Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll (2 page)

And as if things couldn’t get any worse, Kasick walks back into the kitchen with Tyler right behind him. Tyler looks at me with wild eyes.

“No girl up there,” Kasick says.

“She must have jetted out of here fast,” Tyler says apologetically while looking at me.

No clue why he should be sorry. I’m the one who practically pushed her out of the bed and demanded she leave.

So much for my alibi.

“I think it’s best if you come on down to the station with us,” Turnbull says, trying to sound as if this is just an ordinary day. “We’ll stop and get some coffee and donuts on the way… We want you to be comfortable while we talk.”

I let out a pained sigh and scrub my hands through my hair. It’s long and messy on top, hanging in tangled layers down to my ears. I look up at Turnbull. “Can I grab a shower first?”

“I’d rather you not,” he replies with almost a taunt. “We’re going to ask you to let us take some swabs for DNA comparison and check your hands for gun residue. Can’t have you washing away evidence now, can we?”

A surge of nausea wells within me as the shit is starting to get real. Of course they won’t find anything on me that will link me to Keith’s murder, because I didn’t fucking do it, but I’ve seen enough shit through Midge to know that the police will fabricate evidence, particularly in a high-profile case.

I turn to Tyler. “Call Midge. I’m going to try to call her on the way there, but tell her what’s going on and to meet me down at the police station.”

Tyler nods at me, his own face green with fear. I try to remind myself I have nothing to worry about because I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t kill anyone and the truth shall prevail.

At least I hope that’s how it works in the criminal justice system.

Emma

T
he Pit is
buzzing with energy this morning. One of our best civil litigation attorneys, Leary Michaels, left for the courthouse about an hour ago where she’ll be giving closing arguments in a wrongful death lawsuit. This particular case has captured the hearts of almost everyone here at Knight & Payne, as Leary represents the estate of a four-year-old little girl who was killed by a drunk driver.

Who happens to be the mayor of our city.

Well, former mayor actually. He’d been indicted on a host of criminal charges, including bribery, and was awaiting trial when he tied on one too many at a local bar one night and made the terrible and stupid mistake of trying to drive home. He blew through a red light and hit the car being driven by sweet little Caroline Allen’s mom.

Mom made it out with a broken femur. Caroline died in her car seat.

Last I heard, the former mayor’s insurance company had offered seven million last night at the close of court, and Leary told them to go to hell. She’s got some serious lady balls, which while I admire her tenacity, sometimes I think she could tone down the way in which she does things. Telling them to go to hell? Well, that’s not seemly… or professional… or how an attorney should act.

At least, that’s my opinion, but I know it’s not one shared by probably anyone else in this firm other than me. Not even my dad would have my back on this one.

I look across The Pit to my dad’s office. He’s a partner here at Knight & Payne and rates one of the coveted perimeter offices made of glass. I can see the charismatic Cary Peterson sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair and talking on the phone with his hands moving animatedly. I have this job for no other reason than my dad is a partner, and I wasn’t offered a job anywhere else after I passed the bar exam. This is a fact that has gotten me a bit down, as when you get rejection after rejection, you start to doubt your abilities. But my dad assures me the market is flooded and there are plenty of new attorneys who aren’t getting offers, and that perhaps I should just give Knight & Payne an honest try since no other options are presenting.

My dad’s a great attorney and a wonderful father. It’s no wonder I wanted to follow in his footsteps to become a lawyer, but I didn’t exactly want to be the type of lawyer he is. No, I get my passion for legal prose, research, and a knack for reading the fine print of contracts from my mother. She was an attorney too, but a much different type of attorney than my dad.

My dad is filled with this fiery need to work with people. He likes being in the middle of a scrappy fight, and he defends the common man with a vengeance that’s almost surreal. He’s a free spirit, a bit kooky—just like this firm—and is a huge risk taker.

My mom was his exact opposite, and yet they loved each other deeply. I had a special bond with my mom, definitely deeper than what I had with my dad, and that only strengthened as I got older and started really paying attention to what my parents did for a living. Early on, I was fascinated by the law… whatever type of law. I listened to both my parents tell their own personal war stories. But as I got older, through college and finally law school, I realized my passion was identical to my mom’s. We had an appreciation for the written legal word. We had a knack for interpreting it. We had a special ability to wade through lines and lines of legalese and be able to make sense of it all.

I shared that with her throughout almost my entire time in law school. I’d call her up after having read a particularly difficult case, and I’d pick her brain. She’d give me advice, and then we’d argue some of the finer points, just to be sure I understood everything. We did that several times a week, and that was my most special time with her.

She died almost a year and a half ago, just a few months before I finished law school. She didn’t get to see me graduate. She didn’t get to see me pass the bar.

She didn’t see me land a job that I just don’t like. I can’t talk to her about the fact I’m completely unhappy with my career at this point. I really can’t talk to my dad about it either, because he loves it here at Knight & Payne and thinks I should too.

My gaze travels around The Pit, which is a classic example of how very different I am from the core being of this law firm. Knight & Payne is probably the most watched law firm in the state of North Carolina. Currently up to sixty-eight lawyers, the tagline “Come any poor soul needing help” pretty much says it all. This is a firm that gets down in the trenches and helps the common man.

I find that to be very brave, very inspiring and it’s what I respect most about this firm.

But in taking that stance, Midge Payne, the only surviving original partner, decided that her firm would be as unique as her open arms policy. The firm takes up the twenty-seventh and twenty-eight floors of the Watts Building, also owned in its entirety by Midge. I’m on the twenty-seventh floor in the civil division, and I work in what’s called The Pit. It’s a large open area taking up the very center of the floor with nothing but rows of desks grouped in sections of four with no dividing panels or cubicles. This is a collaborative design, with the intent to foster discussion and promote teamwork. Lawyers work right alongside secretaries, with nothing to distinguish the two from each other except the educational degrees earned. You certainly wouldn’t be able to tell people apart by the state of their dress because Midge Payne has no dress code. People are allowed to wear whatever they want, which means most people dress uber casual.

I look down at my own crisply tailored Anne Klein black crepe suit with silk stockings and sensible black pumps. This is what an attorney should wear in my opinion.

To my right, Krystal Nichols, who is an attorney, is wearing a pair of green camouflage spandex pants with bright red heels and a gauzy, cream-colored top. It screams redneck tramp. She’s currently talking on the phone to an insurance adjuster and threatening to eat his balls for lunch. She graduated at the top of her law school class from Duke.

To my left is Fletch Stiles. He’s a big, burly dude who has been a secretary here at the firm for the past fifteen years. He’s probably in his mid-forties and does bodybuilding competitions. His fashion sense is still stuck in the 80s as evidenced by the acid-washed jeans he’s wearing that barely fit over his bulging thighs. His Led Zeppelin t-shirt is equally stretched over biceps that are roughly the size of hams. Fletch is snarky and slightly abusive, even to the attorneys who work here, and he intimidates the hell out of me. Thank God he doesn’t do any work for me.

In the seven months I’ve been here at Knight & Payne, I’ve not been able to get used to this work environment. It’s noisy and I can’t concentrate. I don’t like people being able to listen in on my conversations, and I can’t stand the laughing and joking that goes on throughout the day. It’s not how I envisioned the way I would practice law.

I thought I’d have my own office like my mom did, complete with wood-paneled walls, a lustrous mahogany desk, and shelves lined with law books just begging me to read them. I imagined I’d work hours upon hours poring over legal documents and trying to figure out loopholes so I could impress my clients. I’d have fancy lunches in the Capital Club with my peers, and we’d discuss the law and politics. I’d call my mom up at night, so we could argue and debate. I’d be looked upon with respect and eventually, I’d meet a nice man with similar interests and ambitions, we’d get married and have three kids, and maybe a dog.

At least, that was the game plan.

Instead, I accepted a job here at my father’s law firm because I wasn’t given an offer anywhere else. Instead of pursuing corporate law, I’m doing grunt work for Leary, who’s always off crusading to save some poor schmuck’s dignity.

Not to say there’s anything wrong with her practice of law. It’s admirable, no doubt.

It’s just not what I wanted.

I look around The Pit again.

I don’t want any of this, and I’m biding my time until a better opportunity comes along.

My phone chimes on my desk, jolting me out of my thoughts. I look around guiltily to see if anyone noticed I’d been daydreaming a bit, but everyone’s busy with either their own work or discussing cases. While Midge gives a ton of personal freedom to the people who work for her, no one ever takes advantage of it. I will have to say this is the hardest-working group of people I’ve ever encountered in my life.

I reach out and pick up my phone. Pulling the receiver to my ear, I say, “Emma Peterson.”

“Emma.” At the silky smooth woman’s voice coming through, I immediately go on hyper alert. While I don’t get much interaction with her, I would recognize Midge Payne’s voice anywhere. I’m stunned because she doesn’t ever deal with the associate attorneys, and my heart starts an erratic beat.

“Um… yes, Miss Payne… what can I do for you?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“It’s Midge,” she says curtly but not unkindly, a quick reminder we are all on a first-name basis here. This is another example of how this law firm is not meshing with my ideals of what a law practice should look like.

For example, Fletch should call me Miss Peterson, not Squirt, which is apparently the nickname he’d pinned on me due to my diminutive size. I dare not correct him.

“Yes, of course, Midge,” I stumble in apology. “How can I help you?”

“I need to see you,” she says. “In my office. Now.”

And then she hangs up.

I stare dumbfounded at my phone for about three seconds, then lift my head so my gaze focuses on Midge’s office door in the eastern corner of the twenty-seventh floor. Probably at least twenty Pit desks are lined up between Midge and me right now, yet I feel I need more protection for some reason.

The massive wooden door swings open slowly, revealing the reclusive yet beautiful woman known as Midge Payne. She’s the only attorney in this firm who rates an actual office with real walls that give her complete privacy. All other offices are bordered by glass walls. She stares at me directly with the silent message of, “Get your ass up and get in my office.”

I’m surprised my legs can even hold my weight as I slowly stand up from my desk and walk her way. Past the other Pit desks, the noise of people talking and laughing and debating. Past her cool-as-a-cucumber secretary who looks like she stepped out of the pages of Vogue and I realize I have no clue what her name is.

Midge steps backward into her office, motions me inside, and closes the door behind me.

It’s an ominous sound, and I wipe my sweaty hands on the crepe material of my skirt.

Without a word to me, Midge walks around her desk and takes a seat in a feminine high-backed, executive chair done in cream leather and cherry wood. I take one of the guest chairs opposite her, thankful for the desk separating us. I can’t remember ever being this intimidated before, and that even includes Professor Loughlin standing me up in Contracts class my first year of law school and grilling me for three days straight on a case.

She stares at me now, her blue eyes not unfriendly but still on the cool side. I’ve always thought Midge Payne was a beautiful woman. I have no clue her age, probably in her mid-sixties, but you’d never guess that. I swear she looks like she could pass for late forties. This is only the second time I’ve talked to her—the first being at the firm’s Christmas party a few months ago. She wished me Merry Christmas as she handed me a bonus check.

“I have a case for you,” she says.

Her voice cracking the silence startles me so much, I practically jump in my chair. I wipe my sweaty hands again.

“Um… sure,” I say, my voice almost squeaking with unease. To my knowledge, Midge Payne has never handed a case down to a lowly first-year associate. To my knowledge, Midge Payne has never even talked to a lowly first-year associate outside of handing out Christmas bonuses.

I know most young attorneys would be thrilled to catch the eye of the senior partner of their law firm, but all I can think at this moment is she’s going to give me something I can’t handle. I don’t fit in with this group of forward thinking, radicalized, and eclectic attorneys who push the boundaries of the law and wear shredded jeans while doing it.

I don’t fit in.

Maybe I’m not even worthy to fit in, and that’s something that’s actually been weighing my conscience down.