Reasonable Doubt 3 (2 page)

First, the top clients who’d sworn to always stay by my side would call and say that they “suddenly” found new representation. Then the employees would file letters of resignation—knowing that having a tainted firm on their resumes would hinder their careers. Next, the investors would call—pretending to sympathize as they publicly denounced me in the media and promptly pulled all funding.

Last, and most unfortunately, I was sure to become another hotshot lawyer who ruined his career before it could even begin.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be able to get away with stalking Emma?” The private investigator I hired stepped beside me.

“She’s my fucking daughter. I’m not stalking her.”

“Five hundred feet.” He lit a cigarette. “That’s how far you’re supposed to be.”

“Are they treating her right during the week?”

He sighed and handed me a stack of photos. “Private preschool, early tap-dance lessons, and weekends at the park as you can clearly see. She’s fine.”

“Does she still cry at night?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does she still beg to see me? Does she—”

I stopped talking once Emma’s blue eyes met mine from the swings. Squealing, she jumped off her seat and ran towards me.

“Daddyyyy! Dadddyyy!” She shouted, but she was picked up before she made it any closer. She was taken away and put inside a car just as she started to cry.

Fuck…

I immediately sat up in bed, realizing that I wasn’t in New York City’s Central Park. I was in Durham, North Carolina, and I was having another nightmare.

Glancing at the clock on my wall, I saw that it was just past one o’clock. The calendar hanging directly above it only confirmed that I’d been living here for far too long.

All the research I’d done six years ago—weighing the pros and cons, checking the records of all the top firms, and scouring the make-up of women on Date-Match, was now seemingly invalid: The condo I purchased was a mere remnant of what had been advertised, there was only one firm worthy of my time, and the pool of fuck-worthy women was dwindling by the day.

Just hours ago, I’d gone on a date with a woman who told me she was a kindergarten teacher with a penchant for the color red and history books. In reality, she was twice my age, color blind, and she just wanted to “remember what some good cock felt like.”

Frustrated, I slipped out of bed and walked down the hallway—straightening the “E” and “H” frames that hung on the wall while trying not to look too hard.

I was going to need more than my usual few shots to get through tonight, and I was starting to become extremely annoyed that I hadn’t fucked someone in what felt like forever.

I poured two shots of bourbon and tossed them down back to back. Before I could pour another, my phone vibrated. An email.

Alyssa.

I shook my head and typed a response.

My phone rang immediately.

“Seriously?” Alyssa blurted out when I answered. “Does your message really say what I think it says?”

“Have you suddenly forgotten how to read?”

“You are
ridiculous
!” She laughed. “What happened to your date tonight?”

“It was another fucking liar…”

“Aww. Poor Thoreau. I was really hoping the thirtieth day would be the charm.”

I rolled my eyes and made another drink. “Is living vicariously through my sex life your newfound hobby?”

“Of course not.” Her light laughter drifted over the line, and I could hear the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: Where are you from?”

“What do you mean,
where am I from
?”

“Exactly what I asked,” she said. “You can’t be from the South. There’s no drawl or even a hint of an accent in your voice.”

I hesitated. “I’m from New York City.”

“New York?” Her voice rose an octave. “Why would you ever leave there to come to Durham?”

“It’s personal.”

“I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave New York. It seems so perfect. And there’s just something about the lights and the lives of people who stay there, how they all must have these huge dreams and…”

I tuned her out and tossed back my shot. Her poetical waxing about that desolate place needed to be put to a stop. Fast.

“And wouldn’t the law firms in New York be far more alluring than the ones here?” She was still talking. “Like, one of my favorite—”

“What’s the name of that ballet you’re auditioning for this year?” I cut her off.

“
Swan Lake
.” She always dropped the subject if I said anything about ballet. “Why?”

“Just wondering. When is the audition?”

“A few months from now. I’m trying as hard as I can to balance my classes—” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m trying really hard to balance my case loads with my practice time.”

“Why don’t you just ask your boss if you can work weekends in exchange for a couple weekdays off?”

“I’m pretty sure that won’t work.”

“Of course it would work,” I said. “There’s a lawyer at my firm who works Saturdays through Wednesdays so he can pursue music. If the firm you work for is worth a damn, they’ll be flexible with you.”

“Yeah, um, I guess I’ll have to look into that…”

Silence.

“What firm do you work for?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“What’s one of the partners’ names?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“But you can tell me how deep you want my cock to be buried inside of you later tonight?”

She sucked in a short breath, a sexy sound that drove me insane the more I heard it.

“How much longer do you think I’m going to put up with just talking to you on the phone, Alyssa?”

“For as long as I want you to.” Her voice sounded more confident now.

“You think I’m going to talk to you for another month without being able to fuck you? Without being able to see you in person?”

“I think you’ll talk to me for several months without fucking me. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll talk to me for
years
without fucking me because I’m your friend, and friends—”

“If I haven’t fucked you within the next month or two, we won’t be
friends
anymore.”

“You want to bet?”

“I don’t have to.” I hung up and grabbed my laptop, ready to give Date-Match another try. The second I clicked the prettiest woman on the page, an email from Alyssa popped onto my screen.

Oral evidence given under oath by a witness in answer to questions posed by attorneys at trial or at a deposition.

Andrew

“Miss Everhart, you can take the floor and question Mr. Hamilton now,” Mr. Greenwood said from across the courtroom.

It was the last day of the month, which meant that we were finally getting use out of the million dollar courtroom that sat on the top floor of GBH. There was no need for this room, but since the firm had more money than it knew what to do with, the space was being used for the interns’ mock cases.

Today’s “trial” was about some idiot who defrauded his own company’s employees—leaving them without insurance and health care, and unfortunately, I was playing the accused.

Standing up from the defense table, Aubrey grabbed her notebook and took the floor. She and I hadn’t spoken since I kicked her out of my condo two weeks ago, but from what I could tell, she seemed unfazed.

She’d been smiling quite often, being extremely nice, and each time she delivered my coffee she did it with a smirk and an, “I really hope you enjoy this coffee,
Mr. Hamilton
.”

I’d been stopping at the coffee shop up the street ever since…

“Mr. Hamilton,” she said, smoothing her tight blue dress, “is it true that you previously cheated on your wife?”

“I’ve
never
cheated.”

“Stick to the character, Andrew.” Mr. Bach whispered from the judge’s seat.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes. There was a time when I cheated on my wife.”

“Why?”

“Objection!” One of the interns shouted. “Your Honor, do we really need to know the specifics about my client’s love life? This mock trial is about his involvement in a conspiracy.”

“If I may, Your Honor,” Aubrey spoke before the “judge” could say anything. “I think assessing how Mr. Hamilton behaved in his previous affairs is a good assessment of his character. If we were trying a client who abandoned his company due to incompetence, it wouldn’t be out of line for me to ask about his previous personal relationships—especially if our mock client is a high profile one.”

“Overruled.”

Aubrey smiled and looked at her notebook. “Do you have commitment problems, Mr. Hamilton?”

“How can I have a problem with something I don’t believe in?”

“So, you believe in engaging in one night stands for the rest of your life?”

“
Your Honor
…” The opposing intern stood up, but I raised my hand.

“No need,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Aubrey. “I’ll entertain Miss Everhart’s inappropriate line of questioning...I believe in living my life however the hell I want and dealing with women whenever I want to deal with them. I’m not sure how who I sleep with has anything to do with this mock conspiracy case, but since we’re discussing my sex life, you should know that I’m happy and satisfied. I have a date later tonight actually. Would you like me to report the details to you and the jury tomorrow?”

The interns in the jury box laughed as Aubrey’s smile faded. Even as she forced it again, I could see a hint of hurt in her eyes.

“So…” She took a deep breath. “Regarding the case—”

“So happy you’re finally getting on topic.”

The jurors laughed again.

“Do you believe in morals, Mr. Hamilton?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you think you possess them?”

“I think everyone does to a certain extent.”

“Permission to approach the witness?” She looked at Mr. Bach and he nodded.

“Mr. Hamilton, can you read the highlighted portion of this document please?” She placed a sheet of paper in front of me, and I noticed a small handwritten note at the very top of the page:

I fucking hate you and I wish I’d never met you.

“Yes,” I said, taking a pen out of my pocket. “It says that my company was unaware of insurance policy changes at the time.”

As she handed a copy of the document to the jury panel, I wrote a response to her note:

Sorry to see that you regret meeting me, as I don’t regret meeting you—only that I fucked you more than once.

She asked me to read another section to the court, and then she took the paper away—glaring at me once she read my words.

I tried to look away from her, to focus on something else, but the way she looked today prevented that from happening. Her hair wasn’t up in her signature bun—it was falling past her shoulders in long curls that grazed her breasts. And the dress she was wearing, a highly inappropriate one that hugged her thighs a little too tightly, rose up an inch every time she took a step.

“I have three more questions for Mr. Hamilton, Your Honor,” she said.

“There’s no limit, Miss Everhart.” He smiled.

“Right…” She stepped forward and looked into my eyes. “Mr. Hamilton, you and your company led your employees to believe that you cared about them, that you had their best interests at heart, and that you would literally communicate the actual changes you would make before termination. Are those promises not directly from your company’s brochure?”

“They are.”

“So, do you believe that you deserve to be fined or punished for giving your employees false hope? For dragging them into a situation you knew you would end all along?”

“I think I did what was in my
company’s
best interest,” I said—ignoring the fact that my heart was pounding against my chest. “And in the future, as those
employees
move on like they should, they’ll perhaps realize that my company wasn’t the best fit for them anyway.”

“Don’t you think you owe them a simple apology? Don’t you think you should at least give them that?”