by Kathryn Shay
“In New York.”
“Why didn’t you say they were the reason you came back here?”
“Because they weren’t.”
“I don’t understand that. I adore my brothers.”
He changed the very dangerous subject. And the night wore on. He told her about living in California, what he did in his spare time, and she told him about her semester in France when she was at Radcliff. They talked about food—she loved seafood and sushi, and he was a steak man. They both liked champagne.
Hours later, she yawned.
His early training surfaced, even with her. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
A slimy cot with stains from God-knew-what sat across from them. “On that? Yuck.”
“No, here on the bench, which is at least half-clean.” He stood, removed his very expensive suitcoat and spread it on the bench.
“Hmm, maybe. I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open.” She took off her jacket, too, then folded it up and laid down with it as a pillow. “Thanks. Wake me in a couple of hours so you can catch some zees in here, too.”
“Sure thing.”
She fell asleep right away. He always envied people who could do that. He had bad insomnia sometimes. Staring down at the woman with him, still visible in the hall light, he noticed her delicate bone structure. She was tall and thin. He wished she’d taken that mane of auburn hair down. And why the hell was he going down this road? Still, he watched her for a long time until he fell asleep sitting up.
* * *
Hayley bolted up into the darkness. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
He reached out and touched her arm. “Hey, calm down.”
She swiveled her legs to the floor and once she was acclimated from the hall light, she glanced next to her. “Hell. I didn’t know where I was.”
“That happens to me sometimes. No way you expected to be in jail.”
“What time is it?”
Something lit up. “Nearly four.” The guards hadn’t taken his watch.
She went to rake back her hair, and found it tied up in a bun. She secured it as much as she could with the escaping pins, then said, “You let me sleep. Thank you.” She stood up and stretched. “Your turn. Lie down.”
“I slept sitting up. I don’t need much, anyway.”
She sat back down and sighed. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”
“Me, too. What kind?”
“Double latte. All fat milk, or cream.”
“No skim?”
“No. How do you like yours?”
“Black, of course.”
“That fits you.”
They both quieted.
After a while, she woke up completely. “Paul, are you going to get in trouble for this contempt of court charge?”
“Deep, deep trouble.”
Hayley expelled a heavy breath. “Me, too. I don’t know of any cases where a lawyer was jailed for contempt.”
“I know of a few out in California. But they were released in hours. We can’t let this happen again, Hayley.”
“That’s for sure.”
His dark brows formed a vee. She’d admitted during their tenure in jail that he was an attractive man and an interesting conversationalist.
“Well, we’ve gotten to know each other some.” He chuckled. “And we did sleep together. Maybe we can be more civil in the courtroom.”
“Maybe. I’ll try.”
“I will too, Hayley.”
* * *
When she got to her apartment, Hayley dragged herself inside. She was tired now and bordering on depressed. Getting sued for contempt with Covington had been awful. The Chief Assistant of the DA’s office had already left a message she wanted to see Hayley Monday morning. Paul told her he would get in trouble over this, too.
Just as she started toward the bedroom, the doorbell rang. She and Finn, along with Ronan, inherited this place after their father’s death. Finn was out of town at a book conference in London for a week, and Ronan had disappeared completely twenty years ago. He’d never even called her or Finn in all that time. But every time the doorbell rang in their luxurious apartment in New York, she got a quick flash of hope that it was the brother she loved so dearly. On that sad note, she hauled herself to the foyer and pulled open the door.
Hell. This was all she needed.
The woman standing there had dressed in haute couture on a Saturday morning. “So, the jailbird’s out.”
“Hello, Mother. How did you get up here?”
“Robert knows me.” Bridget Sullivan’s face was pinched. Then again, whenever she laid eyes on her daughter, her features crunched up and got ugly. “Let me inside, please.”
“I was about to take a bath. I’d like to be alone.”
Bridget, as Hayley thought of her, brushed past her daughter, entered the apartment, went down the short hallway and into the living room to the right. “Come in here, Hayley.”
Best to deal with this now. Hayley went inside and sat on one of the leather couches. To say she felt scuzzy was an understatement.
Bridget surveyed the huge apartment in lower Manhattan, consisting of an oversize living space in the front with a view of the city and a kitchen behind it. Off that were two complete suites, on either side, one for her and one for Finn. Then she turned her attention to Hayley, who’d finally learned not to shrink under her icy gaze. “Imagine my surprise when I received a phone call last night from Marian Jackson asking if I knew my daughter was in jail.”
“I didn’t get even one phone call, so I couldn’t call you.” As if that would ever have entered her mind.
“Don’t be impudent.” She adjusted the skirt of her Armani suit, a peach one which complemented her severely cut blond hair. Young looking, she’d had a couple of face lifts. Her mother would fight growing old forever. Hayley vowed to go through the aging process gracefully.
But right now, she had to hold her own with the woman who was her mother, after all. She did soften her tone. “I’m sure that was a shock, that you worried about me, and that I disappointed you. Again. So, I’m sorry for all those things.”
“Did you really spend the night with Paul Covington?” There was an odd tone to her voice.
“I did. The judge isolated us thinking we might be forced to call a truce.”
“Did you?”
“It doesn’t matter. My boss probably won’t assign me his cases anyway.”
“I hope this isn’t a black mark on your name.” Bridget sighed. “I met him, you know?”
Hayley’s jaw dropped. “When?”
“At a gala two months ago. He’s very charming.”
She would have snorted if her mother wouldn’t have had a fit. “To others maybe. Though he did give me his jacket to stretch out on so I could sleep.”
“You look horrendous.”
“Hence the bath I was going to take.”
Again, Bridget raised her chin and watched her with an expression of distain. Hayley vowed never to do that to her kids. “Go clean up now, and I’ll answer some email on my phone. Then we can have lunch together.”
“No, we can’t. I’m drained. I need time to regroup.” She couldn’t face a lunch with her mother, which was always tense. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Hayley stood. “Neither was mine. Now, I insist you leave.”
“You are so much like your father it frightens me sometimes.”
The hell with being nice. “I’m glad to hear that.” Hayley walked to the foyer and opened the door. Her mother made her wait, then finally appeared.
“Goodbye, Hayley. I won’t contact you again. When you want to see me, call.”
Don’t hold your breath, Mommy Dearest.
“Understood. Goodbye.”
Though she’d put up a good front, Hayley closed the door and slid down the wood, unable to bear her mother’s wrath. Ronan used to intervene between them, but he was gone now. She put her head in her hands.
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Chapter 2
* * *
On Monday morning, Paul walked into the building where his law firm, Cook, Cramer and Cromwell, was located, not far from the courthouse. Taking an elevator to the fifth floor, he knew the shit was going to hit the fan. Edward Cook, a distinguished, elderly man, senior partner and founder of the firm, would not be pleased by Paul’s antics over the weekend. John Cramer, an associate partner who had taken an immediate dislike of Paul, would be furious and let Paul know it. Shelby Cromwell, his favorite, and the woman who recruited him, would probably shrug it off. He entered the hushed atmosphere of the offices with as much humility as he could muster. After greeting the receptionist and security guard in the entry area, Paul headed right to Cook’s suite.
“Good Morning, Mr. Covington.”
“Hello, Ms. Truman.” Cook’s secretary for a long time. “How are you today?”
“I’m fine. Have a nice weekend?”
He rolled his eyes. “Is he really mad?”
“Hard to tell.”
“Wish me luck.”
Picking up the phone, she buzzed Cook’s office and announced Paul’s arrival, stood and then opened the door for him. The suite was huge, with a primary office, and an annexed room Paul had never been in but was told it held a bathroom and bed and mini kitchen. All private to Cook, of course. He was looking down at papers and when the doors closed, he glanced up. “Well, Mr. Covington. Come sit.”
Paul took a chair in front of the older man, who had a full head of white hair, crisp brown eyes and patrician features. He’d inherited the business from his father and was truly old school. Cook had never suggested they use first names and Paul followed his lead.
“Let me get right to the point. To my knowledge, none of our lawyers has ever spent the night in jail. Except one.”
“Me.”
“No, me.” A snicker of amusement. “I was young once. Bursting with passion and bravado. It was for contempt, too. But I was only held for a few hours.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Cook nodded. “Say nothing. Keep what I told you private.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I tell you this story so you’ll know I understand how this could happen. It is, however, unacceptable.”
“I agree, it’s unacceptable.”
When Cook didn’t say more immediately, Paul figured he’d go for broke. “What consequences did you suffer?”
“The head partner in the firm told me if I did it again, I was gone. No severance, no references.”
“Is that what I’m getting?”
“Yes.”
Oh, thank God.
“But you won’t be arguing against ADA Casella anymore.”
“It was the district attorney who assigned her to every case I argued.”
“And I agreed you’d be well-matched. However, that won’t be the practice now.”
“No?”
“I spoke with her superior.”
Well, he’d miss the challenge Hayley Casella posed. At the thought, he felt a twist in his heart that he didn’t understand. But at least he still had a job.
“And if your verve for argument gets the better of you with another lawyer, which interestingly hasn’t, the same dismissal occurs.”
“Thank you.”
“You can go now.”
Paul got to the door and he heard, “Paul?”
Mmm. First name. He turned back.
“How was your night in jail with your nemesis?”
“Very interesting.”
Amusement filled Cook’s knowing eyes. “I thought it might be.”
Paul left the suite. He walked down the hall to the associates’ wing and to his own office. The door was open and his secretary was nowhere in sight. John Cramer, a partner for ten years, sat behind Paul’s desk. Just as he thought, the weaselly little guy with a combover was here today to taunt him. “You made the papers.”
Paul kept his tone light. “Which ones?”
“These right here.” He rapped his knuckles on newspapers that were delivered every day. “Getting charged with contempt is unusual, but more so, unbecoming. For this firm, jail is unconscionable.”
“I apologize for my conduct.”
“I voted to have you dismissed from the office.”
Paul held his tongue. There must have been a meeting with the partners this morning.
“But I was overruled.” Cramer stood and circled the desk. “Know, Covington, I’m watching you.”
“Yes, Mr. Cramer.”
The man walked out. Paul breathed a sigh of relief, closed his door and sat down at his desk.
He wondered if Hayley was getting grief. Man, he hoped she didn’t get fired. Despite their past, spending that time together had softened him toward her. She was young, was going to shoot to the top of the District Attorney’s office and he didn’t want to get in the way of that.
* * *
Maria Blackburn, the Chief Assistant District Attorney, who oversaw five hundred lawyers and seven hundred staff, and supervised 50,000 cases a year, stood in her office staring out the window. Not all of the Assistant District Attorneys were housed on this floor, of course, or even in this building. Hayley admired Maria’s work ethic and fairness. She lifted her head from the papers she was reading when Hayley knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me, Maria?”
The woman had short dark hair, dark eyes and dressed impeccably in designer suits and Louboutin shoes. Hayley favored the latter, too. “Yes, Hayley, come in.”
They sat at a conference table off to the right of a large, sparsely furnished room, making Hayley feel less like she’d been called before the principal.
“So, I was wrong?” Maria asked.
Oh, dear. “About me?” Her own voice was horrified.
“No, of course not. I was wrong about assigning you to Paul Covington’s cases. It seemed like the right thing to do then.”
She sighed. “We went too far. I’m sorry I let you down.”
“You did, in a way. But that doesn’t change my view of you. You’ve been a good addition to our staff for the past five years, and I still consider you that.”
“I’m glad I haven’t lost your trust.”
“Pardon me for asking, because my question could be construed as harassment, but what is it between you two? Attraction?”
You know, I read a study where suppressed attraction makes people fight with each other.
“No, of course not.”
“Glad to hear it, because that could get sticky.”
“He gets under my skin, Maria.”
“I’ve worked with some men like that. But you have, too, with other men, and they never got you in trouble.”
“I guess.” She shook her head. “For the record, we agreed to get along better when Judge Branson put us in the same cell, alone, for the night.”
“That’s fine. But you’d still irritate each other.”
“Maybe.” In truth, she kind of liked him and didn’t want to irritate him anymore.
“No matter. I’ve already talked with Michaels. He’ll handle Covington. You’ll have your full load elsewhere.”
“That’s fine with me.” She cocked her head. “Thanks, Maria.”
“Thank me by never letting this happen again.”
“I will.”
They both stood and Hayley left the office. She went down to her own, closed the door, and sat in her chair. For a minute, she let thoughts of Paul surface.
I like you better without a lot of goop on your face.
Now that little pinkish suit with a tank top makes all the men in the room sweat.
You wear your hair like a spinster.
When she realized she was thinking of all his comments about her appearance, for God’s sake, she picked up a folder—her next assignment—and dismissed Paul Covington from her mind. She’d finish the trial today then put him out of her mind forever.
* * *
Paul wai
ted in the large foyer of the courtroom. He should go inside, study his notes, but he wanted to see Hayley before they faced each other in court. Worse, he’d gotten her coffee, the kind she said she liked that morning when she woke up in jail. Hell, so what? Today would be his last time with her, then she’d be out of his life.
Walking over to the wall of judges who presided in these chambers, he set her coffee on the ledge and stared blindly at the rectangular cases.
“Hey, Covington, got yourself in some hot water this weekend?”
Shit. He knew people would find out about this today, but he hadn’t expected an attack so early. He turned to find a vaguely familiar face. He cocked his head.
“Paul Covington, right?” the guy said.
“Yeah.”
“Harrison. Todd Harrison. I work at Harrison, Baker and Snow.” A rival to Cook, Cramer and Coldwell. “We met at last year’s Bar Association dinner at the Tavern on the Green.”
“I remember.” The guy had been at his table and was a showoff for all the people sitting with him.
“Must have been hard to be cooped up in a cell with that little beauty this weekend. Is she hot!”
He didn’t say anything.
“Don’t you think so?”
“That’s an unflattering way to describe her. And if it got around, you could be charged with harassment.”
“Come on, we’re both boys.”
He was a boy. Paul was a man.
“No comment.”
“Hey, sure. But watch out for her.”
Surprisingly angry at Harrison, Paul was glad when the guy walked away. He picked up her coffee and crossed to the elevator to wait for her.
The doors opened.
Early for court, Hayley got off the elevator. She was nervous and the reason stood off to the side. “Waiting for me?” she asked cheekily.
A full, sweet smile spread across his face, making her heart thump. “Yeah, I am.” He lifted his arm. “Double latte. Full fat. They didn’t have cream.”
She grinned. “You remembered. How thoughtful.” She shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other and took the drink. “Did you want to talk?”
“I think we should. Let’s find an empty room. There’ll be several this early.”