Page 68 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

I shrug. “We are more alike than you think. I would have felt the same way.”

Chapter 21

Savannah

At what point do I decide to give up? I wonder, as I walk out of the courtroom, reporters swarming the entrance, all thrusting microphones in my face.

I don’t bother reacting to their questions because they are so outrageous. My mind is reeling from the shock that they could even ask such things.

Did I kill my fiancé because I was jealous that he was sleeping with another woman?

Did I kill him because I didn’t want anyone else to have him?

Do I think that Michael Stone will get me off the hook?

Have I killed anyone before Brandon Portman?

At what point do I surrender myself and plead guilty, knowing that it is the path I am heading down?

“Get in,” Michael touches my shoulder.

Depending on muscle memory, I lower myself and slip into the car. He gets in, and the door closes, putting us in semi-darkness. I embrace the transition from the bright sun to hide my tears.

“Savannah?”

“How many years will a plea deal get me?”

“What?”

I exhale. “How many years will I get if I take a plea?”

I hear my voice like it’s far away. No emotions. Not when my mind is scrubbed raw.

“You are not taking a plea deal, Savannah.”

A harsh laughter bursts from my gut. “I’m not? Why? How? Because you’re going to get me off? I get that you think you can do anything, but you heard them.”

“You were in the courtroom, Michael. First, they find the murder weapon in my house. Then they say that Eric cannot be the murderer because he is left-handed and a right-handed person inflicted the wounds on Brandon’s body.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re the one who killed him. The jury hasn’t heard all the evidence yet,” I try to convince her.

“Sure. Do I smile about that? Do I laugh? Tell me, Michael.” I say feeling like I am losing my mind.

He sighs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Exactly,” I say, gesturing wildly with my hands. “You don’t know what to say, and you don’t know what to do either. You know what, I think we should be asking about a plea deal just to get this over with because it’s looking like I won’t be escorted into a car after the next time we are in court.”

Michael doesn’t say anything else. Although I’m the reason for his silence, it infuriates me so much I turn to the window, shutting him out. With my head against the seat and my eyes seeing the swarm of hungry reporters clamoring for a glimpse of the “murderer,” more tears pour down my cheeks.

But I choke back the sobs, refusing to let anyone see me weak.

I might not have hope but I will hold on to the last shred of dignity I have until the end.

***

I don’t know why I’m here.

I should be in my motel room, wallowing in self-pity and disgust that I trusted a man so much he became my downfall.

---