Page 85 of Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

I have this crazy, long buried memory of the last time I hugged my mother.

Lori ends the calls. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t ever be sorry for talking to your mother. That’s me saying that to you personally and professionally.”

Her eyes soften. “Thank you, Cole.”

I reach for her hand and discreetly squeeze it. “I take it the other woman was her new man’s sister?”

“Yes. She seems happy about it. I just don’t want her to get hurt or to lean on him like she did my father, and crash and burn again.”

And there it is. The wall between us. Her absolute fear of ever needing someone.

The car pulls up to the hotel and doormen open both of our doors. The minute I step outside, I feel the eyes on me, the way I feel the eyes on me when I first enter a courtroom. In that situation, I tune them out, center myself in the job, but here, now, I do not.

Lori joins me as I tip a bellman. The minute we’re clear of him and other nearby ears, walking through the lobby, she returns to the conversation we didn’t have in the car. “If Jerome Knight is such a good man, why did the police have such a hard-on for him?”

I laugh at her remark that she somehow delivers as if it’s ladylike, which is next to impossible. “The cops we took down, the ones that were after him, were actually in on the insider trading and they’d stolen millions from the company on top of that. With the help of Walker Security, we figured it out and went after them, which was Jerome’s decision. He knew they would come at him, but he wanted justice.”

“And they’re still coming.”

“Taking those cops down created a PR nightmare for the department, and trust issues with the public that they’ve done little to repair. Taking down the man who exposed the problem will perhaps create doubt that the problem was even real.”

“And challenge your credibility as an attorney,” she says, as we step into line, but remain a good distance behind the person in front of us.

“That won’t be easy to do,” I say, turning toward her and lowering my voice, “but without question, they want to take me down.”

“They’d need to prove you did something illegal, faked evidence, or something, to that effect.”

“That would be impossible,” I say, “but they have something up their sleeves which could be nothing more than using our client as leverage against her father.”

It’s our turn in line and Lori and I step to the counter. We leave with two side-by-side rooms assigned, and I don’t ask for the adjoining doors I want. “We’re being watched,” I warn Lori.

“I feel it,” she says, “but I thought it was paranoia.”

“It’s not,” I say punching the elevator call button. “Elevators are recorded,” I add.

The car opens, and we step inside. The bellman catches up with us, promising to meet us on our floor. He arrives at the eighth floor with us. Once we’re there, he helps Lori with her bags first and she disappears inside her room. I deal with him, and my bags, tip him, and then wait until he’s gone to dial Royce. “Walk me through checking for cameras and bugs.”

“What room?”

“Two rooms.” I give him the numbers.

“I’ll send someone to check them out when you’re gone, but for now do this. No internet in your room. Stay off it and that includes your phone. Unplug everything. Obviously look for wires and visible signs of a bug or camera. Hold private conversations outside, not inside. Any common area could be bugged.” He has me download several apps to use in the rooms to aid my efforts. By the time we’re done, I’m cursing.

“Fuck,” I murmur. “I should have had the sense to grab a private rental.”

“One of my men there in LA will have a spare room if you want it.”

I think of Lori's comfort and rule that out. “I need to be here with my client,” I say, “but thanks, man.” We disconnect, and I walk to Lori’s door and knock.

She opens the door already in her bare feet, her toes painted pink. I grab her and pull her close, whispering in her ear, “Walker is going to check our rooms for bugs when we’re gone. For now, I’m going to do what I can.” I lean back, and her eyes are wide, but she nods and backs into the room.

I start my sweep using the apps I’ve been assigned, and Lori follows me, checking behind me. We come up empty, which isn’t much of a relief since we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. There are no cameras though, at least not in the bathroom. Of that I’m certain. I even checked the shower head.

I glance at my watch. “It’s seven,” I say. “Let’s meet up in an hour to talk through the case before our nine o’clock with Tara.”

“Sounds good,” Lori says, and for reasons I cannot explain, her pink painted toenails are distracting me and I now have a hard on. Fuck, what is it about this woman that her damn pink toes can turn me on?

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