Page 62 of The Councilor

“A leave of absence,” Roman Whitfield repeated.

We’d been racquetball partners for years before we’d opened the practice together. His family might walk on the right side of the law, but he saw the benefit of crossing into the gray areas and had more than once. He could deny it all he wanted, but his unscrupulous former acts were one reason when we’d started out, we’d had a decent client list.

“It’s a necessity.”

“For whom? We have the highest workload of cases in the firm, including some fairly influential potential clients. I can’t handle them all.”

“I can do some research, legwork while I’m officially away but court dates will need to be pushed back.”

“Easier said than done.” He tossed his pen across his desk, throwing back his head. “So the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?”

“That you’ve recently gotten engaged to the daughter of the Italian mafia Don. And that she works here as your new assistant. Now, either you’re one romantic dude who can sweep a chick off her feet in less than twenty-four hours or this was all a huge plan. Either way, I don’t like it. You’re putting this firm in jeopardy.”

“Roman, I’m not in the habit of playing games.”

“I didn’t say you were. It’s all the buzz. In the news? She’s some mafia princess too? I am aware you’ve done everything in your power to distance yourself from your other commitment to your professional time. I appreciate that as many of our clients are cagey as shit.”

“Have you ever noticed all our other clients are guilty as charged?” Fuck.

He laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Our job is to make them look squeaky clean and you’re even better at it than I am. Oh, and the photograph inside that little ice cream store? Priceless.”

Now I was pissed. Someone had been following me. I tried to keep my cool, but it was tough.

Jesus Christ. If the news was already out there it meant her father had been talking. Which could be another reason for the threats. “Well, you don’t need to worry about my hindrance in the firm. I plan on finishing the case today and then I’m gone.”

“You should be careful, my friend. I know. Arrangements are made all the time. Hell, my father did that but in this day and age, with the big MeToo movement? Women aren’t goingto take kindly to your Neanderthal actions. It could hurt our reputation.”

“Or boost it up. You know how to get ahold of me. I’ll always be near my cell. If we need to hire another attorney to strip off some of the heat, we will. And don’t tell me we don’t have enough money.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. We’d been friends for far too long. He knew what I was made of as I did with him. “No, we can if the caseload becomes necessary. I don’t mind telling you, I’m just a bit worried for you. I never thought you’d be embroiled with another crime syndicate.”

What he didn’t know because I hadn’t spent but so much time talking to him about it was how powerful I was in my own right. He had his own rather unscrupulous clients that would never see the inside of a courtroom. “I assure you, neither did I. However, don’t worry about me. Where did you hear the news?”

“You mean other than a tacky reporter printing a colorful article?” He laughed. “You are aware I have a cousin inside the Irish mob. Right?” His grin added to the tease. Of course I knew. We’d decided a long time ago never to allow our affiliations with certain friends to influence us. We also had made a pledge to each other that information on the other would never be forced from us. Whether or not that would always hold true I wasn’t certain. Certain men couldn’t handle acts of torture and my partner and friend certainly couldn’t.

He’d been brought up with a real silver spoon in his mouth.

All I could do was laugh. “So the news is all over the city streets.”

“Yeah. All kidding aside. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I. I need to get to court.”

“Expect a circus and not just because white bread boy found an artist for an attorney.”

It was impossible not to stare at him. “White bread boy?”

“You know the type. Brought up in money. Trust funds. A sports car waiting for his sixteenth birthday. Daddy-o able to get him out of trouble because of his connections. A partier. You know the type.”

“I know the type.”

“And you know Congressman Tillman isn’t innocent. He killed his wife. She wanted a divorce. He knew it would destroy his career.”

“That’s for the prosecutor to prove. However, I have a witness.”

“He or she?”

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