Page 73 of Defend Me

“Where are we going?” I ask, following her to the elevator.

“I made you an appointment at Barbieri and Sons,” she says.

“What’s that?”

She gestures me up and down. “You can’t go into court in those clothes.”

I look down at my soft beige V neck and jeans.

“I wasn’t planning on attending the trial in denim,” I say. “I have dress slacks.”

“That’s cute,” she says, patting my cheek. “You need some actual suits, though.” We get in the elevator and as soon as the doors close, the heartbeat between us kicks up a notch. Von turns to me, her eyes molten with desire. I lick my lips.

“Suits aren’t really my thing,” I warn her, trying to clear my head as her jasmine scent surrounds me.

Her gaze drops to my mouth again. I feel a nip in my stomach, my cock quivering against my thigh.

“Barbieri is the best,” she says. “Crisp, classic, efficient. You’d be surprised by how much an outfit can sway a jury.”

Her fingertips whisper over the back of my hand, her touch sending shivers over my skin. I want her so badly I can’t think straight. She tilts her head up toward me, an invitation, her eyes filled with lust.

The elevator doors open with a ping, and we break apart.

“That’s…incredibly depressing,” I say as we head out into the lobby.

Von opens her mouth to protest, then stops herself. “It is,” she admits.

Sam gives us a wave as we walk past the front desk.

“However,” Von continues as Benito opens the door for us, “it’s also the American judicial system in a nutshell. I know that sounds broken and fucked up, but it’s what we have to work with. And the system will be evenmorebroken and fucked up if you end up in jail.” We get into the waiting town car. “Evidence matters, of course, but appearances are vital. We need to tell the best story. We need you to be sympathetic, attractive. We want the men on the jury to respect you and the women to want to date you.”

“We do?” I ask, my voice pitched up with surprise.

Von gives a small chuckle, and her fingers brush my hand again. “Figuratively, of course.”

“Of course,” I say. I wonder if Von wants to date me—literally. I hope so. It feels like we’re doing things out of order. We didn’t talk about expectations or anything. Obviously, now is not the moment to bring that up. There’s still that tricky little fact that she’s my lawyer. Pretty sure the judicial system looks down on lawyers dating their clients.

We weave through the streets of midtown until we get to a glass-fronted shop with mannequins in a variety of suits.

“It says they’re closed,” I say, pointing to the sign on the front door.

Von shoots me a sly look. “Not for me.”

Of course she can have a store close down for all customersexcept her. Though honestly, I’m glad I don’t have to try on a suit with other people browsing. I already feel out of my element.

We get out of the car and Von puts her hand my arm, her touch featherlight. “It’s going to be fun,” she says. “I promise.”

A bell jingles as we enter.

“Siobhan,” an older Italian man says as he swans over to us. He’s got a weathered face and a prominent nose, and he’s impeccably dressed in a navy-blue pinstripe suit. He kisses Von on each cheek, saying something in Italian that she replies to fluently.

I didn’t know Von spoke Italian.

“And this is he?” the man says, eyeing me.

“Giuseppe, this is Noah Patterson,” Von says. “Noah, this is Giuseppe Barbieri.”

“Hi,” I say awkwardly.

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