I’m laughing with his team in the hallway when Nelson comes up to Reese and holds out his hand. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  Reese shakes his hand. “Do what’s right now. Justice is in your hands.”

  “I’m going to,” he assures Reese. “But I need an attorney to protect me while I do.”

  “You’re untouchable now,” Reese says. “But if you want to hand over a killer, I’ll proudly represent you through that process. Where is she now?”

  “I don’t know, and I have concerns she might flee.”

  Reese grabs his phone and dials. “Royce. Yes. Thanks. Make sure Kelli doesn’t get out of your sight.” He gives Nelson a pointed look and adds, “Nelson Ward needs a detective we can trust to talk to about Kelli. Can you make that happen? Right. Got it.” He ends the call. “Royce Walker will be here with law enforcement when the press conference ends. Let’s go do this.”

  His team heads for the door, and he stops beside me. “I’m going to have to deal with the police and Kelli.”

  “I know.”

  He pulls me close. “Meet me at my place. Okay?”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  He kisses me and presses his cheek to mine to whisper, “I can’t wait to get you alone again.” And with that he walks away.

  I don’t. I stand there feeling awkward, like the kind of awkward I never felt after the first night, the one and done that is yet to be one and done. I don’t like how this feels.

  I watch the press conference, and when it’s all said and done, I can’t seem to get myself to go to Reese’s apartment. I don’t seem to want to go to mine, either. I end up at the coffee shop, with my coat on a chair, and a coffee and my MacBook as my company. I’m also in my pink dress, which I wore today because I like pink and I can. No other reason.

  I exhale, really, really hating this nagging feeling inside me, but I power through my work. I’ve just reached my closing statement when Lauren calls. “Royce said Nelson Ward is turning on his wife?”

  “Yes. I was there when he asked Reese to help him do what was right.”

  “Wow,” she says. “Just wow. I hope they get her.”

  “Me too. I really do.”

  We talk for a good half-hour, and right when we’re about to hang up, she says, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m exhausted. I’m writing my column and just mentally drained.”

  “Is something up with you and Reese?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sure and you sound better, by the way.”

  “I am,” she says. “It’s crazy and sudden. I was sick all the time. Now I’m not.”

  We hang up five minutes later, and I ask myself the same question she asked me. Is something wrong with me and Reese? Maybe it’s just dysfunctional me, looking for a problem. I shake off that thought and go back to my closing statement but I end up staring at the page. Nothing comes to me. I force myself to start typing:

  The system worked today. You are innocent until proven guilty. Nelson Ward was not proven guilty. But justice is not done until the crime is solved. It’s time that we the people demand that the crime be solved. Demand justice for Jennifer Wright and her unborn child. Until then, —Cat.

  There. Done. Marked off my list.

  From there, I plan out next week’s columns, and I’ve just finished up when my cellphone rings again. I look down to find Liz’s number on caller ID. “Hi Liz.”

  “I just heard from your publisher,”
she says.

  I glance at the time. “At eight o’clock on a Friday night?”

  “Yes. The trial ended. They’re in a panic to sign you. They raised the offer to seven hundred thousand. Five hundred for the trial book as long as Reese Summer signs on as a consultant. His compensation is on you. The second option book, will be two hundred thousand, which is double your last book.”

  As long as Reese signs a consulting form. That knots my stomach for no good reason. He will. I know he will. “Okay.”

  “Okay? I just said seven hundred thousand dollars and you said okay? I know we said seven-fifty but this is close.”

  “I know. I’m exhausted. It’s been a crazy week.”

  “You and Reese have issues.”

  “No.”

  “No?” she presses.

  “No.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Is this better than taking a proposal out to the masses? I don’t like their connection to Dan.”

  “I believe it is for this reason: If you walk away from your option publisher and don’t get more, your option publisher won’t take you back at this price. This is a lot of money to gamble with.”

  “Right. I’ll let you know Monday.”

  “Sunday night,” she insists.

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t like ‘okay,’ Cat.”

  “Okay.”

  She makes a frustrated sound. “I’ll call you Sunday.” She hangs up. I send my column to my editor that appears to be hanging in my browser and consider starting on Monday’s, but Kelli’s arrest would change it completely. Instead, I research what I’m going to write about post-Nelson Ward. Maybe post-Reese Summer. I pinpoint a few interesting cases and start doing research, two of which I’d like to sit in on the trials when they begin.

  It’s nine, and the coffee shop is empty and closing in half an hour when my phone rings with Reese’s number, and I breathe out, nervous to answer when that is not what I feel with Reese. “Hello.”

  “Hey, beautiful. Are you at home?”

  Home. Which home? His home? My home? “I’m at the coffee shop.”

  “I’m in an Uber. Hold on.” I can hear him giving the driver this address. “Okay. On my way. Nelson gave a statement about Kelli before getting on a plane and out of town.”