Page 9 of Filthy Lawyer

My heart was stuck in my throat. I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder every few seconds—checking to see if Mr. Not Guilty was following this cab.

If today were any other day, I might’ve stayed at the scene and struck up a conversation. Maybe pretended like we lived in similar worlds, and see if he were the type to ask me out on a date.

Then again, he looked like the type of man who kept a Rolodex of women at his beck and call.

“Are you running from the cops or something, Miss?” The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Should I drive faster?”

“No, I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Just pre-interview jitters.”

“Oh, you have aninterviewat this firm?” he asked. “You look really young…”

“I graduated college early.”

“Impressive.” He smiled. “You must be one hell of a lawyer to get invited to apply at that place. I’ve heard it’s the best.”

“Me, too…” I didn’t try to extend our conversation; I was trying to keep all my stories straight.

I’d told him the truth; it just wasn’t mine.

“Let’s just cap this at sixty-three dollars and eighty-five cents.” He turned off the meter. “I won’t charge you for the next block, since we’re hitting traffic.”

“Thank you very much.” I opened the door and let up my umbrella.

“Are you paying with cash or with a credit card?”

“It’ll be via cash, but…It’ll have to be sometime next week.”

“What?”

“I wrote down your cab license number, and I swear I’ll pay you back if I get this job. Wish me luck!” I jumped out of the car before he could grab me.

Weaving through tourists, I dodged puddles and rushed down the street.

With minutes to spare, I walked up the stone steps that led into the gleaming glass building that held Hamilton & Associates.

Pushing the doors open, I held back a gasp as I looked around the sparkling marble lobby.

“Welcome to the firm.” A brunette smiled from behind the desk. “How may I help you today?”

“I received an invitation for a nine thirty interview.”

I opened my briefcase, rummaging for the silk invitation and handed it to her.

She wrote something on a sheet and walked me to the elevator.

Hitting a button, she motioned for me to step inside, but she didn’t join me.

“Good luck, Miss Tanner.”

“Thank you.”

I stared at my reflection in the mirrored doors, smoothing my curls.

The car stopped abruptly, and the doors glided open to reveal a single sign with an arrow pointed to the left. I followed it into a colossal meeting room with beautiful floor-length windows.

A long table stood at its center, with a chair on both ends, each set with folders and pens.

“He’ll be right in to interview you, Miss Tanner.” A pretty woman in grey pulled out a chair for me. “He’s not usually late, but he had a bit of car trouble this morning.”

---