by Leigh James
He could be hiding something, I decided. He might never tell me the truth. And he might never show me who he really was. He could be a “deny until you die” sort of fellow — there were all sorts of them in corporate life. Still, if it were true, if he was guilty — I would be disappointed in myself. Here, in the quiet of my apartment, I could be honest with myself and admit it: I really liked him. He seemed like a good person.
Yes, he was beautiful. Any impartial jury of his peers could see that. And he was complimentary, flirtatious — and charming, I thought, and definitely hard to resist. Cue the list of hot starlets he’d slept with. I willed myself to be reasonable. Part of the reason he was irresistible was because it was a practiced art, and he’d been doing it for years. Ever since he outgrew his mad-scientist geek stage and turned into a smoking-hot babe. He’d probably slept with a very large number of women, a realization that made me frown deeply.
All that aside, I still genuinely liked him. I would be disappointed in myself if I’d misjudged him so greatly. He might very well be a man-whore, but I didn’t think he was a corporate criminal worthy of a federal prison sentence.
In spite of my exhaustion and my nerves, I made myself stay up and draft a list of questions to ask him tomorrow. The wine helped. The worrying, however, did not.
Chapter 7
I barely slept. I kept thinking about Walker, the arraignment, my disheveled appearance on the news, and how nasty Alexa had been. Mostly, I thought about Walker. I didn’t want him to go to jail.
I couldn’t babysit him if he was in jail.
But they could take him later today, I knew. And he would have to stay there until his trial, which would be months from now. My heart constricted at the thought. It would be horrible for him, even though a federal penitentiary was a cakewalk compared to state prison. He shouldn't be held in jail because he was innocent — at least I currently believed he was innocent — and he was not a flight risk. It was fight or flight, a desperate moment in his life, and he wanted to fight. He wasn’t going to run away from his problems: he wanted to stay and clear his name, defend his honor.
Also, over the past twenty-four hours, the idea of him being under “house arrest” had started to sound sort of hot to me.
A hobby, I admonished myself again, and turned the water in the shower to cold.
While I was blow-drying my hair, I thought about calling my friend Mimi Johnstone, but I didn’t have time. I’d worked with Mimi when I’d started at Proctor; she was one of the smartest, toughest lawyers I’d met, and even though she was a woman, she never took any crap from anyone. She was also very blunt about sex, the vagaries of being an attractive female lawyer, and who (and who not) to sleep with.
Mimi was the one who told me about The Rules. They’d been in the back of my mind since I’d met Walker, but I hadn’t wanted to think of them clearly. Now I recited them to myself as I put my makeup on, thinking of seeing Walker in a few hours. I shamelessly put on foundation, blush, mascara, and lip gloss. I’d already put on a push-up bra.
The Rules were directly on point in my current situation. I needed to listen up.
Rule Number One: Don’t sleep with your clients. Not ever. Not the rich ones, not the ones who plead and promise you things, not any of them. Those clients can’t get you your livelihood back. The Board of Bar Overseers will not care how irresistible your Hot Client was. They’ll just see that you exercised magnificently poor judgment, irretrievably violated your professional code of conduct, and are no longer fit to practice law — if in fact you ever really were.
Rule Number Two: Go sleep with someone else. Preferably, anybody else. And do it quick, so you don’t do it with your Hot Client.
Rule Number Three: Stop looking at your Hot Client’s strong jawline and the tendons in his forearms as he clenches the steering wheel or makes a fist. Ignore those other things (particularly those located in your private parts) that are clenching. (Okay, I came up with this one.)
Rule Number Four: Get your Hot Client fully acquitted so you don’t ever have to look at him again, or think about what he would look like naked above you, those big biceps holding you down. (Yeah, I came up with this one, too.)
I’m gonna have to give Mike the Spike a booty call tonight, if I have time, I thought, feeling monumentally depressed.
I pushed it all from my mind. I had to go shopping before I dealt with Walker. Dealt with his arraignment, with his impending imprisonment or house arrest, with not looking at or thinking about his biceps. I was going to get some new clothes so I didn’t look like I was coming straight from Bargain Basement when I was on the news tonight. Right now I was wearing my best black suit, with a tight cream tank top underneath, and my highest black heels. I looked as good as I could, and I was going be big and brave and go to Newbury Street and hope nobody thought I was a shoplifter.
No more freaking Orange Bargain Basement Barbie on TV. That ship needed to sail. Without me on it.
I’d even put in my contacts, which I usually only did for date nights with Mike. At least I used to wear them for date nights with Mike. Our date nights now routinely consisted of us going for dinner and then coming home and having missionary-position sex, which lasted approximately six minutes. Meanly, I’d started wearing my glasses out for those dinners, and then I took them off for the six-minute part, so that everything was blurry.
I’d seen enough of Mike the Spike.
When I got to Newbury Street, I couldn’t think about Mike or even Walker. All I could think about was Alexa — Alexa and her confident stride; Alexa and her annoying C-cups, Alexa and her snotty attitude. Revenge is never a good reason to be motivated. It is, however, a great motivator. If Alexa was going to say nasty things about me and how I looked, I was going to take the words out of her mouth because they would no longer apply. Then I’d have the best clothes and the best client.
And Alexa wouldn’t like that. Not one bit.
I stood outside of Jardine Soleil, looking at the sexy, ridiculously expensive dresses on the mannequins in the window. It was one of those trendy, expensive stores that I always looked at but was too intimidated to go into. Somehow, Jardine carried pencil skirts — the epitome of prim — that still managed to hug every curve. Like sex on a pencil. Or something. Alexa bought clothes here. Mimi bought clothes here. Mandy probably bought her clothes here now, as well. But Bargain Basement Barbie? Not me. Not yet. Not until now.
I sighed and entered the store; there was some French pop music playing that did nothing to alleviate my discomfort. The women who were working there were dressed chicly in all black, with sky-high heels with red soles. I immediately felt out of place, like I was sticking out like a sore thumb in my pantsuit, and I started to sweat. I pulled out a dark purple dress, which was made of some sort of gorgeous fabric I’d never touched before, and looked at the price tag. Four hundred dollars. I dropped the dress like it was on fire, then bent over and hung it back up.
I’d worked hard my whole life and I was being compensated for that hard work. Proctor paid me well. But a dress for four hundred dollars? If I couldn’t afford that, who could?
Alexa, I thought, and Mimi. Maybe Mandy. Because even though I was on their side of the fence now, even though I’d worked hard to get into the fancy law firm with my fancy law degree — I knew the truth about myself. A walk-up three bedroom for five people in Somerville. No air conditioning. No doorman. No stainless steel appliances.
Even though my father wanted me to enjoy my success, he would have a coronary if I paid four hundred dollars for a dress.
“Is there a sale section?” I asked the nearest sales associate, who was hovering discreetly nearby. I decided not to be embarrassed — they were the crazy ones, not me. Four hundred dollars! One dress!
“In the back,” she said, and she sounded much nicer than I expected her to. She was exotic-looking, six feet tall, with long black hair and a size-zero waist. “We have some great dresses half-price. Let me show you!”
&n
bsp; An hour later, I had spent more money than I’d ever spent at once on clothes, but I had so many new and beautiful outfits it was worth it. I’d saved enough in the sale section that I didn’t feel gross or stressed about my purchases — not like when I’d used a credit card in law school to buy textbooks, or at the end of the semester, when my stipend had run out, and I’d used it for food. That used to make me sick, when I had to do that, standing in line at the grocery store checkout and calculating the interest in my head, wishing I didn’t have to eat.
Today I paid cash, and I had a bunch of sexy new outfits for work, sexy outfits that could be covered by one of the new, cute jackets I’d just bought so I didn’t look too sexy at work. Now, if I wanted to take the jacket off while I was with Walker, that was another thing. But no one needed to know about that, not even me, so I shoved the thought away.
I checked my messages when I was back outside the store. Three texts from Mike, wondering if I could meet him for a quick dinner tonight: sorry, I have to work, I texted back, relieved and guilty all at the same time. One from David Proctor: we have Blue files, sending it to a new file on server. Review it with Walker before hearing. Meet me in lobby at two.
Okay, I texted back.
My phone buzzed again. Where are you? It was from Walker. My heart skipped a beat.
Newbury Street, I texted. You?
What number, he texted back.
41, I wrote.
Stay right there. Be there in 5.
Precisely five minutes later, his gorgeous black car pulled up to the curb where I was standing. He rolled his window down.
“Counselor,” he said, and smiled at me.
“Good morning, Walker,” I said. “It’s awfully nice of you to pick me up.”
He flashed a blinding smile at me. “I kicked my very expensive babysitter out last night because I was having a temper tantrum. So I figured the least I could do was give her a ride to work.”
“You didn’t have a temper tantrum, Walker,” I said. “It’s okay for you to be upset. It’s a big deal. It’s such a big deal that I went shopping, during work hours, and I never do that.
“Now, can you help me with these bags?”
He jumped out and grabbed them, leaving the car running. I looked back towards the store and saw all the sales clerks in the window, ogling him. Natasha, the one who’d helped me, gave me a thumbs up. This is my client, I mouthed, pointing at him. She just gave me a double thumbs up.
“What the fuck did you buy?” he asked, not unkindly, as he tried to fit it all into the trunk. “A wardrobe?”
I flushed and just shrugged. “People told me I didn’t look so good at the press conference yesterday,” I said, my flush creeping up my neck. Walker’s arraignment is this afternoon, his freedom is on the line, and I’m worried about what I’m going to wear. Not the best advertisement for an astute legal defense.
“Who’s everybody?” he asked, smiling at me casually. If he was bothered that I’d been shopping instead of working, he showed no signs. In fact, he showed no signs that he was being arraigned this afternoon, and that he might be going to jail. He was the opposite of how I’d left him last night. I noticed he had on jeans and a thin tee-shirt, both of which showed off how powerfully built he was. I just stared at him blankly for a moment. Forgetting the rules, forgetting that he might go to jail this afternoon, forgetting the tenor of his mood. Forgetting everything.
“Nicole?” he asked, and smiled.
“Huh?” I said, and I noticed I was twirling my hair.
“Was Senator Blake’s daughter the one who said you looked bad?” he asked, and opened the car door for me. I slid inside and the feel of the cool leather snapped me out of my reverie.
“Among others,” I sniffed. “But yes, she was the primary one.”
“She’s just jealous,” he said.
I think I might love you, I thought. “I’m glad you seem better than you were last night,” I said.
“I am. I’m back to righteous anger.”
“Good,” I said. “Then let’s get ready for this afternoon,” I said. “Do you mind if that stuff stays in your trunk?”
* * *
“Okay,” I said, spreading out my papers and logging onto the server. We were seated in Walker’s living room, me on the floor at the coffee table, Walker in what I was garnering was his favorite chair. “David sent me some documents,” I said, opening the files. I scanned them while Walker read through his emails.
“David said that I’m not going to speak today. I’m just going to answer the Judge with my pleas,” he said.
“That’s right,” I said. “Today’s hearing isn’t substantive — unless if the government asserts that you’re a flight risk, and they try to get you incarcerated. Which they probably will. Just remember, anytime the Judge addresses you or if you need to respond to him, stand up. That’s for you individually. For the rest of the sitting and standing, it’s just like Catholic Church — just follow what everybody else is doing.”
I left him to his emails and read the documents that David had uploaded. They were summaries of tax records for the last five years; I saw that Walker had been paid a salary of eight-hundred-thousand dollars last year. Blue Securities was a multi-billion dollar company; he could have afforded to pay himself much more.
“Walker,” I said. He looked up from his phone. “Why did you only pay yourself eight-hundred-thousand dollars last year?”
“I don’t need any more money than that. If I need something, I can probably get it for under eight-hundred-thousand dollars.” He shrugged. “If there was some property I wanted to buy, or something, I could have Lester pay me more. But I don’t need anything else,” he said, looking around his house. “You can take a really nice vacation for eight-hundred-thousand dollars. Trust me.”
I nodded at him and went back to my file. Greed did not seem to be a factor with Walker. The government was going to have a difficult time painting him as someone who wanted to defraud his country and keep all his money to himself.
Luckily, I was starting to feel a little righteous anger bubble up inside me.
I reviewed documents for another hour or so and then looked at the time. “You need to get ready,” I said to Walker.
He nodded at me and got to his feet. “I’m nervous, now,” he said. “But I’ll be more nervous once I put on my suit. Once I put on the suit, it’s real.”
“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “Even if it’s not okay.”
“What about you?” Walker asked. “You look great…but are you going to wear one of your new outfits?” he asked. “You know, for Alexa’s benefit?”
I smiled up at him. “I was thinking about it.”
He held his hand out to me. I took it and he pulled me up. “Do it,” he said. “Let’s give them a show. All of them.”
Chapter 8
Walker and I went to Proctor an hour early, because we were both too restless to wait. He threw the keys to the young guard, again. “What’s your name?” Walker asked.
“Toby.”
I’d worked here for two years and I never knew his name was Toby.
“Toby, we’ve got appointments this afternoon. Take care of my baby. And have some fun with her — take her for a little drive.”
Toby gave Walker a huge grin. “Yes, sir. Just around the block, so no worries.”
“You driving my car is definitely the least of my worries, Toby,” Walker said. “See you later.”
We stopped at my office on our way to David’s; I wanted to grab another notebook and some flash drives. Tammy was sitting at her desk. She looked up at me and just about fell over dead.
“Nicole!” she said.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered, urgently.
She looked at me for a beat, confused. “Nothing, honey! You look amazing, that’s all!” She stood up and inspected my dress. It was lavender, a color I’d never worn before. It hugged me in all the right places; I’d put my new blazer over it, which was
also fitted, but which made me look appropriate. “You look just beautiful, hon,” she said. She turned and looked at Walker. “You don’t look that bad, either,” she said, appraisingly raising her eyebrow.
“Tammy,” I said, admonishing her.
“Just saying,” she said. “Are you all set for the hearing this afternoon?”
“Yes. We reviewed files today. Now, we just have to wait and see what the judge is going to do,” I said. I went into my office and took what I needed, and came back out to say ‘goodbye.’
“Go get ‘em,” she said, looking up from her computer. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Walker. Good luck today.”
We caused a bit of a stir as we went down the hall. Some of the other associates did double takes when they saw me; Mandy stood and stared at me for a full second before she said ‘hello,’ like she was stunned.
And then Alexa stuck her head out of her office. “Good luck this afternoon,” she called to us, giving us a huge fake smile. “We’re rooting for you.” She did a double take when my outfit registered with her, and came out into the hallway and stopped us.
“This is nice,” she said, fingering the lapel of my jacket. “Is it from Jardine?”
“Yep,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.