Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
He’s also a bit of a nerd. He gets way too into museums, and his idea of a wild Friday night is reading a philosophy tome and a World War II history book. When we do manage to drag him out on the town with us, I’m not sure he even notices the way women relentlessly chase him, swooning over the dimples that he thinks are ridiculous.
Matt drops into a stretch. “For real, what was with the double-time sprinting?” he asks me.
“If the SEC were on your ass, you’d be running, too,” Kennedy says.
“I was running.”
“Could have fooled me,” Kennedy says, leaning against the railing along the Hudson, looking every bit as polished after a five-mile run as he does in the office.
Matt shoots Kennedy the bird, then turns his attention back to me. “So what’s our plan? How do we clear your name?”
See that? Loyalty. Told you these guys were solid. Not once since this went down have they thought or implied I was guilty of anything other than shitty luck.
I brace on the railing and, dipping my chin to my chest, take a deep breath. “I don’t know, man.”
“Who’s your lawyer?” Kennedy asks.
“Dunno yet.”
“Damn it, Ian. You need a lawyer.”
I look up in irritation. “Yeah, thanks for the brilliant words of wisdom, Dad. I said I didn’t know yet, not that I wasn’t going to get one.”
“You found out about the investigation on Monday. Today’s Thursday. What the hell have you been doing if not lawyering up?”
“Flirting with the SEC,” Matt chimes in.
Kennedy snarls, “What?”
Matt gives me a shit-eating grin as I glare at him. “Kate filled me in. Dude, you bought her a Frappuccino? That was your grand plan?”
Kennedy braces both hands on his thick head of hair and turns in an agitated circle.
“We got off on the wrong foot. I was trying to make amends,” I say, defending myself as we start walking back toward our respective apartments.
“Bullshit,” Matt says. “You were trying to use the infamous Ian charm on her in hopes she’d go easy on your case.”
Kennedy’s arms drop. “Tell me he’s joking. Tell me there’s another explanation for why you haven’t made time to find a lawyer that doesn’t involve bringing the SEC whipped-cream concoctions.”
“In Ian’s defense, whipped cream has led me to many an interesting encounter with women,” Matt says, lifting his hands above his head in a stretch.
Damn it. Now a vision of Lara McKenzie wearing only whipped cream and her librarian glasses has me biting back a groan.
“Grandpa here’s right, though, about you needing a lawyer ASAP,” Matt says, his face turning serious. “Kate’s looked up every detail there is to know about this woman. She’s good. Doesn’t lose cases, doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t screw up on a technicality. Doesn’t back down. Ever.”
“Sounds like someone we know,” Kennedy says with a pointed look in my direction.
“Right, because you two are so easygoing,” I snap, losing patience with the lecture. “Look, I’m working on it.”
“Work harder. McKenzie will send you to jail if she can, man.”
I rub a hand over my face as Matt punches Kennedy. “That’s not what he needed to hear.”
“He needs to take it seriously,” Kennedy snaps back.
Enough already. “I am taking it seriously. I know I’m in deep shit. You think I’ve just had my thumb up my butt the past two days? I’ve got a dozen phone calls out—”
“Don’t bother,” Kennedy says. “You need Vanessa Lewis.”
“Oh, definitely,” I agree. “Just as soon as I capture a unicorn.”
“You won’t know until you try—”
“I did try. You think I didn’t think of her first?” I say. Vanessa Lewis is the best white-collar defense attorney in the city, and everyone knows it. “Her office said she’d put me on the waitlist. You guys are good with numbers . . . Tell me, if I’m eighty-sixth on the list, how good are my chances?”
“A hell of a lot better if you got some help,” Kennedy says.
“Good plan, Dawson. I’ll just toss a few coins in a wishing well. Better yet, does anyone know a genie?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of calling the best fixer in the city,” Kennedy says.
Matt groans. “No. Anyone but—”
“I didn’t say you had to talk to her,” Kennedy points out.
The three of us have been walking as we talk, so we’re now outside my apartment building. I rock back on my heels a bit, contemplating Kennedy’s suggestion. “It’s not a horrible idea.”
One I should have thought of first, if I hadn’t been so distracted . . .
“It’s a damn good idea,” Kennedy says. “Call her. And for the love of God, do not talk to the SEC again until you get an attorney.” Kennedy’s already continuing at a slow jog toward his own apartment building a few blocks over. “Cannon, try to keep up.”