by Mia Carson
Chapter 2
“Here are those cases you asked for,” Walter said, setting the stack on Harold’s desk.
Harold nodded, though his gaze remained on his computer screen. He had a few more pages to type up before he could turn in for the evening. When he reached the end of the paragraph, he gave his fingers a rest. “Thank you, Walter. Are you headed home for the night?”
“Unless you need me, the wife would probably like to see me before she tucks the kids in for bed.”
Harold picked up the files and set them in the center of his desk. Kids. He wondered if one day, he would be so lucky to go home and tuck kids into bed. Shaking his head to chase away such a distant dream, he flipped open the first case file and frowned.
“Of course, have a good night—but one thing. Why did you bring me these? They’re not my clients and certainly can’t afford me.”
“You don’t remember what time of year it is?” Walter asked with an arched brow and soft smile. “January, sir. You always do the same thing every January to keep up the tradition your father and your grandfather created.”
Harold grunted. “Pro bono cases. Some days I wonder why I bother.”
“Because it reveals your charming side,” Walter reminded him. “Your case load is light at the moment anyway. What harm can it do for you to help some poor soul?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Walter. Have a good night.”
Walter left the fancy, high-class office of Harold Jenson III, housed in an older building with several other legal offices in it. The man himself wouldn’t go home to his old stone and brick mansion anytime soon. He shoved the file stack to the side to look through once his current work was finished. He had deadlines to meet, and Harold was always punctual. Such a characteristic was expected of him, as was everything else about his personality and his current status in life. His family was from a long line of lawyers—successful lawyers. Harold had followed in his father’s footsteps and had yet to lose a case. He planned on keeping it that way for the next few decades to come until he could pass the same legacy to his son. The only sound in his office was the ticking of the old clock, reminding him of the time and how much he spent of it in the office he’d inherited from his late father.
When he finished his work, he stared with annoyance at the cases stacked before him. Once a year, Harold picked a case to take on pro bono, and hated it every single time. These people were always so whiny and beneath him. He charmed them as he did all his clients, but at the end of the day, he longed to return to his plush life and those who filled it.
“Knock, knock,” a woman called from the doorway.
Harold swung around in his chair. “Well, speak of the devil and she shall appear.”
“You were talking about me? With whom, I wonder?” Bailey waltzed into his office and settled in the chair across from his desk.
“Myself, as always.”
He had grown up with Bailey, went to private school with her, and graduated law school with her as well. They were better suited as friends, much to their parents’ disappointment. She and their other two friends, Christian and Rodric, made up a tight knit group. Back in their college days, Harold had dubbed them the four musketeers, setting out into the world to right wrongs and fight for justice. Of course, that was not how his life was meant to be. He defended the rich and forgot about his dreams of helping those less fortunate a long time ago. This was his life, and he would remain in it, comfortable and content.
“The boys are waiting if you’re ready to go.”
“Yes, our Friday night meet-up,” he mused, setting the first case file aside. “I’ll be ready in a few moments.”
“What are you looking for? It must be awful if your frown lines are showing,” she teased.
“Pro bono. I need to find a case to take on. You know how it goes.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t worry about mine until summer, though. Warmer weather makes me a little more amicable to taking on a free case,” she mused. “Anything interesting?”
He sighed as he tossed another few aside. “Nothing yet, no.”
“Why not save it for tomorrow morning? I’m dying for a glass of red wine and listening to Christian whine about how horrible his day in court was.”
“I almost forgot. How is his trial going?” Harold smirked, picturing Christian in front of a courtroom full of people. He was a very easy-going man and could charm a wheelchair from a cripple. Harold had his suave moments but was nothing compared to his friend. He envied him that trait, but out of the four friends, Harold had the winning record.
“So far so good, but it’s an easy one. He’ll get his client off, I’m sure of it,” she said, sounding bored. "Oh, Harold, just pick one and let’s get going.”
He pursed his lips at her and shuffled towards the bottom of the stack. “Five minutes.”
She mocked his words and paced around his office. Harold watched her, admiring the curves of her delectable body as always. He’d experienced a few fun nights with Bailey, but he could not picture himself with her for the long haul. His parents were both lawyers, and their relationship hadn’t been a happy one. Harold flipped open the next folder, ready to dismiss it as he had the others until his eyes caught the name.
“Shit,” he whispered. The grey-eyed woman in the photo stared back at him, and his heart lurched as his gut clenched in anxiety.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” he said, offering her a smile. “I found my case, is all.” He tucked the folder into his leather briefcase and turned off his desk lamp. “After you, my dear.”
Bailey eyed him suspiciously but sashayed ahead of him out of the office.
***
Harold walked around his study Saturday morning, sipping his coffee and avoiding the file he’d selected as his pro bono case. He felt it hovering over him as if she were right there in his study, eyeing him with that crooked grin on her lips and those damn grey eyes laughing at him, mocking him as she always had. Calling him Harry until he cringed. He loathed that name, but she hadn’t cared. She called him what she pleased.
Until she left your sorry ass, he reminded himself bitterly, his eyes narrowing on the briefcase. She left you without so much as a goodbye.
The question he’d considered most of last night out with his friends and while he attempted to sleep was why, out of all the other cases, he had picked up hers? Why? All it would bring him was more annoyance and stress he didn’t need. He was happy, content, yet…yet those brief six months with her nagged at his mind. She’d stayed in his mind even when he spent another six months trying to forget how it felt to kiss her or hold her close to him as they walked through the park late at night while snow fell around them.
Or her laugh, that deep husky sound he swore he heard even now.
The sunlight dappled the rug as he paced back and forth until he stopped himself before he made a rut in the fibers. He was Harold Jenson III, and no woman would get the better of him, especially not six months later. He was better than this, better than her. Hence the reason he was taking her case—to show her she had no lasting effect on him.
I hope you can keep up that act for the duration of this case, he told himself. You know how she always saw through your shit. Just admit it. You want her back and this is your way in.
As he sat behind his desk in the study, he ignored the mocking voice in his mind and opened his briefcase to remove the case folder of one Anna Crawley. Her picture showed off her dark, violet hair and grey eyes that hid no emotion, no matter what it was. That trait was one of the reasons his mother, Prentice, hated Anna. She scoffed at their view of the world. She had never fit into his world, and his mother made that quite clear several times to Harold. He was willing to try and show Anna how her life could be with him, but she had refused to listen. Then one day, she was gone and it was too late. He could have chased after her. He fiddled with the folder, staring out the window and into the distance, imagining a very different day when r
ain poured from the sky and he stood shivering on the sidewalk.
His cell dinged, pulling him from his wandering thoughts. Thanking his mother, for once, he read the message and texted her back that he would be over for Sunday night dinner as always. If he decided at the end of the day to take on Anna’s case, he wouldn’t be able to do anything until Monday when the judge set her bail.
Harold already knew most of the information in the case file and skipped ahead to what she was being charged with. “Breaking and entering along with assault. Damn, Anna, what did you get yourself into?”
She was a rough and tumble woman, but she rarely lost her temper, at least from what he had seen of her. His eyes widened as he read through the police report. She beat her landlord with a baseball bat. He sat back in his chair, unsure what to think. Anna didn’t have a record, not even a speeding ticket, but she was arrested for assault? He refused to make assumptions until he heard the story from her mouth and spoke with the detective on her case, but based the notes, she claimed she’d had nothing to do with it and that the landlord was harassing her. He rubbed his eyes and decided another cup of coffee was in order if he was going to make it through this case without getting sucked in emotionally.
The quiet of his empty mansion pressed in around him, and he paused in the foyer. The hair on the back of his neck stood as he sensed a touch at his neck that trailed down his back. His first night with Anna when they had nearly tumbled into his bed together was one he wouldn’t soon forget. She was a damn fine kisser, but he showed her up several times, leaving them both breathless and fighting for control of the moment. Her laughter used to echo around these walls. Harold blinked furiously as his cool, calm, collected mind crumbled at the edges. He missed her. How was he supposed to get through this and prove to her she’d made the wrong choice in leaving him if he missed her the most? What if she didn’t even care if he showed up to save the day?
He managed to get to the kitchen and was pouring his cup of coffee when his front door opened. “Harold? You home?”
“In the kitchen,” he called to his baby sister, Jenny. “Coffee?”
“Ugh, yes, please,” she groaned as she entered the kitchen dressed in ripped jeans, knee-high brown boots, and a fancy flowing top from some new designer or other. She plopped down at the kitchen table and shook out her head of black hair. “This morning was brutal.”
“Looks like it. Nice bags under your eyes.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Be nice. You think your job’s grueling, try mine.”
“I’ll keep my suits, thanks.” He carried his mug and one for Jenny to the table and sat down.
She gulped down half of it, cursing when it burned her tongue but not seeming to care. He had followed in his father’s steps to be a lawyer, but his baby sister was blessed with good looks and a smile that killed. Harold had fended off plenty of boys during their days in school. Now, she was a high-end fashion model with her face on the covers of numerous magazines, and was living it up. Most of the year, she was in New York, but during the winter months, she tried to come back to Concord to spend time with her family and to work with the magazine that gave her a start in the first place.
“What’s with the furrowing brow? Going for a new look?” she mused, resting her feet on another chair as she held the mug in her hands.
He ran his fingers over the rim, not meeting her gaze. “Just work.”
“Uh huh. You’re so full of shit.”
He rolled his eyes at her childish giggle. “It’s nothing, so let it go.”
“Oh no, it’s something. Hardly anything rattles the great Harold Jenson III. It must be about a woman,” Jenny pushed, her eyes narrowing on his face. “A woman I know?”
Harold declined to answer. His sister would see through a lie, anyway.
“I do know her. Hmm, well, it’s not Bailey, unless she’s pregnant or something.”
Harold choked on his coffee as she laughed. “We haven’t slept together in over a year, thanks for that.”
“I was only checking. One of these days, I think Mom would like grandchildren.”
“How about you let it go?” he asked, but she shook her head, twirling a strand of black hair around her finger.
“No, no, I’m going to figure out who it is.”
He sighed as she stood and danced around the kitchen, holding her coffee still and murmuring names under her breath. He willed her not to remember, prayed she would somehow forget the woman he was with for six months, the one Jenny had gotten along with so well. He ran his hand over the surface of the old kitchen table, making a mental note that it needed a new coat of stain this year.
“Holy shit, it’s Anna!” Jenny yelled.
Harold jumped and threw a glare over his shoulder at her. “How the hell did you figure that out?”
“Baby sister intuition,” she said excitedly and sat back down. “Did she call you or did you break down and call her? And details, please. I need the details.”
“There are no details because nothing has happened yet,” he grunted.
“Then why do you look like you’re ready to go fight in court? You have that stern face going on, but it’s different,” she pointed out, running her fingers over his forehead until he pushed her hand aside. “Harold, really, what’s going on with you? I thought you were over her after she, you know, left you.”
What else could he say except he clearly wasn’t over her? His heart was ready to pound out of his chest and he hadn’t even spoken to Anna yet. “Her case was passed to me for a pro bono.”
“Case? Wait, she’s been arrested? For what?” Jenny asked worriedly. “You’re going to help her, right? Anna couldn’t do anything wrong.”
“She apparently assaulted her landlord with a bat,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll talk to her Monday morning if I can convince myself this isn’t going to blow up in my face.”
Jenny smacked his arm and he winced. “You’re going to help her, Harold.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because despite the fact that she left you, I liked her. We were close to being friends,” Jenny told him. “And I’m pretty sure her leaving was half your fault, so do this for her and maybe you’ll get some closure.”
“Who said anything about me needing closure?” he snapped.
“That face and that voice,” she said pointedly. “Thanks for the coffee, and I’ll check in with you on Monday.”
“Jenny,” he called as he walked out of the kitchen, “I’m not calling you!”
“Yes, you are, because you’re going to need my help!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Bye, Harold!”
He threw his head back, spewing curses as his front door opened and closed again. Sitting around all day avoiding his work wasn’t something he tended to consider, but the mix between loathing and fear of being rejected by Anna again tore at him so much he avoided his study until later that night when he told himself to suck it up and get on with his job. He was a professional lawyer. He could handle this case. His father would never balk at it and neither would he, no matter how many raw emotions her picture stirred up.
Chapter 3
Anna combed her fingers through her hair. She gave up and shook it out in frustration, flipping her head over and back up again. The weekend spent in a holding cell was bad enough. She had to sit by and watch as Johnny spoke with the detective about the incident. She only heard bits and pieces, but all of it was total bullshit. The bump on her head finally went down, but it did little to calm her rage. She paced the cell, waiting for them to tell her what the bail amount was set at so she knew how much she would be screwed over by this jackass setting her up.
“Anna Crawley?” an officer said as he reached her holding cell. “You’ve been bailed out by your lawyer. He’s here and has asked to speak with you.”
She frowned. “Lawyer? I don’t have a lawyer.”
“You do now. I’ll take you to one of our interview rooms if you want
to grab your boots, ma’am.”
Anna wanted to ask him who this lawyer was, but if the person had bailed her out, she wouldn’t question her good luck. She snatched up her boots, slipped them on, and followed the officer through the other cells to an interview room.
“He’ll be along in a few minutes. He’s bringing the paperwork you need to sign.”
“Thanks, I think,” Anna said and was left alone in the room.
She picked one of the hard-back chairs and sat down. Her stomach growled and she was dying for a shot of tequila to make up for the shitty few days she had. Once she was out of here, she had to swing by the bar and see how bad it was. She wanted to call Missy and tell her this was all a misunderstanding, but the detective had made it quite clear he doubted her story of a third attacker, or that she went there to help Johnny. When she argued with him until she was blue in the face, he pulled out his tablet and slid it around so she could see the fight she and Johnny had gotten in a few days before.
“I overreacted there, I’ll admit it,” she had told him, “but you don’t understand. This guy has raised the rent on my place—both places, and twice now—because I don’t want to be with him! He told me flat out if I had sex with him, he’d forget the extra money!”
“Ma’am, all I have to go on right now is the evidence in front of me,” he had explained. “You were found with the weapon in your hand, the door was broken in, and the call for the police came from Mr. Tory’s phone.”
Anna ran through it in her mind, but all she could remember was the sounds of a struggle, walking into his dark apartment, and being whacked over the head. She never saw another person or heard another voice, which they liked to point out repeatedly when she tried to calmly explain to them the circumstances of her being in Johnny’s apartment. Since she had a lawyer now, she guessed she should keep her mouth shut and not say anything that might get her into even more trouble.
She rested her eyes, leaning back in the chair, and wondered who was crazy enough to represent her when a man cleared his throat. “Hello, Anna.”