Page 1 of Defensive Hero

Chapter One

Sandy

It all happens in slow motion.

At the sound of my worst nightmare, I am helpless to do anything to stop it but freeze in place. With my heart in my throat, I turn around to look at the back of my skirt, my eyes going wide with horror when I see the split—one that wasn’t there when I left my place this morning. I must have caught it on the taxi door as I climbed out. It’s just my luck that the person I’m meeting was waiting for me at the office’s entrance, so I don’t even have time to make a dash for the bathroom.

“Miss, are you alright?”

I look up at the kind older gentleman walking ahead of me, and offer him a sweet smile, making no indication that I am dying on the inside. The man, who had been wearing a large cowboy hat that he now holds in his gnarled hands, was waiting on the sidewalk to greet me on my first day at my new job. He introduced himself as Hank and explained that when he’d heard I was due to arrive, he was afraid I wouldn’t know where to go in the maze-like old building. And he was right, without his guidance, I’d be utterly lost. He’s been kind enough to escort me to the HR office, and the last thing I want to do is burden him with my wardrobe issues.

“I’m fine,” I manage, though I am anything but.

I am not fine.Far from it.

Hank nods and keeps climbing the narrow stairway. The second his eyes are off me, I drop my mask, wincing when I feel the tear again. I tug at the hem of my skirt uselessly, hoping to at least adjust my skirt the tear isn’t in such an…indecent spot.

I bite back a whimper when I feel another tear stretch wider.

“Please don’t rip. Please!”I mutter a prayer, begging whichever higher being is listening to grant me this one wish, after which I will never ask for anything for the rest of my life.

After the plea, I test my luck by taking another step up, begging the threads holding my skirt from ripping open and exposing my bare ass to hold. Someone must be listening to my prayer because the skirt holds for the first, second, and even third steps.

Okay, I can do this.

I slowly follow the gentleman up the stairs, and now that my attention isn’t completely on my ripped skirt, I start to take notice of the staircase walls adorned with framed legal certificates. I stop and lean in to take a closer look, surprised to find that one of the certificates dates back four decades. I didn’t even think this town existed four decades ago.

I make my way up a few more steps the certificates give way to photos lining the wall, seeming to tell a story of the law firm and its history. The black-and-white images in particular exude a sense of timeless elegance, capturing moments in and out of the building. Most of them are captured with what I imagine are important figureheads, and I manage to pick out a few familiar faces.

Before I can try and guess which one of the suited men in the photos is going to my new boss, my attention is caught by a particular black-and-white photo taken outside of this very building. It’s an old-fashioned photo with a stone-faced young man in his mid-twenties staring directly into the camera. He looks very young but the photo has managed to captured the blankness in his eyes.

It’s almost…chilling.

I have met many lawyers in the few years I have trained and worked as a legal assistant, but none of their eyes looked as this young man’s. None of them were so cold and empty.

I wonder who he is.

“Miss Beck?”

I look away from the photo to find Hank watching me from the top landing. Oh, right. I can’t believe I got distracted by the photos and forgot that this man is going out of his way to help me find the right office.

“Sorry,” I mutter, pushing away from the wall and starting for him. I am conscious of every step I take, unwilling to test my luck with the skirt.

Everything will be fine as long as I move slowly, I assure myself. As long as I don’t take large steps, it’s unlikely for the skirt to rip further.

Slow deep breath, Sandy.

I can’t afford to move too quickly to catch up to Hank, or it might cause the skirt to rip further. I can’t panic either. Panicking will only make things worse for me.

I manage to make it to the landing without incident, and I breathe out a long sigh when I realize I don’t need to take any more stairs. A long hallway stretches ahead of us with doorsfacing each other, and I can only hope that whatever office I’m headed to isn’t far off.

“Which of the attorneys will you be working for again?” the man says, turning to me.

“Oh, right.” I dig my hands into my bag and bring out the employment contract I printed. “His name is…Wilson L. Hile. Do you know which office is his?” I hope he doesn’t point to the flight of stairs and tell me it’s on the fourth and top floor of the building.

The man goes silent for a long moment, and I look up to find his eyes wide with something akin to horror before it quickly transforms into pity.

“I take it you are new in town, huh?”

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