“I don’t doubt it,” he said with a cocky grin. “I think that confronting you could be very dangerous.”
“I just hope they threw the grapes away,” Mr. Roth said, completely snapping me out of my lust-fueled reverie. I had finished straightening up my own papers, so I started straightening up everyone else’s papers too. I was tidying up the whole damned courtroom and Mr. Pierce was watching me do it with an extremely amused look on his face. I wondered what he was thinking — probably, “I wonder if she’s off her meds.”
The jury was back in ten minutes. Shockingly, they didn't believe Mr. Harris. I went back to my office in defeat. Inner-Gabrielle went out for a drink.
CHAPTER TWO
I sat there preparing my cases for the next day. I had to figure out a way to convince a six foot five, three hundred pound biker named “Tiny” that nobody was going to believe that he had just “found” 27 thirty-inch HD flat screen televisions in an alley behind his apartment. One had to tread lightly when telling someone like Tiny that even his lawyer thought he was full of shit. I wasn't really looking forward to it, or any of the sixteen other cases I had scheduled. Luckily, that was a light work day.
Jessica finally got back an hour later, looking like she had gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. It had probably just been Mr. Roth being a dick, though. He did that from time to time. (Daily.) Jess and I had both begun working for the Defender Association at the same time almost a year ago and we had been office-mates from day one. As of a few months ago, we also shared an apartment in a building a few blocks from our office in the upscale Rittenhouse Square District.
To be perfectly honest, I didn’t really need to have a roommate. My parents were very successful business people, so I guess you could say that I came from a wealthy family. I liked knowing that I could support myself, though, so I mostly tried to live on my own salary. Unfortunately, that worried my parents, but then everything worried my parents. They worried about me working with criminals. They worried about me living in a different city. They worried because I wasn’t good at financial stuff. Most of all, though, they worried that I would eventually end up living alone with a bunch of cats and a couple of million dollars in a shoebox under my bed.
My social life wasn't exactly thriving at the moment. I did go out, but only if I were surrounded by friends because, frankly, I had spent enough nights fending off drunken players at bars and clubs. I didn't want to date anyone from my office, and I wasn't really meeting anyone new, so I hadn't been out with a guy in a few months. That was going to have to change, though, because I couldn't live like this anymore. My job created a lot of tension and I needed an outlet. I had to find a sex partner that didn’t require batteries.
The problem was that the only guy who I was interested in was Mr. Pierce. We’d been working that courtroom together for months now, and while Mr. Roth could be a pain in the ass, Mr. Pierce just did his job. He always offered me fair plea bargains, although sometimes he made me work hard for them, and with him it was always a good clean fight, even if it made me want to be a dirty girl. Battling in court could be pretty stimulating to tell you the truth. Sometimes there’s a fine line between pissed off and turned on.
I thought about him way too much though. I was becoming like a crazy fan girl. I might as well have hung a poster of him over my bed. Unfortunately, I was hardly his only fan. Everybody knew that he was a big time player. I didn’t want a one night stand and I didn’t want to share, so it seemed like Mr. Pierce was off-limits. Now, if someone could just explain that to inner-Gabrielle. And my vagina.
And then, of course, if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also another issue; he reminded me of someone from my past who I didn’t exactly associate with happy memories. That one wasn’t a deal breaker, but it certainly didn’t boost my self-confidence with him. It was a long story, but back in college I managed to lose my virginity in a one-night-stand with another player. I know – brilliant Gabrielle. Right? Wait, it gets even better, I decided to tell him the next day that I wanted to be his girlfriend. Let’s just say he wasn’t really on board with that plan. Can you say humiliation? Anyway, I’m not sure why, but something about Mr. Pierce reminded me of the player who deflowered me.
“Shake it off, Gab, tomorrow's another day,” Jess said, breezing in and dropping a pile of case files that looked like it weighed more than she did.
“Is that supposed to cheer me up?” I asked, clearing a path on the floor so she could get to her desk. I tended to spread out when I worked.
“I would think you would be pretty cheerful already with all the attention a certain prosecutor has been paying you lately.” She threw herself down in her chair, opened her bottom desk drawer and put her feet up. Okay, that got my attention. I hadn’t told anyone about my little infatuation, not even her, but I guess that ogling him and then asking him to comfort me hadn’t exactly been subtle.
“And what prosecutor would that be?” I asked lightly, sitting back on my heels.
“The beautiful blonde Braden Pierce,” she said, smirking.
“Why would Mr. Heavy-hitter be paying attention to me?” I went back to sorting piles on the floor and tried to act nonchalant.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re good-looking and smart and funny?”
“Well, then he’s just looking for a good time. I hear he doesn’t date; he just hooks-up. Anyway, you’re probably wrong. The women he likes look like Playboy bunnies.”
“How do you know?” Oh damn! Caught by my own big mouth.
“He's a senator's son. I Googled him once.”
“Hey wait…”
“Wait what? I know what you’re thinking but I'm not a crazy stalker chick! I was just curious.”
“Not that! The other thing. Screw the Playboy bunnies!”
“I’m sure he did.”
“Like you’re not attractive? Look at you with the golden brown hair and the big hazel eyes. You also have big boobs and a nice ass which tend to be popular features with the male sex. The drunken business boys are on you like a bad rash every time we go out.”
“Thanks, but I’m just saying that he seems to have a type and I’m not a spray tan blonde with a two inch waist like the ones I've seen him with in pictures. Some of them were so Barbie-like I'm not even sure they had bendable legs.”
“Type or no type, I still say that he wants you.” She put her feet back on the floor and started clearing a space in front of her and stacking files.