Page 6 of Free to Judge
I knew from the moment I saw her she was a force of nature. Seconds later, when her name flashes on the screen, I read aloud, “Kalie Marshall—Heiress to Lockwood Industries Fortune. Sports icon, philanthropist, and renowned attorney.”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe as I put the pieces together of who she is in my mind.
The household heiress mentioned in the news for her good deeds and charitable work, is Katherine Laura Marshall—the same womanI couldn’t take my eyes off during that long-ago Harvard Law graduation.
Still, I didn’t put it together until just now when I saw her name displayed on a wall of televisions. After all, Kalie Marshall isn’t a name you forget. Not anywhere in the Northeast—hell, not anywhere in America. The Lockwoods and Marshalls are as intrinsic to the history of American wealth as the Waltons. The family’s fortunes stem from their business empire built over generations and continues to grow year after year.
I force myself to back away from the televisions, muscles taut. I can’t think about that day right now. There are too many balls tojuggle. Balls that, if they splat on the ground, will have my head lying next to them bloody soon after. Today, I need to don the mask of skirting the law without actually breaking it.
Pushing forward, cold air scraping at my throat, I wonder how much my boss cringes every time his daughter is front and center of the world’s attention. Though, knowing her family, the banner from StellaNova likely has subliminal messages screaming “Stay away!” built within them.
There’s nothing they won’t do to protect their family, including hiring someone to blow up the mob from the inside when one of their own is threatened.
I trudge a few feet down the street before something compels me to twist my head back. All the monitors have zoomed in. Amid too many people, I fight through the bobbing heads and see only her. For all intents and purposes, the only two people on the street are me and her gorgeous face.
Just like we were for those precious seconds that day at the Tercentenary Theatre.
I wasn’t supposed to meet anyone like her. Hell, I technically don’t exist in her family’s world, even if I’m on their damn payroll.
If anyone knew, it could blow apart everything we’re trying to do, and I could end up dead.
A bad combination for a man who relies upon working the shadows to stay alive.
For now.
CHAPTER THREE
PRESENT DAY
My sistersand cousins have all gathered around the flat screen. On the coffee table, I’ve strategically placed bowls of snacks to be munched on as we catch up on gossip for the first time in forever.
“All right, ladies! I’ve got wine. I’ve got booze. Let’s get our StellaNova game faces on!” I proclaim as I pass a heavily laden tray full of cocktails around.
My cousin, roommate, and one of my best friends, Grace Bianco, announces to the room at large. “Growing up, did any of us ever imagine our cousin would turn to the dark side?”
I chuckle. “You mean Chuck going to work for the paparazzi that have stalked us our entire lives?”
Grace waves her glass in the air. “Exactly.”
“Did you ever imagine we’d actually be excited to watch Chuck’s first solo celebrity interview on StellaNova?” I muse. StellaNova, the most intuitive—and sometimes intrusive—of the media moguls, has somehow made its way into our lives, not just through my cousin.
“I can’t believe it. He’s all grown up.” Grace swipes an imaginary tear from beneath her eye.
Our other cousin and former housemate, Laura Lockwood, sips her drink. “It’s hard to imagine he’s the same pain-in-the-ass little brother who used to crush on all our friends. Gracie, remember your and Kalie’s senior prom when he was mouthing off about trying to get laid, and Mama lit into him?”
That sets the three of us whooping in hysterical laughter. Grace chortles, “Chuck was scolded by Aunt Cassidy so hard, we called you at college from my bedroom to tell you all about it.”
Laura cackles, “Even before you left for prom!”
One of my twin sisters, Regina, who somehow turned doodling in the margins of her homework into a worldwide phenomenon of home tile designs used by high-end kitchens all over theworld, snags the chilled bottle of Grey Goose off the table. “Let’s not talk about getting laid. It’s been a bitch of a week.”
Reggie’s twin—my other sister, Valerie—rolls her eyes at Reggie’s flair for the dramatic. “Why? Did you not get your insides ground up by your favorite Coffee Shop boy toy?” Val names the small breakfast stop in Collyer near my office, which I swear fuels the blood in my veins and apparently is Reggie’s spot to troll her latest conquest.
Reggie tosses back her shot of vodka before offering Val a killer glare. “Jealous much? Cobwebs not getting cleared out, so they’re about to reaffirm you as a vestal virgin?”
Val reaches over and snatches up one of our cousin Nicole’s infamous chocolate caramel brownie bites and cocks her arm back—her intent obvious. Before she can break a sacred family rule—waste no food baked by our Aunt Corinna or Nicole—I snatch it out of her hand and pop it into my mouth. Then I stare down my two sisters and nod in the direction of my front door. “If you two can’t hold your liquor, call a cab, and don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
Reggie pouts, and Val tries for an air of innocence.
