Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Here’s my theory: If a defendant claimed to hate chocolate and offered a couple of reasons for their terrible taste to an assistant who passed the info on, something would get lost in translation. Where’s the passion? I’d get fired up and want justice on behalf of chocolate lovers everywhere, but if I had to defend that asshole, I’d need to get a feel for why his taste buds failed him or plead insanity.
Rossman skimmed over those juicy tidbits or didn’t emotionally connect them to the crime. He was cold and sharkish. I didn’t want to be anything like him in the courtroom. I didn’t like his tactics or his style. In fact, I’d learned a lot about what not to do from this internship, which I supposed was useful.
In spite of the slimy aspects, I was still hoping to be hired at Rossman and Engle after I passed the bar. It was a well-respected firm that represented elite clients whose objective was to challenge big pharma corporations. And that kinda meant something to me. Highlighting boring passages from law journals…not so much.
On the bright side, I’d cut my hours in half to concentrate on studying for the bar. Maybe the break would help, because honestly, this wasn’t fun.
This was what you wanted, I reminded myself, tipping my chin in greeting as I patted the sheaf of paperwork in front of me.
“It’s good to be seen. I’m almost done here. I’ll leave them on your secretary’s desk before I go.”
“Terrific!” He boomed, hiking up his weekend-dad khakis to perch on the corner of the armchair across from me. “Find anything interesting?”
Tag Rossman was somewhere in his fifties, and though he’d probably been a decent-looking dude when he was younger, he now rocked the “I partied hard in college and forgot to slow that shit down till I was forty” vibe. You know what I mean. He was paunchy, red-faced, and hopelessly out of shape. He tried to hide his pinkish pallor by spray tanning, but no one had the guts to tell him the orange hue clashed with his jet-black hair.
Okay. That was catty as fuck, but I’d dealt with so much phony over the past year, I was afraid some of it might stick to me.
“My task was to highlight documented checks cashed by managers in four firms on two continents over a ten-year period, so I’m gonna go with…no. Nothing particularly interesting, sir,” I reported with a smile.
Rossman guffawed, slapping his knee as if he’d just heard the funniest thing ever.
“No one ever said the law was sexy all the time. Speaking of sexy…” He turned off his funny valve and narrowed his eyes. “I have a nosy question for you. Do you have a girlfriend?”
I shook my head warily. He’d literally asked me that last week. “No.”
“Boyfriend? I don’t know if you swing that way. You don’t look like it, but—”
“Gay looks just like straight, Mr. Rossman,” I intercepted, fixing him with my own version of a slick grin. “But no. I’m single. And I think we’ve already had this conversation. I’m sure Mallory is a great girl, but I’m not comfortable mixing work with my personal life.”
His plastic smile didn’t waver. “Commendable, for sure. Let me just cut to the chase and tell you what’s on my mind. My daughter is a smart girl. A genius. I know what you’re thinking. All dads think their kids are the cat’s pajamas, but the truth is…she’s the real McCoy. She’s going into her junior year, majoring in physics, and in a twist, your roommate is her teacher.”
I did not expect that.
I shut my gob so fast my jaw cracked. “Which one? I have two super-genius roommates, and both of them are professors at Caltech.”
“Professor Galymer.”
Holden.
“Well, that’s a coincidence,” I remarked in my most casual tone.
“Small world, isn’t it?” He flashed another smarmy grin and leaned in. “I remembered you’d said you lived with a couple of Caltech scientists and did a little research of my own. Bingo! So listen… Mallory is transferring to USC this fall, but she’s taking a summer school course at Caltech and…she’s having a hard time. First time she’s ever been stumped by the material.”
“Does she need a tutor?”
“Got that covered.” More smarminess. “What I think she really needs is to get to know her teacher.”
“Professor,” I corrected.
“Right. Are you on good terms with your roommate?”
Well, he’d hid my milk and tried to charge me a tenner for coffee this morning. And he was always on my case about cleaning the kitchen, putting throw pillows in their proper place on the sofa, and keeping my clothes on. Otherwise, sure. Holden and I were tight. Ish.
“Yeah,” I lied. “But I’m not sure where this is going. They already know each other, so she doesn’t need an introduction or—”