Page 8 of Behind the Scenes
She was not in need of a criminal defense lawyer. Or any lawyer, for that matter. The agency she did business with was one of the best, and they had entire rabid teams ready to bite at the legs of anyone who so much as crossed one of their clients’ arbitrary lines in the sand.
They were almost as recognizable as she was.
“Harley insists. If you would just?—”
“Do you know why I say she’s spoiled?” I asked, my eyes narrowing at her. I leaned forward, waiting for her to speak. She opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. The way she swallowed indicated that whatever was about to come out of her mouth would only anger me further. “Sixty-seven times. You have both called my officesixty-seventimes. The shortest of the calls lasted three minutes, which means you have officially taken up over two hundred minutes of my time. Over three hours. You are aware of how much I charge per hour, are you not?”
“Your rates for even misdemeanor charges are over five hundred. Harley has more than enou?—”
“And my retainers can be up to three hundred thousand,” I interrupted, tilting my head. “MaybeHarleyhas more than enough to afford that, but at the end of the day, who I want to take on is my decision. Don’t insult me by assuming all you need to do is throw money at me and I’ll roll over and play dead.”
Red crept up her neck.
“I am sorry to bother you, but Harleyreallywants you. No one else will do?—”
“Thirty thousand two hundred dollars in gifts,” I continued with a sigh. “Bags. Flowers. Shoes. Pens. Anything else you thought could sway me.”
In fact, they had sent me more gifts than I ever received from even the most extravagant and well-off clients. From even the most crazed suitors.
Not that I ever allowed anyone to get close to me. They were just as much of an annoying distraction as thisHarleywas turning out to be.
“I—”
“Tell me something, Ms.…”
“Penelop-pe Murphy.”
She stuttered slightly, and I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“Ms.Murphy. Tell me, did I call you after receiving any of those?” The tapping of my nails against the desk pulled her eyes to my hand. “Did Isuddenlychange my mind?”
She shook her head as her hands gripped the vase harshly, her knuckles turning white.
Pity. The flowers smelled good and would have looked great on the far-end table. But accepting those would only diminish my point.
“No.” Her voice was losing its strength.
“No,” I repeated and motioned for her to leave. “They all ended up in the trash. I won’t take your boss. You can leave.”
She stood and placed the flowers on my desk. Condensation from the vase fell onto the wooden surface, and annoyance had my blood pressure rising.
“I don’t want the fuck?—”
“You never threw away the flowers,” she said, her eyes becoming sharp. “Not one.”
The fucking balls on this one.
She had sat there in my office, quivering, leading me to believe she was weak.
But there was something stronger behind those eyes of hers. Maybe her confidence wasn’t a front at all. For the first time in our interaction, a burst of curiosity burned in my chest.
If this is just her assistant, what will Harley be like?
I knew of her. Her agency. A bit about her career. But the research I had done was surface-level and not enough to give meany insight into how the fuck they gotthistype of confidence when facingme.
I clicked my tongue. I didn’t have time for this. Curiosity was a distraction I couldn’t afford, and I had a full client list.
