Jensen:: A Military Bad Boy Romance (The Bradford Brothers Book 1)
Read Jensen:: A Military Bad Boy Romance (The Bradford Brothers Book 1) Online
Authors: Juliana Conners
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Other Books in the Bradford Brothers Series
Book # 1 in the
Bradford Brothers
Series
Copyright 2015 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction and any similarities to real places, people or events are entirely coincidental. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format except for short quotes for review purposes, without the express written consent of the author.
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Cover design by
Kasmit Covers
.
Día de Los Muertos
/ Day of the Dead
image from
Hubpages.com
clipart.
To Matt, my partner in this crazy thing we call life.
To Quinn, my eternal muse and Sawyer, my earthly joy.
And to the memory of Whiskey Greg.
Ride on, party on,
and give a kiss to Quinn
if your paths should ever cross
as you’re both out there making more stars
for our beautiful and adventure-filled Universe.
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Chapter 1
“Hey pretty lady, what are
you
doing here?”
A man in an orange jumpsuit presses up against the gate of his jail cell as he spits this question at me. Then he spreads his index and middle fingers across his mouth and wags his tongue at me through them.
I try not to grimace as I look at his leering gaze. Then I quickly turn my head away so as not to display my disgust and fear to the man’s face.
But the prisoner’s question is valid, and one that I’m asking myself right now in fact.
What
am
I doing here?
I’m not the kind of lawyer who works in a jail. Correction: I
wasn’t
that type of lawyer. Yet the fact remains that here I am walking into a gritty jail instead of a fancy high rise like I have for the past four years of my legal career.
I’m supposedly an up and coming lawyer at the Law Firm of Holt, Mason and Davis. My goal has been to become a partner there within the next couple of years. And I think I’ve achieved my goal so far, since I’m not only on the partnership track but according to my bi-annual evaluations, I’m doing sprints around all my fellow associates.
Except for my fiancé Brian, of course. But he doesn’t have to make much of an effort, considering that he’s the son of the firm’s founding partner Jack Holt. He doesn’t think I should be volunteering here, but he doesn’t understand what’s at stake if I don’t.
“Ms. Morrell, keep following me, this way please,” says Tim McDonald— or is it O’Donald?— who is walking in front of me. “We’re almost there.”
He must know that I’m strongly considering turning around and leaving. Maybe Brian was right— I don’t need to go to
these
lengths to impress the firm. There has to be something I can do that doesn’t involve trips to the local jail where I’m accosted by lecherous criminals.
But ever since my latest performance evaluation at the firm, Jack Holt’s words have been ringing in my memory.
“Your billables are great, your work is solid, your networking is as expected,” he’d told me. “But your
pro bono
hours are not on track with the other associates’, and the only misgivings expressed by any partner have been your fit here with the firm.”
“My
fit
?” I’d asked, squirming in the oversized leather chair in the large conference room that held only Mr. Holt and myself.
I’d wanted to ask how I was supposed to find time to do
pro bono
hours— volunteering to represent clients for free— when I already billed more hours than any other associate, year after year. But I assumed he expected me to figure that out on my own.
And I was intrigued— if not dismayed— by his use of the word “fit.” I needed to fit in at the firm; I needed to make it work. My parents had spent a lot of money on law school and would be furious at me if they knew I didn’t make partner because I didn’t “fit in.”
“As you know, Riley, this firm has a strong and proud military tradition,” Mr. Holt had continued. “And you’re the only associate who doesn’t have some tie with the military.”
I thought about it and realized he was right: many of the partners had served in the military before going to law school, and many of the associates were in the Reserves. There were lawyers who had gone to West Point, the Air Force Academy, who had been in JAG before transferring to Holt, Mason and Davis, and who regularly volunteered at the VA, helping with disability cases or access to health care.
Except for your son
, I wanted to point out to Mr. Holt, because Brian was the only other associate with absolutely no connection to the military. But he didn’t count. Mr. Holt rarely spoke of my relationship with Brian at work, but when he did, it was to tell me that he’s glad his son hooked himself to a rising star: that I was good for Brian and could keep him on track.
The unspoken assumption was that the normal rules of associate standards did not apply to Brian. He was expected to go to happy hours and golf tournaments with the partners, not slave away as a billable hour drone like the rest of us. And apparently he didn’t have to have any military connection, although everyone else, including me, had to meet that requirement.
So it’s no wonder Brian doesn’t understand. When I began calling around to military legal service organizations where I could volunteer, the Veterans’ Legal Alliance was the only one that responded immediately.
Tim had explained to me that the VLA organization provides all types of legal services and representation to military veterans, and that usually means representing them in criminal trials. It’s a totally different world than I’m used to, but I’m open to anything that will help me become partner at the firm.
