Attractive Nuisance (Legally in Love Book 1) (2 page)

Logically, she’d simply move to a smaller place, somewhere cheaper, but she and all her houseplants and law school books already occupied the smallest, cheapest dive in the whole of Prescott. The only way she could go cheaper was if she found a freeway underpass, and unfortunately the freeway didn’t run through Prescott.

Dang. Her love of that car was coming back to bite her already. Shiny, imperial blue metallic 3-Series, just five years old. It was the BMW 335i with the twin power turbo engine, moon roof, head-up display, lane departure warning—it was luxury and elegance and pure driving joy. And it cost the lion’s share of her monthly salary. Her mother would have frowned and told her, with a raise of the eyebrow, that it was an investment that didn’t increase in value.

But oh, how Camilla loved it. The BMW looked almost as good as that fine young attorney over there. Sigh. What was his name?

“All rise.” The bailiff demanded she come back to earth. In walked the bear, lumbering and slavering. Okay, not slavering, but it wasn’t hard to envision. Go ahead. Pour a bunch of honey on her and let him eat her alive. She might as well be a meal, the way things looked right now. Stupid of her to even think she’d be considered for the deputy job after that last performance.

It took all her residual pride to keep herself upright while the judge arranged things on his desk, a move likely calculated to torture the attorneys and the defendant, like an animal that toyed with its prey before devouring it. Camilla bated her breath.

“The prosecution and the defense have both made their arguments,” Judge Harper began with a growl. “And while there were some inadequacies in the closing arguments presented by the County Attorney’s office, I believe they ultimately proved that the evidence weighs heavily against the accused. Mr. Tipton, my ruling is guilty of assault with a deadly weapon and criminal damage. This has a mandatory sentence of six months in jail.” He banged his gavel and turned Mr. Tipton over to the custody of the jailers.

Camilla plopped back in her chair. What just happened? She’d botched it beyond recognition but still won? Holy cannoli.

“Way to go.” Sheldon patted her shoulder. “You just pulled off a miracle. In fact, that might have saved your shot at the deputy position. Now, take that to Falcon and tell him what you deserve.”

Camilla, still too stunned to speak, collected her files like a robot and walked with glazed-over eyes to the back of the courtroom.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that—er, Miss Sweeten, is it?” A man’s deep voice poured over her like warm Hollandaise sauce, her favorite.

She turned and saw its owner—the guy who’d ruined her whole mojo. Oh, and he was even better up close. And smiling. Wow, the teeth. How much had his parents forked over for that orthodontia?

He got a little grin. “No wonder they call you The Judge Whisperer.”

“Excuse me?” Camilla coughed. What in the heck? No. No one was saying that. Except this guy, which confirmed he made up the “Jury Whisperer” thing about himself too. In fact, he probably threw it at her to get her off kilter. It worked. Snap. But only momentarily. She steeled her nerve and turned to greet his sparring with a barb of her own. “Have we met?”

“Zane Holyoake.” He extended a hand. Dang it. It wasn’t one of those lily soft hands that had never done a day’s work outside the office. No. It had calluses and crusty edges and a truly firm grip. Curse him. Well, Camilla could return a good grip, herself.

“Wow, nice handshake. I’m new in the county attorney’s office. Just came over from Flagstaff, and your boss told me, I mean
our
boss told me I had to come down and watch you work. Seriously. You had that judge eating out of your hand.”

This guy was either a bold flatterer or else he lived in an alternate reality. “Oh, is that how you saw it?” She knew he hadn’t, and he had to be laughing behind those eyes at her. If only she could explain away her erratic behavior—but certainly not with the truth, that
he
threw her out of her groove.

Zane Holyoake’s left eye squinted a little, and the left side of his mouth went taut. See? He
was
making fun of her. “I’d like to tell you what I saw. Over lunch.”

“No, thank you.”
I already ate.
No, it was 11:00. He’d never believe her.
I don’t eat lunch.
No, then she’d sound like she spent every lunch hour at Crossfit or something.
I have plans.
Sheldon would swoop in and expose her lie.
I have another case.
Yeah, that would work. “I have another appearance I have to get to right now.”

“Where, in magistrate court? Because I’m heading over there right now.”

Her mind flew. “No, in justice court.” There were three levels of courts: superior, where she’d been today; justice, which was lower than superior court; and magistrate, which was the town court. “I’ve got to file some paperwork there. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Did I say magistrate court? I misspoke. I meant justice court. You going to see Judge Gilson or Judge Maryvale? I need to go meet both of them.”

Oooh, curse him and his incredible brown eyes. He was covering his bases faster than she could outmaneuver him. But why was she wanting to? She had to ask herself that. Well, because. Because…because she didn’t want to go out with someone from work. And if she went to lunch with this guy today, she would probably want to go tomorrow, and then the next day, and out for dinner and a show on Friday night, and—it was a downward spiral. And it wouldn’t end in a proposal of marriage. Relationships never did end that way for Camilla Sweeten. Time had proven it with the loudest clack of a gavel it could.

So she shouldn’t do lunch.

“Look, I appreciate the invitation.”
But you’re not going to ask me to marry you, so I shouldn’t even eat a burrito with you today.
How could she say that? It sounded insanely desperate and insanely illogical and, well, just plain insane.

But there was more to it, thank goodness, because if she said yes, who was to say he wouldn’t pump her for information about the office? Sure, it would sound like small talk. But she’d done that herself to witnesses hundreds of times. It starts out as idle chit-chat, but what’s really going on is mining for ammo to use against the person—even if that
was
a mixed metaphor. Zane Holyoake was the enemy. He wanted the job she wanted. Ahem, needed. And Camilla had spent long hours for five years toiling away to learn the ins and outs of the place. She had no intention of tipping her hand to him, the interloper, at just the moment of her potential victory. No way.

She fell back on the old reliable answer. “You’re so kind to ask. I wish I could, but I can’t possibly. Have a nice day.”

Clutching her pile of manila envelopes to her chest, she turned on the spike of her heel and clicked away down the marble hallway of the Yavapai County Courthouse and left Zane Holyoake in her wake of crazy exhaust fumes.

Sorry, Zane. You look marvelous, but we will not be going to lunch today. Or tomorrow. Or ever—until I am Yavapai County, Arizona’s official Deputy County Attorney. And then I’ll pay for your meal as my staff assistant.

So there. Determination gave a bounce to her step.

Ha. Who was she kidding? Falcon had seen her performance in there. No way would he give her a second chance after that debacle.

CHAPTER THREE

Order to Appear

“What have you done to deserve
this
again?” Sheldon tossed an orange slip of paper onto Camilla’s desk as he passed. “Falcon keeps asking to see you in his office.”

Camilla picked up the paper and read, in Falcon’s own scrawl:
Sweeten. My office. Pronto.
He didn’t have a personal secretary, and he didn’t believe in technology—not even old tech, like an intercom system. Orange slips of paper were his way. Camilla crumpled it and tossed it in the trash can with a sinking heart. Her shameful performance in Judge Harper’s court still hung around her neck like one of those oversized metal clocks rappers used to wear on chains when she was in college.

Such were her wayward thoughts when she set a trepidatious foot into Falcon’s office. He was going to bounce her back to the minor leagues. She’d be out of the courtroom forever. She’d be on copy room duty.  Worse, she’d be on janitorial duty until further notice. The scent of imaginary Pine Sol scathed her lungs. Oh, that could be her life—working nights, scrubbing tile. She deserved it.

“Miss Sweeten.” Yep, he was mad. In the last month he’d started calling her Camilla, but now—after her rejection of his friend’s son and the disgrace in front of Judge Harper—she’d been demoted to Miss Sweeten. It stung, about a hundred bees strong.

“Mr. Torres. About yesterday.” Her hands pressed together, the palms’ friction causing heat that rolled up her arms.

Was that only yesterday? It might as well have been a hundred years ago, since time slowed to a grind while she relived all its gory details in her bed last night, which became a bed of nails, her floor hot coals when she walked it to get away from the shame. Worst of all was seeing that crinkle at the side of the eye of the handsomest guy she’d seen in years, maybe
ever,
having fun at her expense.

“Yes, yesterday. I believe you met Zane Holyoake.”

“I did, sir,” she managed at the unexpected name dropping. It was like Falcon had seen Zane’s image flashing in her eyes. Oh, no. She’d better stay on point in here. Keeping Mr. Torres unaware of the cause of her mental glitching had to be top priority. “We had a chance to talk for a moment after sentencing.”

“After your, er, performance in court—” Falcon frowned. He could really put on a long frown when he tried. It went all the way past his chin bone.

“Right. No need to expound.” She was getting kicked off as lead attorney on all her cases. Newbie from Flagstaff, which was a bigger city with fancier lawyers who wore fancier suits, would be taking over for her. She’d be stepping down. “I can hand over any files you deem necessary.”

Falcon shook his head. “Holyoake’s got his own case load.”

Her lungs deflated with relief at the same time as her chest expanded with hope. “Oh, does he?” She tried to contain her glee. “I mean, that’s, of course.”

“Camilla, you’re acting off your game.” He frowned again. “I’d like you to head down to magistrate court. Mr. Holyoake is filling in for Billingsley down there today on a trial, and I’d like you to observe his speaking style.”

She’d almost rather Falcon asked her to turn in her office key. “Observe?”

“Yes. He’s been noted as a strong orator, and he gives his all even in the minor cases. It’s not your way, I am aware.”

“Oh, I give my all, sir.” She had to at least defend herself on this point. “Every time.”

“I know, I know, Sweeten. I mean the dramatics. You’re more…down to earth. But I need you to observe. And then report back to me.”

Oh, not observe.
Spy
. Well, that she could do. And she’d probably be available to give a negative report, should he so desire. Or even if he didn’t. “Gotcha. What time is the appearance?”

“At nine-thirty. You’ll have to hoof it. Can you? Hoof it, I mean? In those shoes?” He glanced down at Camilla’s shoes. She’d worn her highest platform sandals today. Tall people got more respect, and at five-foot-three-and-a-bad-court-performance, Camilla could use any height she could get after yesterday.

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Fifteen minutes later, she wedged her way into the small courtroom in the basement of Prescott City Hall. It smelled like 1946 had aired its dirty socks in here and no one had bothered to open a window since. Poor Judge Overby. Stuck here every day in this stench. Maybe he got used to it. And to the bad indoor-outdoor carpet on both the floor and the walls.

Court was already in progress, and Camilla sat as quietly as possible in a folding chair at the back. It gave a metallic clunk when her big shoe whacked its leg. Nice. Inconspicuous. She pulled a face, the one she knew looked most like a wombat in labor from a few bad photos at friends’ bridal showers, just as the orating attorney glanced her way due to the sound.

He got that crinkle at the side of his eye.

Great.

Zane Holyoake, hair all in place, suit impeccable, then aimed puppy dog eyes at the jury, who were crammed into too-small folding chairs up against one wall—man, this court needed a relocation. And some Febreeze. All eyes focused on Zane. What power did he have over them? It couldn’t be simple good looks. Sure, he looked good, but one of those out-of-town attorneys from Phoenix, what was his name? Nick Gallegos? Nick trumped this guy’s surface looks in every way. But Nick didn’t have whatever magnetic pull Zane Holyoake had over people. It held them spellbound. Uh, Camilla included.

“As I was saying, there we were in the woods, just me and the fifteen Boy Scouts, looking for geodes and malachite out by Sedona, when what do we run across but a chunk of meteor. Now, I know this isn’t going to seem relevant, but hear me out, folks.”

He was telling personal stories? To the jury? During a trial? Where was the opposing counsel to object? Camilla’s eyes strayed over to the warped little wooden card table where sat Felicia Pulsipher, who’d been reeled in just as surely as the jury had. Her chin rested on her palm, her elbow on the table, her head leaning to the side. Oh, and look-a there. So had Judge Overby. Like storytime at the library for preschoolers, everyone was completely sucked in.

It might be a great story, the best story in all the world, but how rock hunting with Boy Scouts near Sedona could be relevant to whatever case was being tried here today, Camilla couldn’t begin to imagine. Magistrate court handled DUI cases and disorderly conduct and noise ordinance violations. Dog at large offenses? Could his rock hunting yarn be related to a dog at large—in the woods? Hardly.

So how did he do it? Besides masterfully? Camilla settled back into her chair.

“And so the kid chucks the hunk of meteor at me and says, ‘Hey, Mr. Holyoake. What’s that one made out of? A hunk of Mars?’”

The jury and everyone else in the courtroom laughed. Camilla had missed either the setup or the punch line. Or else maybe it simply wasn’t funny and everyone was just trying to gain favor with the gorgeous guy by humoring him. Either way, Camilla was a lone reed in the non-laughing department. Unfortunately, Zane glanced at her and saw this. She pulled a smirk. A courtesy smirk. He shrugged a single shoulder. Ugh, why did he keep singling her out?

“But seriously, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. What I want to point out with this story is how important it is to know what substance you’re dealing with in any situation. Whether it’s a rock in the woods or a bag of cat food, like Ms. Tyrese here got in trouble with.” He aimed his thumb in the direction of the table of opposing counsel, where sat a heavyset woman with spiked hair. “She knew full and well she’d laced her neighbor’s cat food with antifreeze and that the cat would be unable to resist its heavenly sweet scent.”

Just like Zane Holyoake and his stories and charm. Irresistible? Possibly. But Camilla was going to have to find one of those cowboy hats with the brand name Resistol and put it on as a helmet. This guy wanted her job. Well, the job Camilla too wanted. And she refused to let him and his charming ways distract her from her quarry.

Camilla had seen enough here. Zane was a stem-winder. He’d take a story—any kind of random story—and hook the courtroom full of people with it (along with his engaging grin and twinkly eye) and then make a point from it. Good tactic. It probably worked, at least in varying degrees, every time. Nice skill set. Maybe Camilla could conjure up some kind of old fishing story and chuck it at the jury during a case. Well, probably not. But either way, now she could go back and tell Falcon Torres she’d watched and learned like a good future deputy. Check.

Camilla shimmied out of her chair and through the crack of the door to the hallway, which had much fresher air even if it did smell of a dank basement. “How do you stand it down here?” she asked the security guard on her way out. “It’s kind of musty, don’t you think?”

The guard pulled a box of strong peppermints out of her pocket. “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the stinkum go down. Want one?” She proffered the open tin, and Camilla took one. “How was the trial? I overheard some of it. Who’s the new attorney? Have you met him yet?”

“Zane Holyoake is his name. Out of Flagstaff.” Something in Camilla wanted to make him sound like an outsider, a city-guy. After all, futures were on the line. “Fancy suits.”

“I like a fancy suit on a guy, myself. Especially a guy who learned my name already. Mm-mm. Zane Holyoake. He is
fine
.”

A pang went through Camilla. How many times had she appeared in Judge Overby’s court and not learned this woman’s name—a woman who at first conversation shared an Altoids with her in kindness? A glance at the tag on her uniform showed the name Bizzy Jesperson. Bizzy. Camilla would have to remember that. After all, if Zane Holyoake could remember it, so should Camilla.

“I bet he’s killing it in the courtroom. A face like that. The jury will trail along after him like a newborn calf after its mama.”

“He told a story about being a Boy Scout.” Or was that about being a Boy Scout leader? The leader, she guessed, since a kid called him Mr. Holyoake. Huh. When as an attorney did he have time for something like that?

“I’d like to see him in uniform.” Bizzy raised an eyebrow, and the mental image of Zane Holyoake in successive uniforms from Scout Master to Naval officer to Air Force pilot to everything else all flashed into her mind in a quick slide show. Yep, he looked “fine,” as Bizzy said, in all of them.

Geez. What was she doing? She had cases to deal with. She couldn’t stand around all day mooning over some guy in a basement and eating mints. Ridiculous!

Just then, the sound of a slamming gavel clapped from the courtroom, and a rumble of voices erupted. Camilla had to push herself against the wall to let the exodus of bodies pass by so she wouldn’t get jostled to the ground.

“Well, now,” a middle-aged woman with frumpy clothes but great hair said to the person next to her. “Being on jury duty was a lot less painful than I expected.”

“They can send me that letter anytime,” her cohort said.

Huh. Camilla’s jaw would have dropped if she’d let it. Another person, a pierced twenty-something guy with a ball cap on backwards, mumbled something into a cell phone. “Yeah, it wasn’t that bad. It was fast. Cool stories. I’ll have to tell you one. Meet me at Tango?” His voice faded as he climbed the marble stairs out of this subterranean pit.

Well, color her dumbfounded. When were frumpy women and pierced guys ever equally entertained—in a courtroom? If she’d been eating something she would’ve choked on it.

“So, you didn’t leave.” Zane Holyoake loomed up beside her. Even in her high heels, he stood a good half-a-foot taller than Camilla. She backed up against the wall. Bizzy had gone into the courtroom to see about the judge’s needs, and only Zane and Camilla remained in the basement hallway. “I thought my dorky story about the meteorite drove you away. I should’ve thought of something better. That’s what I get for taking less than ten minutes to prepare, I guess.” He rolled his eyes and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Next time I promise to be more on point—for you.”

Wait a second. “Less than ten minutes of preparation time? You’re joking, right?” That was insane. “I mean, it’s one thing to fly by the seat of your pants, and I’ve had to do that a couple of times when a colleague was sick and I had to take over at the last minute. But you mean hours. Not minutes.”

Zane looked to the side, in the same way a guilty person looks to the side when they don’t want to admit verbally to committing the crime. She’d seen it in client interviews when she did defense work before getting the job here working for Falcon.

“Minutes. Okay, well, if that’s even fractionally true, I hate you just a little bit right now.” Camilla wouldn’t dream of going into a jury trial situation without thoroughly prepping every point. Unthinkable!

“Don’t hate me because I’m a slacker. Hate me because I only have stupid merit badge stories to tell in cat food poisoning cases.”

“You’re racking up the marks against yourself here, Holyoake.”

“Let me erase some of them.” He glanced at his watch. Oh, he had a nice wrist. Dang it, why did she notice that? “It’s almost lunchtime. You want to head over to Tango? I’ll buy you lunch.”

“It’s ten-oh-seven. That’s not almost lunchtime. Unless you’re lying and you came in before four a.m. and have already put in six hours doing legal stuff.”