Page 31 of His Temptation
After answering a few of the reporters’ questions, I left the courthouse and returned to my office. It was almost five o’clock, so it would be closing soon, but I needed to check my mail and sign a few documents so Becca could fax them.
“Reporters are waiting for you outside,” Becca said right as I came in through the side entrance.
“Of course they are,” I said, sighing. “Vultures.”
“Can I quote you on that, Mr. Cross?” Becca asked, using her pen as a recorder.
“I have a better story.” I set my briefcase on the floor beside my desk. “Emery Cross seeks new paralegal.”
“Harsh,” she said, putting a hand to her chest. Then, as usual, her bubbly personality was set aside as she became strictly professional. “Is there anything I can do to make your life easier? I can call the station and see if an officer can come down and keep an eye on things.”
We’d had to do that in the past if I worked a big case like the Ritter one. I’d also had several clients before who had gotten angry at me and threatened to shoot the place up. Police presence would help deter most of the people who only wished to throw insults at me.
“Yes, please.” I grabbed the stack of papers from the tray and looked them over. “Just until this thing blows over. It’d be worse if I actually won the case.”
“Yeah, I’d have to be your bodyguard instead of your paralegal.” Becca cracked her knuckles.
I smiled and focused on the documents.
“Tough loss today,” Jerry Patel, my partner at the firm, said as he walked into my office. He mostly did civil work, whereas I did mainly criminal, apart from the occasional divorce or custody case. “Need me to buy whiskey for the office?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, sitting against the back of my chair. “I plan to drink plenty later this evening.”
“Have that prick Foley buy,” Jerry said with a smirk. “He went the ‘murderous affair’ route and had the jury wrapped around his finger.”
“Gotta admit, it takes one talented lawyer to convince an entire jury a man is guilty based on circumstantial evidence alone.”
“See?” Jerry pointed at me. “He owes you a drink.”
Around eight that evening, I met Jay at a cigar bar on Main Street called 906 Cocktail and Cigar Lounge. A live band played at a stage near the entrance. One saxophone, one piano, an upright bass, and drums. Cigar smoke perforated the air, but the place was big enough not to be overwhelmed by the smell. I swept a gaze throughout the room looking for Jay.
He sat in a cushioned chair in the corner of the room, and I headed that way. He was flirting with the server when I arrived.
The boy in front of him stammered over his words and went red in the face. Jay didn’t even have to try. He had blessed him with sinfully good looks, and he knew how to use them.
“Cross,” Jay said, spotting me. “Have a seat.”
I slid into the chair across from him and unbuttoned my suit jacket. He was dressed more casual, in a long-sleeved shirt pushed to his elbows and dark jeans. His blond hair was no longer restrained by the professional style he wore it in while working, and it instead fell freely, swooping across his brow.
“What can I get you to drink?” the server asked me, still visibly flustered from talking to the wicked playboy across from me.
“I’ll take a Corona.”
The server—who said his name was Brent—nodded and walked away.
“Go easy on the kid, Casanova,” I said. “He looked like he was about to fall over.”
Jay grinned and stared at me over the top of his beer as he took a drink. He knew damn well the effect he had on people—male or female.
“What’s up with you lately?” Jay asked, setting the near-empty bottle on the table between us. “And don’t try to play dumb. You’ve been distracted.”
How did he always see right through me?
“The trial was a lot on me mentally,” I answered, glancing at Brent as he brought over my beer. Once he left, I focused back on Jay. “That’s all.”
“Bullshit.” Jay leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
“What gave you that idea?”
