Page 19 of Broken Boss

“Yeah, sorry. There was a scuffle in the cafeteria and they made us all wait there.”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course. Just two new guys working it out. How have you been? How’s the new job, now that you’re a few weeks in?”

I relax into the couch at the calm, even tone of his voice. Stephen is eight years older than me. He’s always been my big brother, and even if he’s behind bars, he makes me feel safe.

Which isn’t fair. I’m the one who should be making him safe.

It’s a stark reminder of the “new job.” Stephen knows I started at a firm three weeks ago, but he doesn’t know which one. And I don’t plan on telling him.

“It’s good, so far. Not anything I didn’t expect or wasn’t ready for. Competitive.”

“Yeah, well. That’s law for you, right?”

“Mmm. I don’t mind. They have an opening for partner and I’m planning on going for it. Got a year to bust my butt.”

He chuckles, then pauses. In that moment, I realize what I said wrong.

“Wait—doesn’t it take years to make partner?”

Chewing my lip, I automatically pet Frank to keep my heart rate down. I can’t afford to be caught out now, not when I’m this close.

“Yeah, usually. You stick with a place for seven or eight years to prove yourself. But this firm is going about it differently.”

He soaks that in, but doesn’t ask any more questions, which is a relief. If Stephen suspected what I was doing, he’d probably break out of prison just to ream me out. He can throw a punch, but he’s not one for revenge. That’s part of why this whole thing—the crime he was sent to prison for, the false testimony against him—is so ridiculous. Stephen wouldn’t hurt a fly.

It’s why I have to do what I’m doing, even if it’s souring my heart. I wasn’t made for revenge, either, if I’m being honest.

“How’s your week been?” I ask, and as Stephen starts talking about a new program he’ll have access to, I close my eyes and remember our childhood.

Having an older brother was exactly what I needed. Growing up, I was definitely a fragile kid—a girly girl, crying whenever I scraped my knee or had a nightmare. Being older than me, Stephen was always there to calm me down and give me that comforting big brother hug until I quieted.

When our mom died from cancer, Stephen stepped up and did a lot of the taking care of me. He’d make mac and cheese, play with me outside, or put on my favorite TV shows. I was only four; he was twelve.

Our dad started drinking as soon as Mom went into hospice. I barely remember what he was like outside of a beer-induced haze, zoned out on the front porch or the couch.

So Stephen has been my only family pretty much from the start. Our life wasn’t perfect, but we had each other.

At least, until he got arrested for a crime he didn’t commit.

Part of me wants to tell him about working for Chris and I have to bite my lip to keep it in.

I’ve almost got him, I want to say. I’m going to find a way to take down the man who put you away—the man who ignored your insistence that you were innocent.

Chris Sharpe was the prosecutor against Stephen, who could only get a public defender.

When I became a lawyer, I swore to never be as hateful and cold as Chris, or as uncaring and lazy as that public defender.

“Autumn?”

“Oh. What? Sorry, I, uh, Frank distracted me.”

“Hmm.” Stephen isn’t convinced by my off-the-cuff lie. “Are you sure this job is a good idea? You already sound so worn out.”

“Pish. You can’t tell that over the phone. I’m fine.”

“Can too. You’re clearly distracted and tired.”

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