Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“Did Reese—”
“Yes. And I told him good luck.”
“And he said?”
“Challenge accepted. But I know you. He’s the kind of man you’re drawn to and fear. And he’s your job. What are you going to do?”
I don’t deny anything she’s just said. We worked twenty-hour days together at the DA’s office. We talked. A lot. Lauren knows me more than most. More than anyone, really.
“Cat?” she presses.
“What am I going to do?” I repeat. “I’m going to get naked with that man and say goodbye.”
She laughs. “Then I’m going to tell you what I told him. Good luck.”
I scowl as if she can see me. “Challenge accepted.”
She laughs louder, and I hang up.
Chapter six
Cat
Day 4: The Trial of the Century
Iwake up exhausted and in need of caffeine, which is Reese’s fault. He was on my mind last night, keeping me awake, which is unacceptable unless we’re naked and together. Thinking means I’m getting too involved with him emotionally, and I’m not doing that now or ever. Deciding my coffee stop is safe today, or rather necessary for everyone else’s safety, I pull myself out of bed and hurry to the shower, then put my Keurig to use to make a cup of coffee, which I drink while drying my hair, then flatiron it to a sleek shine. I don’t tie it back, and tell myself that has nothing to do with Reese. It’s the tired thing motivating this decision. I need the attention off my puffy-ass face.
I dress in a favorite outfit, a burgundy pantsuit with pants that hit at the ankle. I pair it with stilettos, and the shirt beneath the jacket is white; I then head to the coffee shop, where I read my newly posted column, as is my routine, and I do like my routines. The fact that I’m pleased with what I’ve written helps take the edge off my crankiness. And the fact that every other headline is about a baby killer, and headlines make my fact-based commentary stand out. Finally, it’s my turn in line, and I order my white mocha, while trying not to admit that I’m a tiny bit disappointed that Reese has not shown up.
Once I’m at the courthouse, I wade through the gaggle out front. Once inside, I discover that I’m seated near Reese again, and when he enters, his eyes find mine and his words are in the air between us: Challenge accepted. At the moment, they’re about him and me and me and him, not this case. But as he takes the courtroom reins, it becomes clear that he’s up to that challenge as well. He calls the family and friends of the victim to the stand, and one by one, proves that no one knew his client was someone involved with the deceased. His client knew her, but he wasn’t sleeping with her. He was trying to help her out of an abusive situation with her boyfriend.
Come lunchtime, I head back to the same food trucks I’d visited yesterday, and I’ve just gotten my nuts again when Reese reappears. “You have to eat something other than nuts.”
“My nuts are healthier than your hotdog.”
“Yeah, well, I only do hotdogs during trials,” he says as we step to the hotdog truck.
He orders, and a few minutes later we’re sitting on the same bench as yesterday.
“Why only during trials?” I ask, finishing off a handful of nuts. “Is it like a superstition thing?”
“It is,” he confirms. “I ate a hotdog at lunch the day I got my first jury win. It’s superstitious, but in this line of work, you take any advantage you can get.”
“You’re winning,” I say.
“Juries are unpredictable,” he says. “You know that.”
“I do. I worked for the DA for several years, and even when you believed you should win, you didn’t always win.”
“The DA with a Harvard law degree,” he says. “You could have been banking and you chose public service.”
“I come from money,” I admit. “I make my own living, but I inherited my apartment, and that gives me the freedom to do what I want. I can’t say I’d be different or the same in my choices if that wasn’t the case.”
“I came from nothing,” he says. “You should know that about me.”
He says those words with a hint of that arrogance that I don’t read the same way I have in the past. It’s as if the arrogance is a wall to protect him from those who might judge him unworthy. “You seem to be doing pretty well now. And you know that what you do have, you created.”
“And you don’t?”
“I do now. I walked away from law. I embraced what works for me and I’m better at what I do now because of how I started. So I can’t regret it.”
“Why the DA? Why public service?”