KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (15 page)

“You only know me in the office. There’s no reason to laugh there.”

“Corbin does,” she points out. “A lot.”

“I’ve told you before, I’m not Corbin.”

Looking out the window, Lucy mumbles, “Nope, you’re not.” I’m not sure if I was meant to hear it or not. However, I don’t like thinking she may prefer his company to mine.

Breaking the silence, I hesitantly admit, “I laugh if something is funny.”

Turning to me, she issues a small smile. “That’s promising.”

Pushing further, I admit, “I’ve laughed at you.”

“Me?” she questions, pointing at her chest.

Moving my gaze to her pale pink painted fingernail, as well as what it’s pointing to, I firmly reply. “Yes.”

Lucy turns the car stereo off. The silence creates a curtain of uncertainty between us. I’m not usually quite this uncomfortable with people.

“Tell me,” she prods when I don’t say anything. “I want to hear this.”

“Tell you what?” I respond, stalling for time.

She doesn’t answer, so I turn my gaze to hers and watch as she crosses her arms over her chest. The dress she’s wearing is red, but it doesn’t suit her. In that moment, I realize that I like her in black better, finding it odd I have a preference.

“Well?”

“Tuesday,” I recall, smirking at the memory. “The morning Mr. Carlsbad walked in. You thought he was there to discuss his divorce.”

“He wasn’t,” she says in a low, hissing voice.

“You asked if his daughter wanted something to drink,” I continue.

“I did,” she admits in the same annoyed tone. “She looked like she was my age, for goodness’ sake.”

“You
assumed
without examining all the facts,” I tell her.

Her nose scrunches. It’s something I’ve found she does a lot. It’s cute.

“He
hit
on me,” she tells me, something I hadn’t known.

“How so?”

“He was at my desk and his wife, who I thought was his
daughter
, was sitting in reception. He asked to take me to dinner so we could discuss his case.”

“He mistook you for an attorney. It happens.”

“The dinner was going to be in a hotel room, and food would be served only after
entertainment
, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

My foot slams the brakes. Lucy’s body jolts forward and, on instinct, I reach over to stop her, even though she’s belted in.

When the car completely stops, she looks down at my hand splayed across her stomach. In the bright lights of the street, I see she’s flushed. Her lips part and she takes in a breath as she continues to stare at our connection. The rise and fall of her chest becomes slightly labored.

I can’t look away. Although I can see it, I’m also
feeling
it with eagerness in other places. The material of her dress is soft. My fingers rest just underneath her chest, and if I were to move, even in the slightest, I’d be touching her there. And she knows it, but hasn’t done anything to stop it.

Shit
.

I move my hand away. “I’ll address it.”

“I already did,” she tells me. “I told him I already had a ‘daddy’. He didn’t find that amusing, so he backed off.”

I almost laugh, but hold it back. Obviously, she doesn’t miss my response because she cries, “It’s not funny! A dirty old man hit on me and you think it’s
funny
?”

“No, I don’t. I think your
reaction
to it is funny.”

“Technical foul. You’re reasoning like a lawyer.”

“I am one.”

Bringing us back full circle, she says, “So you don’t laugh much, not because you don’t like to, but because I haven’t seen you outside of the office.”

“Right.”

“Interesting,” she utters. “Because I’m pretty fun.”

“I already know this.”

“Right.”

Once we pull up to her place, I notice her son and an older woman sitting on her porch.

“Stella looks like she needs a break.”

“Stella?”

“Dillon’s sitter,” she answers. Turning in her seat after unbuckling her seatbelt, Lucy smiles. “Thank you for the ride.”

“And the laugh,” I add sarcastically.

“Lotsa those,” she quips, opening the door and stepping out.

“See you Monday, Lucy.”

Lucy

“W
HAT ARE YOU WORKING ON
right now?” Michael inquires. He’s standing just outside his office door and, if I had to gauge his mood, I’d say he is somewhat flustered.

I watch as his hand moves to his chest, straightening his tie. I catch a brief glimpse at his long fingers before berating myself for the thoughts they brought to mind.

“Same thing I’m always working on,” I respond flippantly, for no other reason than I’ve been bored all morning out here alone, and I’m half-annoyed with myself for thinking about Michael the way I was. “I’m planning your schedule, answering your phone, and whatever else you tell me to do. Why?”

“Need you in here,” he clips in a terse tone, nodding behind him.

“For what?”

“To do your job, Lucy,” he replies as he turns away.

After grabbing a pen and pad of paper from my desk, I stand up and make my way into Michael’s office. He’s already seated behind his desk with his glasses in place.

He keeps his focus on his laptop and doesn’t spare me a glance before he asks, “Do you know anything about posturing?”

“Posturing?” I question, not understanding.

“There’s an idiot of a lawyer, John T. Reynolds, coming into my office in about five minutes. Corbin’s out with an emergency, so this leaves only you.”

“Okay.” I confirm I’ve heard him, but I still don’t understand the urgency. “What do you need me to do?”

Michael drops his glasses on his desk, sits back, and studies me for a second. “I need you to pose as an attorney.”

“Um, what?”

“Strategy only. Mr. Reynolds will know you’re not a lawyer, but his client won’t unless we tell him.”

“So, you need me to…” I trail off, waiting for further explanation.

“Sit silently at my side.”

“And I need experience for this?”

Michael smirks. The lines around one side of his mouth deepen, and I catch a small glimpse of a dimple I didn’t know he had. I wonder what he’d look like truly smiling, or even if he’s ever done it.

“Judging by your past experience, at least in my presence, you have a difficult time keeping your mouth shut.”

“Rude,” I whisper to myself, but he catches it.

“Unlike how you do with me, pretend you like Mr. Reynolds’s client. Just stick close and nod in agreement with everything I say.”

“I can probably do that.”

“Probably?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in concern.

“I can do that. I can keep my mouth shut. Got it.”

“Good because he’s here,” he informs, raising his hand over his head and motioning to the door, signaling someone to enter.

Before I move, Michael looks at me quickly and winks.

He just winked!

Damn it. Any chance I had to keep my composure for my first posturing job flies out the window, along with any control I had of him not seeing a reaction to it. My face flushes as I shamelessly relive it again in my mind.

He doesn’t miss it. I clear my throat to collect myself.

Standing from his chair, Michael extends his hand to the first man who gets close. “John,” he greets, shaking his hand and letting it drop. Michael motions to me. “This is Lucy. She’ll be sitting in today, if that’s not a problem.”

Mr. Reynolds, who I now conclude is the ‘idiot’ Michael mentioned, introduces us to his client. “This is Mr. Scott Lehman. Scott, this is Michael Holden.”

Scott Lehman is a tall, lean, well-dressed man. His greying blond hair and pale skin, in contrast with his black suit, make him look older than I assume he probably is. He also appears to be visibly anxious. From here, I notice he looks somewhat irritated, but I figure why shouldn’t he be? He’s probably paying outrageous fees in billable hours for a lawyer he may not even like. His life can’t possibly be going as he hoped.

The client gives me a quick nod, then shakes hands with Michael.

“Sit,” Michael requests to the others, then turns to me. “Lucy, if you don’t mind, can you grab a chair from the hall?”

Without delay, I nod and do as requested.

Once I’m back inside the office, I roll the chair next to Michael’s, take a seat, and cross my legs to get comfortable. Every eye in the room follows my movement before Mr. Reynolds clears his throat and briefs us on why we’re here.

I don’t understand a word of what’s being said, and I don’t care. The last twenty minutes have proven to be no more than a testosterone-driven pissing match. Michael argues, then Mr. Reynolds counters. It’s almost ridiculous, and certainly ugly.

The client, Scott Lehman, isn’t contesting the divorce his wife has filed against him, only the custody proposition she’s planned. Judging by the heated topics of discussion, I’ve gathered they’ve
both
been unfaithful, leaving their young son, Jeremy, to be wielded as a pawn between them. The entire circumstance is heartbreakingly sad.

Scott hasn’t even appeared to listen to any of what’s being said between counsels. Either he’s kept his focus on the floor, or he’s been quietly taking small, subtle glances at me.

“I think we’ve all agreed that none of this will be resolved before the meeting tomorrow,” Mr. Reynolds sums up.

Michael’s promise is not negotiable. “My client isn’t settling for anything less than she’s asking.”

“Full custody is absolutely ludicrous, Michael. We both know it,” Mr. Reynolds retorts.

The client finally starts to speak. When he does, I look in his direction. His hands are resting on the arms of the chair, gripping them tight. “I realize this may be unconventional, bringing my son into this, but it’s important to both my wife and myself. We need to know what Jeremy wants.”

Mr. Reynolds’s jaw ticks before he voices, “It doesn’t matter what Jeremy wants. He’s eight, a minor in the eyes of the court. He doesn’t get a ruling. The presiding judge does.”

Michael jumps in, stating, “Then we’ll push this in front of one.”

The client’s had enough. He addresses the room with determination. “I don’t want him pulled into the worst of this. This wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”

His lawyer turns to his client. “Stop talking, Scott.”

“I’d like to hear what he has to say,” Michael returns, then aims his glare at Mr. Lehman. “How is the divorce your fault?”

“I didn’t pay enough attention to her,” the man confesses aloud, if only to himself. He’s looking down at his hands, his words full of regret. “I don’t want her or Jeremy dragged into something that will hurt either of them further.”

“We’re done here,” Mr. Reynolds abruptly states, then stands. “We’ll finish this tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here,” Michael tells them, closing his binder and removing his glasses. He stands and walks them to the door, closing it once they’re gone.

To avoid Michael’s attention, I remain seated next to his desk, studying the blank piece of paper on my lap.

“You all right?” he inquires quietly, walking behind me, then taking a seat at his desk.

“He looked sad,” I carefully share my observation. “He still loves his wife. The way he talked about her you can tell.”

Michael sighs, leans back in his chair, then swivels it to the side so he’s facing me. “Divorce and custody hearings can be difficult, Lucy. This one will be easy. Most aren’t.”

“How will this one be so easy?” I ask, curious as to why he’d assume that.

“
Because
he loves her. He’ll give her anything she wants. It’ll make tomorrow better for everyone.”

“For you,” I snap, angry but also sad. “When it’s over, you’ll forget all about them. But they have to live with what happens forever.”

“Is this you staying quiet?” Michael tests, pinning me with a slightly irritated look.

Pressing forward, I ask, “How’d I do with that?”

His eyes focus on mine. “You did well. Today wasn’t intense, though. Tomorrow will be. Jeremy will have to give his statement.”

I picture an eight-year-old little boy bearing the weight of his parents’ happiness on his small shoulders.

“Will I be posturing then, too?”

Michael contemplates for a second. “Is that what you want?”

“You’re asking me?”

“I am,” he says with a sharp nod.

“Then yes, that’s what I want.”

Positioning his chair in front of his desk once again, he pulls himself toward it. “They’ll be here at nine. Have Corbin give you a run-down of what to expect.”

“Okay, but I have one question.”

Turning only his head, he looks up as I move to stand beside him. “Yes?”

“What if she still loves him? What if Mrs. Lehman were to decide to forgive him for not being attentive? What happens then?”

Michael’s face looks pensive. “You’re thinking like a mother, Lucy, not a lawyer. They’re here for a reason. They aren’t happy with each other.”

“Today they aren’t, but–”

He cuts me off. “We’re paid to counsel their divorce, not their marriage. Sometimes you can’t fix what’s broken. That’s life.”

“No, you can’t
always
fix what’s broken, Michael, but a person can try.”