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)
Steaming cup in hand, I sit down at my white marbled kitchen island and proceed to finish two cups of coffee, while doing what I do every morning. I read my Cat Does Crime write-up in hopes that I won’t hate what is now published, and today, thankfully, I do not, though sometimes I do. And I didn’t have much to work with to start. There were opening statements, some heated words between counsels, and the judge pulling them back behind closed doors, in what became the end of the day. But reading over my published piece, I made it work. There is a nice mix of personal insight into the case, the judge’s general attitude and presence, as well the jury’s engagement in the courtroom events. Additionally, I share my opinions on what should happen, has happened, or has not happened. Finally, I end with a closing statement of my own:
The prosecution’s opening statement promised to prove a good-looking billionaire to be a monster in disguise. The defense, led by Reese Summer, in turn, promised to prove them wrong. It’s a predictable narrative, of course, except for one thing. The sensationalism in the courtroom for the defense, in what appears to be the JFK effect of good looks and charm, wins the day. Summer slays the jury and the audience, convincing them that the prosecution is on a witch hunt. And since the prosecution chose to present their case with over-the-top drama akin to a B-rated, poorly shot, Friday the 13th movie, they better have facts as backup to win. Until then, —Cat
I left out the part about me having met Reese, finding him to be an arrogant ass, and that he still had me actually contemplating getting naked with him. I don’t even know where my head was. Reese personifies the very man who has always been a problem for me. I know Reese is trouble. If the prosecution doesn’t know that by now, they will. Just to arm myself with facts, to back up those statements, I google him now. In the name of research, of course. I write down the details in my notebook:
Age: 35
Yale Law School graduate, eight years ago
Single
Never lost a case
God, the man has a résumé that matches that of my father, two brothers, and Mitch, my ex. If only I’d stuck to fucking that man in his office, I might not have minded that he’d also fucked his secretary in his office. Funny how that works. And on that insightful note, I shut my computer. Time to shower, dress, and head to court, sans a stop by the coffee shop for a white mocha and a brush with Mr. Arrogant Asshole.
By the time I’m out of the shower, I start to wonder if I’ve let my irritation and attraction to Reese Summer cloud my judgment about meeting him. In an effort to not appear unprofessional, have I decidedly acted unprofessional? I’m going to want to interview him. Why would he grant an interview to a woman who stood him up? Of course, I didn’t agree to meet him and it wasn’t a date, but still…
By the time I’ve dressed in a fitted black suit-dress with a V-neck, and have pinned my hair neatly at the back of my head, I’m certain I’ve misstepped. Determined to fix that problem and catch Reese before he leaves the coffee shop, I pull on a black blazer and my knee-high black boots, and then slip my briefcase and purse across my chest on my way to the door. I’ve just finished the fifteen-floor elevator ride and stepped into the lobby when my cellphone rings.
I cross the lobby while scooping it out of my unzipped purse to note my friend Lauren Walker’s number.
Waving at Adam, the doorman, I exit the building and answer the call. “How’s the baby?” I ask, answering the call.
“Are you talking about the one in my belly or the one in my bed?” she asks.
“You’re the only person on this planet that would call your beast of a husband and ex-FBI agent a baby.”
“Baby is the wrong word,” she concedes. “Protective bear is more like it. He hovers worse than the DA, and I know you know what that means.”
After three years of working with her and under said DA’s operation, I do, but I get it. She miscarried last year. Her husband is worried. Still. “Royce can’t be that bad.”
“He is. So are his brothers. Soon I will have a drone following me to the bathroom.”
I laugh. “That would be bad. Really bad. But sympathy aside. How are you feeling?”
“Sick. I hear that’s actually a good thing. But me aside, I have a client meeting in a few, but there was a purpose to this call other than drones and hovering men. I thought you’d want to know that Royce got a call from the defendant in the case you’re covering.”