Reading His Mind (5 page)

I shrugged. “I plead the fifth.”

He tilted his head to the side, shooting me the sexiest version of puppy-dog eyes I’d ever seen.

“Fine you’re built like a Greek god. It’s a crying shame clothes were invented and the laws of the land require you, of all people, to wear them. Your nudity should be a socially accepted practice.”

“I agree.” He grinned. “Come to dinner with me. Afterward, I’ll take you to my hotel, and we can enjoy room service while defying the laws of the land that require garments.”

“I enjoyed room service this morning.” As an afterthought, I added, “With nary a stitch of clothing whatsoever.”

“I noticed.” The humor, the sexy playfulness evaporated from his voice.

“Are you jealous George didn’t bring you any morning goodies?”

“I can take care of my own morning goodies.” His gaze, as he perused my half-naked body, heated my skin.

“Not this morning, stud. I have to get ready for work. I have a meeting at eight.”

He stood, and I rethought my position in its entirety, imagining all different kinds of positions. “We have plenty of time.” He untied the belt to my robe then slipped his hand around my waist. His lips found mine. “Come back to bed.”

As more giver than taker, I found my own brilliant compromise. “Shower?”

“Oh, you really are a mind reader, woman.”

I strolled into the conference room at Charles & Charles and Associates, practicing my excuse—traffic? Fire? Definitely not because I was getting lucky—for my tardiness. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Half an hour. Sue me
.

“It’s fine.” The senior Charles motioned to a chair. “My son’s not arrived yet, either.” From his tone, his son’s absence garnered the bigger bone of contention.

The offices could be described as nice, but the conference room was an exercise in extravagance. An oversized crystal chandelier gleamed above a heavy oak round table, which would have befitted King Arthur’s knights. The luxurious chairs were overstuffed, cradling my butt in cushy comfort. A credenza, stocked on top with pastries of every make and model, sat off to one side. A silver tea service glistened on one end while a bucket of ice and assorted bottles of soft drinks sat undisturbed on the other. The designer of this space had envisioned opulence, succeeding in its creation. I imagined if a wealthy client needed to be impressed, this was the go-to room.

Mr. Charles’s assistant offered refreshments.

I stopped her in the middle of her litany of choices. “Bottled water.”

I looked around. Three other attorneys—two I recognized from my days in court along with a woman I had yet to meet—occupied chairs to my left, leaving Mrs. Charles to my right. I saw no reason to wait for an attorney who hadn’t been in court and had no information that would help sway my information to a more favorable light.

“I’ve sat in the last two days, just watching.” I shook my head. “It isn’t going well. The jury loves the prosecutor. She’s smart. Funny, even. She has them hanging on her every word.” I looked at Michael, the lead attorney on the case. “They want more from you on cross. I know. Right now you’re just waiting for the prosecution to make its case, but they wanted you to ask more from the detective who questioned the couple.”

He scoffed without attempting to hide his disdain. “Really?”

“Yeah. They wanted you to ask why he arrested the woman. They feel like he had his cake and you let him eat it, too. He said she lied. She told him her boyfriend got angry when the baby cried. He believed her. But then he turned around and said she was a raving liar. If that’s true, they want to know how he decided what statements to believe. Why did he get to pick which was true and which wasn’t? It’s a good thing because it means they have a problem with him, but they need a push, a way to reinforce so they feel justified.”

“How do you happen to know what they think?” Frost chilled the air with the spoken words.

Wonderful
. Angry, insulted lawyers posed a jury consultant’s biggest job hazard. Lawyers I worked with seldom liked me at first sight. It took a while along with a lot of proof before they accepted what I told them. Some gave in without much of a fight. I had a sense Michael wouldn’t be one of them.

“It’s what I do. It’s why I make the money I make, and why my juries rule the way I want.” I fumed, stalling puffs of breath into a long exhale, one short second from putting him and everyone else who doubted in their places.

“So, you tamper with juries?”

How dare he?
“Absolutely not. I’ve never talked to a single juror. I read them, their body language, the way they look at each side. It is a skill. It makes me good at what I do. Extraordinarily good.” It comprised half of my skill, but I had no real reason to brag about my hidden talents. However, I might have been willing to bring them out for a little show and tell if he continued to challenge me.

“What is my body language telling you?”

Challenge accepted
. Again, I saw no real need to look into his thoughts, but I did it anyway. “It’s telling me you’re an arrogant prick, and no matter what I say in this room, you’re going to do it your way and your client is going to go to jail for a very long time.” Because I was pissed, I continued. “You’re thinking I have no business here telling you what to do because you did your homework on me. My parents roam the country as fake-ass faith healers. I’m a high-school dropout who got her GED and went to college on a dime while you are Harvard educated. You don’t need some smart ass know-it-all sticking her nose into your case. It’ll make you look weak, and you can’t have that while you are trying to earn a partnership for yourself in this firm.”

He stared at me in shock.

“Am. I. Close?”

“Something like that,” he murmured, looking more than a little green.

“Well, since you know everything, you probably already know they think your client seems guilty because she never raises her eyes. She never so much as glances their way. Her head is always down.” I wasn’t going to tell him to fix it. His boss could do it.

“She’s hard to work with. She’s a little dim-witted.”

What? Did he really say that out loud? Mr. Charles, whether sensing danger or just to show that he could, decided to throw a little of his weight into the conversation. “If she’s mentally slow, work with her.”

“I tried.” His face colored with the lie. The secretary, who’d been scribbling my every word onto her notepad, looked up at him and frowned. She’d been the one sent to try to work with the client.

I stepped into the conversation. “She’d probably also benefit from a hairbrush, maybe some better clothes. They have to want to like her to find her innocent. Right now, they don’t.”

“Okay.” The elder Charles tore his attention away, his focus shifting behind me. “Wyatt, I’ll hear your explanation after the meeting.” His stern voice left no room for comment. “This is Miss—”

“Lyric Brenner?”

I glanced up, knowing that voice. My mouth dropped open.

He gazed at me. “How the hell have you been?” He all but lifted me from my chair and wrapped me in an inappropriate hug, his hands creeping toward the danger area. “You look amazing.”

So did he. Wyatt had been my semi-hot item in college when he’d also been semi-hot with half a dozen other girls. After him, no boyfriend’s thoughts remained off-limits. That also explained why there had been no subsequent long-term boyfriends. “I had no idea you were the other half of Charles & Charles.”

He couldn’t hide the bitter ring of his laugh. “I’m not. The other half is my mother. I’m ‘and Associates.’” He sent his mom an adoring smile shining with a faux glow that rivaled her platinum hair color. “If I would’ve known this meeting was with you, I would’ve worked harder to be on time.” He turned to his father. “Lyric and I went to college together.”

“Maybe you could catch up after we’re finished here.” His father had no sense of humor about anything going on at the moment.

Admonished into more appropriate behavior, he took one of the ten empty seats but continued to stare at me like I was dessert after a very long lunch.

I tried to get back into my zone. “Your client’s young. That also goes against her because they see her as an inexperienced mother who could very well have done this to her baby herself. They also don’t buy the fact she told the detective she was too scared to leave her boyfriend. You picked a strong jury, and they don’t believe a woman can’t get out any time she wants. But,” I checked my notes, “juror number six and juror number three want to know where your client’s family members were. If a concerned aunt or cousin or whoever turned her in”—I hadn’t gotten to reading much of the case file yet—“I assume they will be testifying for the prosecutor after the detective is finished?”

Michael nodded.

“You might want to go after the fact her family members didn’t help the girl when she showed up before with marks and bruises. Plant the seed of
that
person wanting the baby herself. These two jurors are thinking it already and wondering why she would turn the girl in. What was her motive? They want to know before they decide anything.”

“How the hell could you get all that from body language?” Michael reclined in an arms crossed doubting-Thomas pose.

Frustrated, I ran my fingers through my hair. “I know, right? How the hell could I possibly have that kind of insight? The fact is, I don’t know either. I just do, and I know my juries don’t go the other way. I don’t know if I can help you win, because this isn’t a jury I helped pick, but I know you don’t have a chance in hell without me. Whether you hire me or not—”

“We’ve already hired you.” Mr. Charles glared at Michael. Calling my opinions into question put his decision to hire me under the lights, and he didn’t care for it.

“Well, then you should listen to me because I know stuff, even if I can’t explain how.” I beamed at Mr. Charles, who rewarded me with as much of a smile as I suspected he had ever given anyone. He nodded to me. The meeting continued for another two hours before he requested my return to court on Monday.

After we adjourned, Mr. Charles suggested we enjoy a relaxing lunch. The chances of that were less likely than my being crowned queen of Narnia. This lunch constituted a test. He wanted me to perform. If I passed, he wanted to offer me a permanent position with his firm. He mentally calculated how much he would have to ante up to bring me into his tight-knit fold until he turned to his waiting personal assistant.

“Let’s blow them off and go get reacquainted.” Wyatt’s whisper slimed against my ear. He stood there, imagining the kind of reacquainting he wanted.

I did a slow rotate to face him. “Wyatt, as predictable as ever.”

He clutched his heart. “You wound me.”

“I suspect you’ll live.”

“Have dinner with me tonight?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m too handsome, too charming to resist. And you miss me.”

“Yeah, you’re handsome.” Denying it would have been ridiculous. With his maple-syrup-colored hair and his tall, well-muscled body, he caught a glance or two. But for all the attractive, his dark side overpowered his good looks with a noticeable intensity. “Charming might be a stretch, though, and, make no mistake, I don’t miss you. Plus, I have plans tonight.” I’d arrived late for the meeting because I’d allowed Jace an extra half hour to convince me of his brilliance. He’d used his time well and I’d folded before he finished the first kiss. The twenty-nine minutes that followed were a bonus.

“Then I guess I’ll have to make the most of our lunch.”

“I didn’t hear your dad invite you.” I prayed he hadn’t. I had enough drama in my life at the moment without adding him to the mix.

“Of course he did. He’s the one who said we could catch up after we were through in there. Then he scheduled this lunch after the meeting. I’m invited by default.” He tucked my fingers into his arm, covering them with his own.

Turning from his assistant, Mr. Charles looked at my hand resting on his son’s forearm. I removed my fingers with quiet stealth then slid my palms down my skirt. The frown on Mr. Charles’s face provided irrefutable evidence of his annoyance.

“Ready, Dad?”

“I thought you had a conference this afternoon.” His father’s honest-to-God displeasure should have been my salvation.

“Cancelled.” He sent a pleading look to the assistant, who had yet to leave her boss’s side and whose features colored with her hero-worship of what she believed Wyatt to be. She nodded almost imperceptibly. I fought the urge to scream a warning about him.

“Very well.”

In the limousine hired by Mr. Charles, Wyatt sat next me, pressing his body into mine while his father situated himself across from us in the spacious interior.

Wyatt poured himself a drink from the side bar then leaned back to relax. “I was thinking.” His focus remained on me, but he directed his words to his father. “Lyric said the jury thought Michael is taking too long getting his points across, and he’s losing them. What if I take over the case?”

I wished for the power to send mind messages as his father contemplated the idea before looking to me. If it were any other attorney, I might have agreed, but not Wyatt. While sure he could have the jury swooning if he put his heart into it, I also knew to win he would have to work hard to get past the mistakes Michael had already made. Some facts even charm didn’t supersede. Case in point, he had a mortal allergy to hard work and no pretty words made it less true.

“It’s not going to be easy to overcome all the evidence already established in the case. Michael did his best, but there are a lot of issues.” I used logic in the hopes the idea of all the work he would have to put in would dissuade Wyatt’s new enthusiasm.

“But,” Wyatt countered, his chocolate-colored eyes narrowed, “I have to believe a change in the guard, so to speak, might help in this situation. If they don’t like Michael and we recognize it, is it not our obligation to our client to provide her with the best representation we have available?”