Page 22 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

I shake my head.

“I’m sorry, maybe next time?”

She shrugs. “Sure, but you’ll never know when the next time might be. The last time we got together like this was six months ago, and then a bunch of cases hit the firm that had everyone busy for months.”

“I don’t know if what you have to do is important,” she gives me the side eye, “but it’ll be a good way to get to know your colleagues. You’ll need them for the annual performance evaluation. Besides it's all paid for.”

My eyebrows fly up. “Annual performance evaluation?”

“Yeah,” Clarissa nods. “Everyone in a department gives an evaluation of their colleagues. For us paralegals, we get evaluated by attorneys we’ve worked with. Even the partners.”

My eyes widen, and my jaw drops.

She waves her hand, chuckling.

“Don’t get scared. It’s nothing big except if a bunch of lawyers have something bad to say. And when I say a bunch, I mean a bunch.” She jokes.

That’s not what I’m worried about. The part where she talked about getting evaluated by attorneys went over my head, and I only listened when she mentioned the partners.

Does Michael Stone get to evaluate me? What then? I’ll get fired after spending less than a year at the firm.

I laugh bitterly. “I’ll sure be proving my father right. He’ll love this. And hate me at the same time.”

“Why would he hate you?”

I spoke out loud. Shoot.

“It was an exaggeration,” I wave my hand. “Parents and their expectations.”

Clarissa nods, although I get the feeling that she can’t relate.

“Okay. Well, if you’re not coming, then that’s fine. But if you are, let me know so I can text you the location.”

“Noted.”

“I think Mr. Stone will—"

My fingers hit the keyboard again, and I drown out her voice. It only lasts a couple of seconds because I soon feel a presence standing in front of me.

“Fine,” I sigh in exasperation, “if it’s that important, I’ll—"

The words die on my tongue when I see it is not Clarissa but a uniformed female cop staring down at me. And two other male officers in plain clothes behind her.

“Uhm. Can I help you?”

“Miss Savannah Richmond. We’d like you to come down to the station with us to answer a few questions.”

A few, what?

“What happened? Did something happen?”

“We would like you to cooperate and accompany us to the station. If not, we’ll be forced to get a warrant for your arrest, and things could get complicated,” she says in a no-nonsense tone.

I sense that she is not bluffing and that there is enough evidence that I did something. Something…I have no idea what. But the thought of being escorted out of my office and the building in handcuffs, while everyone is watching, scares me.

My father would hear about it. Pictures would be splashed on every news outlet and through every social media platform possible. Even if it ends up that I didn’t do what they think I did, my life will never be the same.

And who would hire a paralegal who has been arrested?

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