by Meghan March
I shake his offered hand. “Thank you. I’m really excited to be here.”
And that’s no lie. I truly am excited, despite the crushing nerves. This job is going to go a long way toward paying off my debt, and that’s what matters right now.
He drops me off for orientation, and I spend hours filling out forms for HR and learning the computer system and programs. When I think my head’s going to explode with all the information, Vito Richards opens the door to the orientation room and steps inside.
“Glad you’re still here! I figured we would’ve scared you off with all the details.”
I adopt a cheery smile, hoping like hell he can’t tell how completely overwhelmed I am. “Of course not. I think I’ve got it all.”
Richards nods. “Great. I’ll walk you out and we can talk about your schedule.”
I follow him out as he confirms what hours I can work and whether I want to try to work more hours than I did at the library. We pause at a cluster of chairs and a coffee table in the lobby, and I write down the hours he’s hoping I can squeeze in. After a mental check of my schedule, I assure him it can work.
Altogether, I’ll be putting in about fifteen hours per week, and maybe twenty if they decide to have me work some weekends. It’s not many more hours than I’d work at the library, but I’m going to have to cut out of school as soon as class is over to hustle my butt downtown to get to work on time.
And without a car . . . that means I’m going to be at the mercy of the bus system unless I ask for a ride. Since asking for help has never been a strong quality of mine, it’ll more than likely be the bus.
Not a big deal, I reassure myself. I got this.
Day two at Grant Bentham Beckett is my first actual work day. I had an eight o’clock class and made it here by eleven. Ryker wouldn’t hear of me taking the bus, and dropped me off.
He pressed a kiss to my lips before I slid out of the car. “They’re going to love you.”
His words of confidence buoyed me through the doors and up the elevator to my new office.
Attorneys have the offices along the outside of the hallway with windows to the outside. Legal secretaries have cubicles running down the white interior hallway, and paralegals and research assistants have tiny interior offices with no windows, but at least we have doors. It comes through loud and clear as a design to reinforce the hierarchy around here. Ryker’s mention of firm politics hovers at the forefront of my mind all day.
Vito’s office is directly across the hall from my interior office, which is tucked behind the secretarial cubicle. I stash my bag in my office and retrieve a notepad and pen from my desk drawer before sticking my head in the doorway.
“Come on in, Justine. I was just talking to Ron about the projects we want to have you start on today,” he says as I knock and peek my head inside the open door.
I enter the office, smiling at the man across the desk from Vito, and take a seat in the remaining vacant chair when Vito nods to it. He introduces me to Ron Lane, a fellow appellate partner I’ll be supporting with research.
“We’ve got some exciting projects for you to work on, ones that we hope you’ll find interesting and engaging.”
He spends the next twenty minutes outlining the facts of the major case he’s working on, and I scribble furiously on my notepad to make sure I don’t miss any details. I ask a few questions to ensure I understand the issues, but it’s pretty straightforward. My electronic research skills are excellent, so I don’t think I’ll have any trouble tracking down cases for him.
When he flips the file closed, I’m poised to stand, but Vito isn’t finished.
“I also have another case I’d like you to help with, even though the issues aren’t typically something we handle.”
Interest piqued, I flip to a new page on my notepad. “Whatever you need, sir. I’m happy to help.”
“This one is a favor for a friend of a friend, and actually probably hits quite close to home for you.”
I frown, wondering what kind of case he would have that would hit close to home for me.
“This isn’t technically an appeal we’re handling, but I said I’d look into any grounds for an appeal in a drunk-driving case that one of your fellow students got caught up in.”
Chad. He has to be talking about Chad.
Vito’s right, this one does hit close to home for me, even though Chad is gone and uncommunicative. Every text I’ve sent to check in on him has gone unanswered since the e-mail where he told me he was dropping out.
I know our friendship wasn’t the strongest lately, but with our history, I expected a little more. But if there’s a chance I can help him in any way, you better believe I’m going to do it, whether he wants my help or not.
“Whatever research you need, I’m your girl,” I say, hoping it’ll encourage him to move on more quickly to the details.
“As you probably know, Chad France was convicted of a DUI this past summer based on an accident that took place right after finals.”
There’s no way I could ever forget. “I remember.”
“He worked for a friend of mine who asked for a favor, but doesn’t want to get involved due to conflict issues. I told him we’d review the case for potential grounds for appeal. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth another read. I’d like you to review the file and the court transcripts. Our best shot is finding a procedural error at this stage.” He nods to a file box on the floor.
Oh, wow. No pressure there or anything, Justine. For Chad, I’ll read everything three times just to make sure I don’t miss anything.
“Do you have any ideas about what I should be looking for? I’ve taken Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure, but I’m no expert on procedural grounds for appeals in this situation.”
“Just read through the files and see if anything stands out to you. The details are all there. I’ll set up some time with one of the partners in the criminal law group, and he can give you a rundown on some of the most common errors and what you should be looking for.”
That’s exactly what I was hoping he’d say. Find me an expert I can ask a million questions. I’ll do my best, Chad. I promise.
“Okay. That sounds good. Thank you.”
“These are going to be great cases for you to cut your teeth on. Let me know if you have any questions as you dig in. Work on Chad’s case whenever you get some downtime. It’s not your first priority, but we’ll do what we can.”
“Understood. I’ll get to them both; don’t worry.”
He smiles before I leave the office, lugging the heavy box of files.
I waste no time once I’m back in my little white-and-beige cave. I’m sucked into my research and don’t pull myself away until my stomach is grumbling and my watch says it’s time to go home. But I can’t leave without at least starting to look at Chad’s case, so I flip the lid off the box. Dozens of file folders stand upright, and it’s crazy to think that the fate of my childhood friend was decided among these pages.
The night at the bar comes back vividly in my memory. If Chad hadn’t gotten hit and arrested, I wouldn’t have needed help from Ryker. He wouldn’t have kissed me. He wouldn’t have stood me up. I wish I could erase it all for Chad’s sake, but it’s still crazy to think of how different things could have been. But then again, I have to believe that Ryker would have asked me out again. Would I have kept resisting?
Vito sticks his head into my office, interrupting my musings. “You should head home, Justine. You don’t want to be the last one in the office on your first day. You’ll be setting the standards pretty damn high.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about looking through Chad’s case before I left. I would love to be able to find something helpful, and sooner rather than later.”
“Save it for tomorrow. It’s not going anywhere. What happened to him really was a crap deal. Only a fraction of a percentage over the legal limit, and he probably never would’ve been picked up had it not been for the driver who ran the light and hit him.�
� Vito pauses. “I’m not saying he didn’t commit the crime, but it’s just hard to see a kid, who by all accounts was smart and a hard worker, go through something like this.”
I nod, because I couldn’t have said it better. I hated that this happened to him. “I’ll dig through everything and see if anything stands out. When can I talk to someone in the criminal law group?”
“I’ll set that up for later this week. Now, get out of here.”
I’m heading down the stairs, my bag over my shoulder, when my phone vibrates in my hand.
Ryker: I’m outside. I’m taking you to dinner.
My mouth tugs wide with a smile as I tap out my reply.
Justine: I’m not going to argue with that.
Ryker: Then get your sweet ass down here.
Justine: On my way.
Everything else fades away as I head out of the building and see him waiting for me at the curb.
Chapter Fifty
Justine
Later that night, I’m in Ryker’s bed, his hard body curled around me.
“I need to go home. I can’t stay tonight again.” There’s nothing I want to do less than leave, but I know I need to keep some separation.
He curls a hand around my breast, and a zing of heat starts in my nipples and goes straight to my clit.
“You definitely need to stay because I’m not done with you yet. We’ve still got at least one more round before I’m letting you out of this bed.”
I roll to face him. “Is that right?”
“Hell yes, that’s right. You’re not getting away from me yet.”
“I can’t just crash here every night.” Getting this comfortable scares me when I’m clueless about what he’s feeling.
“Is there some reason you have to really go home, or are you just freaking out about spending too much time here?”
Apparently Ryker can read me more easily than I thought, or maybe I’m completely transparent.
“We’re going to class together, you’re taking me to work, we study together. You’re going to get sick of me.”
Ryker’s blue gaze sears me. “You think after two years of trying to get you here, I’m going to let you leave my bed because you’re worried about something that ridiculous? Not happening. I’ll keep you here as long as I can. Hell, if I knew you wouldn’t lose your shit, I’d just move you in.”
“Uh, we’re not— I mean. What?” My words come out a stammering mess.
“I hate that you live in crap student housing, Justine. I worry about you every night you spend there. Have the break-ins actually stopped, or has Campus Safety just stopped reporting them?”
As I gather the sheet to my chest, my teeth pinch down on my bottom lip at the concern etched on his features. I release it before replying. “They’ve stopped. I think. I mean, my place is fine.”
I can’t bring myself to admit that the nights I’ve spent in his bed have been the most restful sleep I’ve gotten since the night of the break-in, because at home, I spend too much time worrying away the hours I should be sleeping.
“You’re staying tonight. I’m not asking. I’m telling you.” His tone dares me to protest, and I know I should. I should tell him he can’t order me to stay. But my protest would be halfhearted at best and completely bullshit at worst.
So instead, I cave. “Fine. I’ll stay. Tonight. But tomorrow night I’m going home. I’m paying rent, so I need to sleep there.”
“You can stop paying rent if you just—”
Oh no. That conversation isn’t happening. I press a finger to his lips to stop him. Because you’re afraid you’ll want to say yes?
I shut down the inconvenient inner voice. I’m not considering it. This is too new, too untried. No matter how I feel, I’m not ready to jump off a cliff with no parachute or safety net. The last thing I want to do is move in, get comfortable, and then haul my stuff out again if something goes wrong. I’ve spent most of my life bouncing from place to place, never having a chance to put down roots. What if I put them down here and they get torn out?
“I’ll stay tonight. Leave it at that, okay?”
Something about the tone of my voice keeps him from pushing. Instead, Ryker says nothing in response, probably because he’s not going to make promises he won’t keep, and I have a feeling this conversation isn’t truly over. I know one foolproof way for him to leave the situation alone . . . I slide my hand between us and wrap it around his shaft.
Ryker groans as he hardens against my hand. “You don’t play fair.”
“Who says I’m playing at all? I take this very, very seriously.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Ryker
I’ve avoided Kristy Horner and the International Law Journal office as much as possible this semester, but I can’t any longer. Today is a full editorial board meeting to discuss our next issue going to print, and if I miss it, she’ll have leverage to get me booted off the journal.
Before, the prospect didn’t bother me, but now I’ve got something to prove. The only thing getting me through the meeting is knowing that I’m meeting Brandon at the bar for a beer later, and hopefully talking Justine into staying the night at my place. One day at a time.
When I walk into the office, I’m the last to arrive. Kristy is at the head of the table, with the rest of the editorial board filling up each side. I slide into the seat at the end.
“Thanks for joining us.” Kristy’s tone is snotty and annoyed, but I don’t care.
I check my watch as the hands land on two o’clock. “Right on time.”
She rolls her eyes, and no one in the room can miss the tension between us.
Kristy talks for forty minutes, giving a rundown on each of the pieces for submission, and debates the merits with herself without allowing anyone else to get a word in.
There’s only one piece in the stack that I don’t think should be included, and it’s Kristy’s. It’s basically a regurgitation of the last note she published, with a slightly different spin so she can pad her résumé. I’ve got two choices—bring it up now, in front of the group, or take it up with her privately. As much as I want to call her out, I opt for the latter.
When the rest of the editorial staff leaves—after rubber-stamping everything Kristy chose for publication—I stay seated, leaning my elbows on the table.
“We need to talk.”
Her blond eyebrow arches. “About what?”
“Your note. We’re not publishing it.”
“The hell we’re not. I’m the editor-in-chief; I can do whatever I want.”
“And ninety-five percent of it is a duplication of the shit you published last semester. Everyone in the room knew it, but no one has the balls to say anything.”
Her laugh comes out as a huff. “You’re going to challenge my work product? Really? After we published your half-assed piece last year?”
“I didn’t make the call to publish mine, but you’re making the call to publish yours. You’re using the journal to pad your résumé, and I’m calling bullshit.”
Her expression hardens. “My decision is final. Call it whatever you want.”
“You need me to bring this up with Professor Tate? Because I will.” Our faculty advisor is the only chance I have to knock Kristy down a peg. Last year, I would have kept out of it, but the way she’s been taking swipes at Justine has pushed me past my limit.
Her mouth pinches into a scowl. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Then I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought.”
She taps a fingernail on the table, as though considering what she’s going to say next. “Maybe I don’t, but you’re still not going to do it. As a matter of fact, what you’re going to do is leave this alone and get me a letter of recommendation from your dad for my clerkship application with the Sixth Circuit.”
What the fuck? “Did you run out and find some crack before the meeting? There’s no way in hell he’s going to write you a letter of recommendation. I won’t let him.”
Her scowl twists into something nasty. “Yes, you are. And you know why? Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell everyone all about how your dad is paying your new girlfriend’s tuition, and that’s why she finally spread her legs for you.” She nods her head. “I guess it’s lucky for you she lost that scholarship, or you would’ve never gotten a shot at her.”
My expression stays neutral as her words tear through me, unleashing waves of rage. What the fuck?
Kristy’s waiting for my reaction, but I refuse to give her the one she’s expecting.
I stand, gripping the edge of the table so hard it creaks. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re talking about, but I don’t want to hear Justine’s name come out of your mouth ever again.”
A harsh laugh tinged with something evil escapes. “You could’ve had me—someone your social equal—but no, you wanted that charity case. Apparently she’s a hell of a lot smarter than you, because she found a way to get a free ride for fucking you. The student paper would love that story.”
“Stop right the fuck now. You’re full of shit.” I want to reach across the table and shut her up myself, but I’ll never put my hands on a woman like that.
“I bet you wish I was, but this isn’t something I can make up. You know my mom works in the registrar’s office, right? She’s been drafted to help keep tabs on the payments coming in from the scholarship kids who lost their free rides. She told me that the last payment for Justine’s tuition came from your dad—and it wasn’t the first time. I thought that was pretty freaking interesting.”
“And your mom is going to be out of a job tomorrow for sharing confidential information with you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
My harsh tone isn’t as effective as I expected, because Kristy laughs again and lowers herself back into her seat. “You’re so blind, you don’t even see it, do you?” She crosses her arms, rests them on the table, and leans toward me. “How many times did she shoot you down before she lost her scholarship? Don’t you think it’s odd that she didn’t put up much of a fight after? Think about it, Ryker.”