Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (20 page)

Elizabeth stared at the case files in her
hand in disbelief.
He’s sticking me with the trash again,
she thought
angrily. Her fingers crinkled the edge of the pages as she turned them, but she
couldn’t focus on loosening her grip while she was still breathing the same air
as her boss.
Condescending prick.

“Of course you’ll be paid handsomely,”
Donald was saying in his lazy Tennessee drawl. “The agent has booked you for
the duration. Simple drug charge, accusation of using performance enhancers,
stripped of his titles, all that.”

“Why do we care if this cowboy is doping?”
Elizabeth raised her eyes to Donald’s toadyish face, and he flinched at the
sharpness of her tone. “That has nothing to do with us.”

“The drugs in question are an illegal
concoction currently being evaluated for classification under Schedule I
narcotics.” Donald blinked again. “You know, drugs that have no medical use by
law.”

“Like crack?” Elizabeth asked. “He was
using something like crack to improve his performance?”

“I am not a chemist,” Donald said
impatiently, waving his fat hands in front of him as though the distinction was
a simple case of semantics. “I don’t know. What I
do
know is this will
be a very easy case for you, and a nice paycheck to pad this month out. All you
have to do is make sure this fella gets scared straight, so to speak, and
you’ve got yourself a few car payments for an Audi R8.”

Elizabeth knew her face was starting to
harden into a mask of contempt. “With all due respect, I don’t want
easy
.
That’s not why I became a lawyer. Why am I never assigned to a case with an
outcome that actually matters?”

“I resent that!” Donald said, and he
sounded very mildly scandalized. “I have personally handed you many cases that
got your name in the paper.” He fiddled at the buttons on his suit nervously as
he spoke, his beady eyes darting around the corridor as though he was afraid of
being overheard.

“Those were vanity cases that did nothing
to help the community,” Elizabeth countered. She folded her arms, even though
she knew her green pantsuit might crease from the action. “I want to make a
difference! I don’t want to sit around and look pretty!”

“That’s unfortunate,” Donald said
pleasantly. “You do it so well. But I have no doubt that this case is going to
surprise you with its depth. I think Mr. Brighton is going to bring a lot of
attention to our little town, and then you’ll be moving on in no time.”

He didn’t give her any time to respond to
his last remark; it was probably for the best, since nothing that came to mind
would have done Elizabeth’s career any good. She uncrossed her arms and looked
down to see her hands shaking with rage, had to close her eyes and take three
deep breaths in a row before they slowed their trembling.
I have to get out
of this job,
she mused.
I’m not going to live to see thirty five this
way.
As she watched Donald Douglass’ wide body disappear around the corner,
she wondered how someone so full of corruption and laziness could possibly
ascend to the position of District Attorney; then again, most of her co-workers
weren’t any better. She remembered clearly being shunned for her first two
weeks on the job, until Donald stepped in to make everyone stop their open hostility
toward her.

Though the town was slowly filling up with
hipsters and their ilk to replace the dwindling baby boomer population, it was
at a grueling place that simply wasn’t fast enough for her. The weight of being
the only black lawyer in Claiborne, Tennessee was starting to crush her spirit,
and it wasn’t going to get better unless she tried to do something about it.

Maybe I can check some of the ads from
the papers near the bigger cities,
Elizabeth thought as she made her way
through the courthouse.
I can’t stay here much longer, not if I want to have
my own practice one day.
It had been three years, but the constantly
polished floors of her three story court building were finally starting to look
blackened with the slime that crawled through. Donald himself had supervised
cases that saw drug barons walk away without so much as a slap on the wrist. It
was more than just tiresome now, and it had been implied that she would lose
more than her good reputation for speaking up; the words “replaceable” had been
thrown around more than once. She’d made some connections between law school
and the present, so it should be easier than it was before to find a position.
She would just have to consider moving, maybe even out of state.

As Elizabeth entered the main hall to exit
the building, something caught her eye at the edge of her vision. She turned
her head to the right, and the man that had been staring at her turned around
abruptly and walked in the other direction. She froze, fear flooding her body
as she tried to identify the squat man in the brown suit that no one else was
acknowledging as he fled deeper into the courthouse. He looked over his
shoulder once more as he entered an elevator, and the bright blue eyes called a
name from the back of her mind immediately: Dale Cunnings, the Mayor’s aide.
Disgusting
creep.
Mayor Hare had requested her help with an anti-drug crusade two
weeks before, and when she’d refused, Dale tried to win her over with his
masculine charm. Unfortunately for Dale, Elizabeth knew how to spot a sleaze
ball on sight, and she brutally rebuffed him until she threatened him with a
restraining order. She hadn’t been serious, but it had worked—or so she
thought. If Dale was following her again, maybe she really would need to get
that restraining order. She smiled when she thought of his potential reaction
to the paperwork, and it lifted her spirits significantly. 

The sun was almost blinding in its
brilliance, but Elizabeth thought it was just because she’d been in the
courthouse since before dawn, like always, finishing up the remaining bit of
paperwork from the last week. She represented two young shoplifters whose
fathers bought their way out of serving time and scored them a few hours of
community service. She was glad to see the end of the case; the teens had been
rude on top of unrepentant, and she was sure she would see them again if she
stuck around Claiborne. The types of teenagers she wanted to help weren’t born
with silver spoons in their mouths, or at least didn’t take them for granted.

The drive back to her house was short,
since most people were already at work or school at nine thirty; Elizabeth
loved driving her little Honda through the empty surface streets and counting
all the elderly couples walking hand and hand past all the kitschy looking
storefronts on Main street. The shops were all covered with fake wood paneling
in front so that the town looked more “Old Western,” helping to draw in
travelers. In the middle of March, there were few tourists drifting across their
paths, so the shoppers were mostly stay at home mothers or teenagers ditching
school. By the time she pulled into the driveway of her two bedroom house,
she’d only counted three couples, and one hunch-backed old man with a bright
green cane making his way into the bank.

A soft chime sounded when Elizabeth walked
into her darkened living room, startling her even though the sound was low; she
started to panic before she remembered it was just the answering machine
attached to the ancient landline she’d had installed. Her cellphone service
would sometimes fade out in parts of town, and when her mailbox got full, there
was no other way to reach her. Apparently, she had forgotten to clear her
messages again. She walked across the room to punch the glowing red button and
collapse into the easy chair next to the phone and began taking off her shoes.

Beep.
“It’s Matty. I was just
wondering how you’re doing...maybe we could meet up for a drink? Call me; let
me know how you are.”

“Not nearly desperate enough to call you
back,” Elizabeth said under her breath as she nervously tugged on the loose
coils of her hair.
I have to get this re-weaved,
she thought
absentmindedly.
Maybe next week, in case I get in an interview.

Beep.
“It’s Douglass. Chase’s agent
wants you to meet with him this evening, six pm. Don’t be late!”

Dammit.
She’d have to meet with him
before she got a chance to line up another job; she’d been hoping the arena
cowboy would drag his feet since his trial wasn’t set to begin for another few
weeks. Why was he so eager? Guys like him got off so easy they often never had
time to feel anxiety before they were out the door again. God knows she’d had
enough arrogance for one lifetime, and Chase Brighton was probably so coated in
it you couldn’t keep his grip in a handshake.
Maybe I should just turn down
this case,
she thought desperately.
But they’d probably try to fire me
before I could quit.

She opened her phone and caught sight of a
headline from a news app on her home screen: HARE’S HARASSMENT WOES, read the
block letters. The article detailed the dozens of sexual harassment lawsuits
brought against Mayor Hare, many of which were settled out of court. It was
just one more horrifying reason to get out of this town.
I wish there were
some way to take him out with me.

Elizabeth stripped down to her panties and
climbed under her sheets for a quick nap, vowing to search the want ads for a
few hours before she had to go meet with her new client. If she was lucky,
maybe she’d have something by the end of that week. If she was
really
lucky,
perhaps the end of the day.

And if luck had any real weight in this
world at all, you’d have never been in this town in the first place,
Elizabeth thought. Seconds later, she was fast asleep.

****

When she woke up, she assumed the blackout
curtains were doing their job, and the twilight in her room was artificial;
then she remembered she hadn’t pulled the blackout curtains before he laid
down, and she was out of bed so fast she nearly tangled herself in the sheets.

Her bedside clock read five twenty eight.
Fuck!
There was no time to eat anything, or even do more than hop in and out of
the shower. Elizabeth raced around her home, grateful she hadn’t acquired much
in her short tenure in Claiborne; it made finding and organizing things far easier.
Some of her things were still in boxes, in fact—never unpacked from her initial
move. After the first six months, it was a priority issue, and after that it
was about comfort. Elizabeth never felt welcomed by the little town, and being
in a constant state of unease delayed her putting down roots until it was too
late. The soil here was sucked dry, and she had to tumble on.

It took her twenty minutes to shower and
pull on her black pantsuit, and another ten to drive to the courthouse. Her
fingers were gripping the steering wheel so tightly as she drove that her hands
were numb by the time she pulled into the parking garage with five minutes to
spare.
Deep breath and focus. This might be your first and last time meeting
this dipwad.
Elizabeth straightened the lapels of her deep blue shirt and
buttoned her suit jacket as she climbed out of the car. It was chilly for
March, even for the evening.
Maybe we’ll get hail again.

The security guard on duty waved her
through immediately, too engrossed in his Soap Opera Digest to bother greeting
her or to look in her purse. The courthouse was oddly empty at this hour;
normally it was swarming with cops, lawyers, and criminals from open to close.
She got all the way to the third level before seeing another person—a lone
janitor pushing a dirty mop around outside the men’s bathroom. There was a
fluorescent light flickering above him, and it cast the entire hallway into a
sickening yellowish glow that nearly caused Elizabeth to reconsider the
meeting.
What are you, superstitious? Just go to the conference room!

Conference room D was the smallest room,
but it was the only one with a couch. It also was without cameras, but she
wasn’t worried about being attacked. When she pushed open the door, a waif-like
woman with short red hair curling around her ears was sitting cross-legged in a
desk chair while a tall, tanned man with dark brown hair stretched out on the
plush green couch. The woman sprang to her feet as Elizabeth entered, extending
one hand as she offered a tight smile, but the man didn’t move at all.
Jerk.

“I’m Ella Miner,” the woman said, “Chase’s
agent. You must be Ms. Coin.” Her handshake was firm but brief, and her hands
were almost colder than the room.

“I am,” Elizabeth answered, turning toward
the couch where Chase was lying down, eying her with a passive interest with
his emerald eyes. His square jaw was covered in black stubble, and his full
lips were smiling impishly. “And you must be Mr. Brighton.”

At the mention of his name, the man got up
from the couch and shot Elizabeth the goofy, charming smile she was used to
seeing on his show posters and TV ads; it was no less cheesy in person, but
Elizabeth was somewhat disarmed, nonetheless. His handshake was also firm, but
he lingered, and that made Elizabeth take a step back from him in alarm; he
chuckled as she did, apparently finding her surprise funny.

“Sorry,” Chase said good-naturedly. “They
told me my lawyer was E. Coin; I suppose I was expecting a man, and you caught
me off guard.”

“That’s quite sexist,” Elizabeth pointed
out, eyeing him warily. He was oozing charm, so it was hard to take him
seriously, and that frustrated her even more.

“Quite,” he agreed. “But I hope you can
forgive me. Being charged with something you’re innocent of doesn’t put you in the
right frame of mind.” He kept his eyes on her as he spoke, moving from point to
point on her face and body, and it made Elizabeth feel as though a spotlight
was being turned on her. She was used to clients avoiding her gaze as much as
possible. He had a constant energy about him that was clear even in interviews
and photos, and he was displaying it now with the restless motion of his eyes.
Elizabeth was no stranger to male attention, so she knew his gaze was doing the
usual stop around her full breasts, shapely thighs and what was visible of the
curve of her bottom, but he also seemed to be looking right through her. It was
unnerving; this man was looking at her as though he already knew her
intimately, but she’d never spoken to him in her life.

“I suppose you’re right,” Elizabeth
finally said. Chase smiled, and this grin was more tired and genuine than the
last, and she had the feeling her forgiveness really had been needed. Was he
being polite, or did he feel desperate for her approval?
A showbiz cowboy
with an insecure streak? Not the furthest story ever fetched.

“Anyway, now that there are charges, a lot
of that will stop,” Elizabeth continued. “But you may still be called in for
various reasons, and some may not seem perfectly valid to you.”

“They’ve been dragging this out for a few
weeks now,” Ella said desperately. “They keep bringing him in and then
releasing him without charges. Getting the official charge read to us finally
was almost a relief, because every time they got him out of bed, we kept wondering
if he would be able to come back. And they cops were so rude. It was like they
didn’t care about treating us fairly at all.” The fear in the woman’s voice
wasn’t lost on Elizabeth.
Poor woman,
she mused;
she actually thinks
he’s in trouble.
She kept looking anxiously between Chase and Elizabeth,
wringing her hands in front of her in an almost comical fashion.

“I know what you mean,” Elizabeth said as
she sat down at the table in the center of the room. She really did feel bad
for them—at least for agent—so she tried to keep her voice soothing and low.
“But that is a common tactic. They want to break you down, wear down your
spirit before they charge you so you’ll cave more easily to their demands.”

Chase and Ella exchanged a complicated
look, pregnant with layers of meaning, and Elizabeth wondered what they weren’t
telling her.

“They will throw everything at you, guys,”
Elizabeth warned, looking between the two and trying to mine their unspoken
conversation for clues. “They’ll dredge up your past, try to destroy your
career, go after old friends and family…anything they can do to beat you and
get you in jail faster.”

“They can’t do that,” Chase said stiffly,
flopping on to the couch in outrage. “I’m innocent, they don’t even have—“

“Mr. Brighton,” Elizabeth cut in, “I don’t
mean to be rude, but you do have a well-documented history of drug possession,
occasionally with the intent to distribute. Those are serious charges that are
definitely going to be a factor in the decision, whether you like it or not.
I’m going to need a little bit more than your solemn oath of innocence.”
Like
a hair sample, for one, which you’ve refused to provide thus far.

Ella looked at Chase again and widened her
eyes, and they had a tense battle in complete silence. It went on for so long
that Elizabeth almost said something again—then Ella started shaking her head
slowly in a clear gesture that Chase seemed to be choosing to ignore. He leaned
forward on his knees, and Ella made a noise between anger and defeat, throwing
her hands in the air in exasperation as she leaned back in her seat.

Elizabeth finally spoke. “Is someone going
to tell me what’s going on?”

“Well, how about this, Lizzie?” Chase
said, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “I’m being set up to be sent to the
slaughter, and your boss is in on it.”

Several things happened at once: Ella
stood up in anticipation of Elizabeth’s move to leave; Elizabeth herself
anticipated Ella’s move to block her; and Chase thrusted himself in the middle
of the action, grabbing Elizabeth’s arm to stop her from leaving. The next
thing that Elizabeth was aware of was Chase’s six feet of muscles being sent
crashing to the floor after she swept his right leg out from underneath him. He
lay on his back, wheezing, while Ella backed away into the corner, watching the
abrupt escalation with frightened eyes.

“Rule one,” Elizabeth said as she knelt
over Chase’s red face, “You don’t get to call me Lizzie. Rule two: you don’t
get to decide when I leave. Rule three: don’t ever touch me. Not if you want to
stay out of the hospital. Got it?”

“Got it,” Chase wheezed.

“You’re supposed to help us!” Ella
whimpered from her corner. She sounded so pitiful that Elizabeth regretted her
action for a moment.

“I
am
helping you,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m probably the only person who will, if you’re telling the truth. Every
person here is in the DA’s pocket, except me. Now, either you’re a complete
idiot who believes the mayor would frame
him
but not have crooked
employees stashed everywhere, or you’ve already checked me out.” She looked at
Ella, whose pale face was slowly returning to its normal shade. “Why do I feel
like it’s the latter?”

“Because you’re smart,” Chase whispered as
he stood. He used one roughened palm to gingerly rub his backside, which had
taken about fifty percent of the sudden impact. “It’s why I picked you. I
always knew you were smart…but now I know you’ll fight for me, too.” He walked
back over to the sofa and motioned for Ella to join him. “Come on, you chicken.
She’s not gonna hurt you.” He shook his head, annoyed. “Glad I didn’t happen to
need a bodyguard.”

“You were flat on your back!”

“Quit squabbling!” Elizabeth shouted, and
they fell silent immediately. “Now tell me how you got into this mess so I can
get you the hell out of it.”
Or if I can’t, maybe you can get the hell out
of here when I do.
Somehow, she wasn’t feeling too great about either
possibility.