The Bad Judgment Series: The Complete Series (4 page)

David Proctor put his document aside then and looked up. He jumped out of his seat almost immediately and started pacing, his hands in his pockets; a big bundle of too much energy now that he’d finished reading. He seemed like the type of man who could sit still only in short spurts, and I imagined he preferred those spurts when he had a nice glass of Scotch. “The arraignment’s going to take place tomorrow afternoon. That’s less than 24 hours from now, in case you’re all sleep-deprived and confused.” I sucked my breath in:
Whoa, Walker could go to prison as early as tomorrow.

“Now, an arraignment is a pretty straightforward procedure,”
David said. He was explaining this as much to Walker as he was to the rest of us. “We’ll go to the federal courthouse, where we were this morning, and we’ll be seen in front of a magistrate judge. It’s basically an initial hearing. Your rights are going to be explained to you in more detail, Walker, but we’ll go through everything before that, so you’ll know what to expect.”

“What
can
I expect?”
Walker asked. “Are they going to hold me until the trial?” His jaw was set, tight, all traces of playfulness vanished.

“The government will try to have you held,”
David answered. “But I’m going to argue that you are in no way a flight risk. I’m going to ask for home detention pending trial. You’ll have to turn in your passport, of course. You’ll probably have to wear monitoring equipment and stay in your house. With a babysitter, or two.”
Walker sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “You’ve got everything you need there though, right?”
David asked, smiling sympathetically at him, trying to lessen the sting. “Gym? Air conditioning? A fully-stocked bar?”

Walker looked at him. “You know the bar is fully stocked, David.”
He sat there, contemplating the table, opening and closing his hands into fists. Now that I was looking at them, I noticed that his hands were enormous.
You know what they say,
I thought.
Big hands, big...
I refused to let myself finish the thought. I shivered and looked away.
A hobby,
I thought.
Find a hobby!

“I need to understand everything that’s happened, Walker. You need to give us an overview of the past three years, everything that’s happened with the Securities and Exchange Commission. I’m going to send Mandy over to Blue Securities to get your files —
copies of securities filings, any government correspondence, tax records.

“Mandy,”
David said, looking at her, “they know you’re coming. Bring Andrew with you. They’ve already made most of the copies and there’s a ton of boxes. These files are pending a request for documentation, but the company has agreed to let us have them now. You’re going to need to show identification, so make sure you have it. Don’t talk to anyone there, except to be polite. Go ahead and have Linda get you a car.”

Mandy nodded at him, packed up quickly, shot a warm smile Broden Walker’s way and scooted out. I looked up at Walker, who was resignedly looking at David. “I’m not going to get to go home anytime soon, am I?”
he asked. He now sounded and looked completely exhausted, like contemplating the prospect of jail versus home imprisonment had finally gotten to him.

“You can go home right now,”
David said, and again, he smiled at him kindly. “But you have to take Nicole with you. Going forward, she’s your dedicated babysitter. And you have to start getting to know each other, because Nicole is going to be the firm’s first point of contact. She’s cheaper than me,” David said, shrugging.

“And much more polite,” Walker said.

“True,” David said. “Anyway — tonight, just take her through the basics — your background, the history of the company, more about what Blue Securities actually does.”

My stomach plummeted for a number of reasons. First, because I was probably going to be having another late night, and I was already shaky and wired. Second, because I was going home with Broden Walker. Third, because I was going to hear his side of the story, or at least part of it, and I was curious beyond belief about that.
There were other reasons, too, but I wouldn’t let myself think about them. My palms were sweating. I had to remember to be careful with my laptop, so my slippery palms didn’t drop it. I didn’t want to look like even more of a bumbling ass than I already did.

Alexa stood up and started packing her things. “Where do you think you’re going?”
David asked, watching her with detached, slightly amused interest.

“Oh,”
Alexa said, looking up at him like she hadn’t realized he was still there.
“
I assumed you wanted me to help Nicole.”
I tried not to glare at her and held my breath, watching David.

“No Alexa,”
David said, and I was thrilled to hear him be firm with her. Walker sat back, watching the show with a mild, detached interest. “I would have said so, if that’s what I wanted. What I
do
want is for you to go to your office and pull every federal case you can find about each charge that’s being brought. And then I want you to write a memo about defenses against racketeering charges.”
Alexa kept her face neutral, but I could almost see the anger and disappointment rolling off of her like a sinister cloud of perfume.
David continued pleasantly. “I need the memo on my desk by tomorrow morning. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir,”
Alexa said, evenly, the disappointment simmering just below the surface. She still managed to smile sexily at Broden Walker, and then give me an extraordinarily filthy look, as she stalked out of the conference room.

“That leaves you and me,”
Broden Walker said, tiredly. “You might be the most expensive babysitter in the whole history of the world.”

Using my signature move, I smiled at him weakly. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“
A
re you okay with this
?”
Broden Walker asked, as we were riding down the elevator.

“Babysitting you?” I asked. “I babysat my two little brothers my whole life. And I can tell you’re definitely better behaved than they are,”
I said, hoping it was true. There was a pause between us. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re coming to my house with me, and you seem shy,”
he said. Walker smiled tiredly at me and leaned against the back of the elevator. The lines in his face went deep, and they deepened every time he smiled. My stomach flipped stupidly when I looked at his face.

I made myself ignore my churning stomach and my face, which was starting to burn. I decided to be professional for the first time since I’d met my newest client. “Of course I’m fine, Mr. Walker. It’s nice of you to ask. But I’m not shy. I’m just serious,”
I said, somewhat stiffly, forcing myself to smile back. He looked at me briefly, amused. “We have a lot of work to do,”
I said, warming up to the topic. “I assume that you have notes and documents at your house, and that’s why David’s sending us there. I also understand that you’re tired. We can go to your house, you can get more comfortable and relax, and we can get through as much as you can handle tonight. We can take a break, get some sleep and get some more done tomorrow. I’m fine with that, as long as you are.”

“You’re the boss,”
he said, and there was a playful edge to his tone that felt dangerous to me. Dangerous because I lit up at it. I said nothing, blushing furiously, as the elevator continued its silent descent. I couldn’t tell if he was flirting with me or not, but it didn’t matter:
I couldn’t let myself enjoy taking it personally.
This was who Broden Walker was, every second of every day. He dated models and actresses and he was Boston’s top bachelor. I was just going to have to work around him, while not looking too closely at his gorgeous face or sexy black hair, because they were extremely, irrevocably distracting.

“Sir,”
said
the young security guard in the lobby, “they’re just bringing your car around now.”

Walker nodded at him, and I would have expected the guard to ignore him and go back to texting on his phone
—
he was always texting on his phone, never making eye contact —
but instead, he looked thrilled to be acknowledged. Walker looked at him as the valet pulled up in front of the glass building in a gorgeous, sleek, black BMW. “Take it for a spin around the block,”
he said, and although the guard looked stunned, he accepted without missing a beat.

“Cool,” he said, and jogged outside to the car.

“Why’d you do that?”
I asked.

“If you guys are actually worth what I’m paying you, you’ll keep me out of jail. And if I stay out of jail, I’m probably going to be coming in here quite a bit,”
he said. “I want to make friends with the people here, right? So they take care of me, and it’s pleasant when I come in.”

I looked at him blankly and he sighed. “You’re not a car person, are you?” he asked.

“I’m completely clueless about them,” I said.

“People get excited about my car. That guy was drooling over it this morning when I came in. If I’m friendly with him, he’ll keep an eye on it for me. Plus, it’s just nice to share when you have stuff like that. They don’t make a lot of my model of BMW
.
So that kid’s probably never seen one before.” I nodded at him, mutely, surprised that he was so thoughtful. And how he made it sound so normal, like all hot billionaire-CEOs let young security guards test-drive their insanely expensive cars for fun.

“You seem nice enough,” he said. “I’m sure you shared with the other kids in the sandbox.” He smiled at me and I sensed that he was trying to figure me out.
I wasn’t ever in the sandbox,
I wanted to tell him,
because I was either studying or taking care of my family. And I didn’t have anything to share.
But he didn’t need to know that.

“I am friendly, Mr. Walker. Being serious isn’t necessarily exclusive of being friendly.”

Walker smiled at me again, with humor, and I realized he was just teasing me. “I know, Nicole, I know. And it’s Miss Nicole Reynolds, correct? Or Ms.? Or Mrs.?”
he asked, looking down at my left hand. I promptly curled it into a fist and held it behind my back.

“Ms. Reynolds is acceptable,” I said, keeping my fist behind my back. “But please just call me Nicole.”
His grinned at me, reaching around my back and gently pulling my hand to the front. I was shocked at his touch; how gentle it was, what his big hands felt like on me. I was appalled, and confused, at the heat that radiated through my body because his big hands were on me. I looked up at him, trying to keep my face composed, praying he couldn’t feel the electric shock that was going through my body.

He dropped my hand and smiled at me. “You’re too young to be married. Nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, holding up his left hand and wiggling his fingers, devoid of any rings. “You’re in good company. They’re safety in numbers, Nicole.
And by the way,” he said, leaning in towards me, “you can call me Walker. That’s what all my high-end babysitters call me.”

I wished desperately that there was a chair nearby so that I could collapse into it.

“Okay,” I mumbled. I smiled at him bravely while I simultaneously tried to collect myself; I was going to have to work around him. He was charming — in fact, he was practically charming the pants off me right now, without even trying — but I was almost positive that he did that to all the girls. So I wasn’t special, and I needed to know it. In addition, he was my client, so for reals, I just needed to snap the hell out of it. Massive shoulders and sexy black hair or no massive shoulders and sexy black hair.

“You were saying, Walker,”
I said, trying out this version of his name. “People get excited about your car? Because…?”
I asked. I knew nothing about cars. I’d never owned one, and my dad drove an old Buick.

“Because it’s expensive and there are only a few of them,”
he said, and shrugged. “People get excited about exclusive things, things that are outside of their experience. It’s different, so it’s exciting. Right?”

I didn’t even want to admit to him that I could get excited. It seemed dangerous, although I couldn’t say why. “I guess so,” I said, neutrally. “But it’s so outside my experience, I can’t tell if it’s exciting.”

He laughed and I relaxed: it seemed as though I’d passed his personality test, i.e., he now believed that I had a personality. “My car
isn’t
actually that exciting,”
Walker said. “But it
is
expensive. It’s ridiculous, really, when you think about it. $130,000 for a car. Some people in this country buy a house for that amount.”

I’d spent over $200,000 on law school, and the weight of the debt almost crushed me, every month, when I made the payment on my loan. I was bewildered at the idea of how much money Walker really must have; I couldn’t imagine spending that much money on a car.

We watched as the sleek black sedan pulled back up to the curb. The young guard jumped out from behind the wheel and beamed at us. You could read it on his face: the car was
awesome
.
“Thank you,”
he said to Walker, as he came in through the door. “It’s an incredible ride.”

“Next time I come in, I’ll let you park it,”
Walker said, smiling. I watched as the guard’s face lit up; Walker had yet another fan.

“Yes sir. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Ms. Reynolds,” Walker said to me, and held out his arm. “Let’s get this over with.” I took his arm and noticed, against my better judgment, that his forearm was incredibly muscular and strong. Of course it was! I could feel him beneath his suit coat, tendons straining. My arm sizzled where it was touching his: contact heat. I felt myself clench again, deep inside, and I wished that I was alone so that I could smack myself right across the face. This was no time to find my inner whore.

I wanted to ask Walker if he was flexing for my enjoyment, but that would only lead to trouble. And trouble really was the last thing I needed right now. He walked me around the back of the car, black, gleaming and opulent in the late-afternoon light, and opened the door for me. He hopped in the driver’s seat, put on aviator sunglasses and loosened his tie further. It was almost too much — I felt like I was in a high-end cologne commercial. “I live in Back Bay, so we’ll be there in a minute,”
he said, checking the rearview mirror and deftly maneuvering in and out of traffic. His car interior was buttery leather, immaculate. If this was what his car was like, I couldn’t even imagine his house.

“I live in Somerville,” I said, trying to make normal conversation.

“I had a feeling you lived over the bridge,” Walker said. “You seem like a bit of a rebel. I’m sure you fit in great with all the troubled youth in Harvard Square.”

“Ha-ha,” I said. “Just because I dress conservatively doesn’t mean I can’t skateboard,” I said, thinking of the kids who were always hanging out around the square, with turquoise hair, multiple piercings, and cool skateboard tricks. “You have no idea what I’m like on the weekends.” I mentally slapped my hand over my mouth. This was why I shouldn’t be conversational. Something about Walker — actually,
lots
of things about Walker — made me say things that I just…Should…Not…Say. Like things about me being wild. On the weekends.

I was so not wild on the weekends. But it would be nice if he thought I was…

He laughed again, and he sounded like he was relaxing, which in turn made me tense up. “So you’re a weekend warrior. We should hang out sometime. Get tattoos. Go for burritos.”

He shouldn’t be this handsome and this fun to be around, on the eve of his arraignment. “Sounds good to me,” I said, anyway, having fun in spite of myself. My favorite burrito place of all time was located very close to Harvard Square. My stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of it. “Sorry,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

“No, I’m starving, too,” Walker said. “It’s been a long day. Let’s skip the tattoos and just get burritos. I know a great place.” He took a sharp left, changing direction.

“Actually,
I
know a great place,”
I said.

“Mine’s better,” Walker said, and I could tell he wasn’t going to bend.
Bossy, bossy,
I thought, but I didn’t really mind, as long as there was a burrito at the end of the journey. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday and my stomach started growling again.

“You have my standing apology,” I said, motioning to my stomach. “It’s been so busy I’ve been on an all-caffeine diet.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said, “I’m fucking starving, too.” Hearing him swear made me shiver; it was like I was doing something naughty, being with a sunglass-clad, speeding Walker in his luxury sedan, listening to him say the word ‘fucking.’ There was something totally wrong with me — why did I think this was hot? Why was I ignoring everything I knew and grinning at him like a ‘fucking’
idiot?

He pulled up outside of a small Taqueria in the South End. There was a chalkboard menu on the outside; I wiped the stupid smile off, put on my game face, and scrutinized it.

“What do you normally get?” I asked as we walked into the tiny restaurant.

“Shredded beef,” Walker said. “Extra guacamole and hot sauce.”

“I’ll have the same,” I told the guy behind the counter.

“Can we have beer?” Walker asked. He almost sounded like he was pleading.

“You can,” I said. “I’ll just fall asleep if I do.”

“That’d go over well with David,” Walker said, grabbing two beers out of the fridge and selecting a small table for us in the corner. He opened one of the beers and put in front of me.

“I said no,” I said, and took a sip from it anyway.

“Apparently, no doesn’t always mean no with you tricky lawyer types,” Walker said.
As if anyone in the whole history of the world had said no to him before.

“Yes it does,” I said, and drank some more.

He scoffed at me. “Stop playing games, Nicole,” he said, “or I’ll start thinking you’re flirting with me.”

“Rest assured, I’m not flirting,” I said, even though I totally was. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only female you’ve ever met who hasn’t. I’m sure it’ll take some getting used to.” He smiled darkly at me and my insides twisted.
Easy girl,
I thought.
He’s too hot for you to handle. Plus, he’s so totally your client.

Just then the waiter brought over our burritos, and I worried briefly about how I was going to eat something so enormous in front of such a hot guy. But he started eating his meal unselfconsciously —
of course he did, what on earth does he have to feel self-conscious about?
— And my stomach growled again, viciously, so I went ahead and dug in.

“I’d talk to you, and argue that you were clearly flirting with me, but my mouth is too full,” Walker said, from behind a large bite.

“Eating something this messy in front of you is the opposite of flirting,” I said, my mouth full. We both laughed and kept eating. “This is freakin’ delicious,” I said, grabbing some chips and eating them, too. “My burrito place is better, but this deserves a silver medal.”

“There is no way your’s is better,” Walker said, through a full mouth. “This is it. Burrito nirvana.”

“Mine’s in Cambridge. And it’s the bomb.”

“We’ll go later this week, if I’m not in jail. I’ll treat my hot babysitter to a taste test,” Walker said, and my stomach fluttered in spite of all my better instincts and all the food weighing it down.
Broden Walker just called me hot,
I thought, dreamily.

I was appropriately inappropriately excited.

“How long is this going to take tonight?” he asked.

I sat back for a second, taking an unwelcome break from my plate. “We don’t need anything substantive for the arraignment tomorrow. We just need your plea, which is going to be not guilty to all counts, right?” I asked, taking another unladylike swig of beer. He nodded.

“So, we don’t have to do much tonight. Just tell me about you and your company. With respect to the amount of discovery we’re going to have to do as we move forward, I know it’s going to be a lot, but other than that I don’t know what to expect at this point. We’re just going to take it one day at a time.”