Page 4 of Falling for Roxanne

My first class of the day was Trial Practices, and it was my favorite one to teach. Sometimes I considered giving up my professorship at Berkeley to free up the time, but when I looked out at a sea of new faces, ready to become the next generation of attorneys, I knew this was my contribution to the world.

I was training young law students to think critically and compassionately. I was priming them to enact change, to save lives and fix a broken system. That was my legacy, and I felt so strongly about it that I continued to teach, although I’d cut down to only doing two courses this semester.

When I distributed the hard copy of the course syllabus, a few students were still filing in. I heard a laugh, brief and warm, full of energy, and turned instinctively toward the sound. A striking young woman, her dark blonde hair in a messy bun, balanced a coffee cup and her phone in one hand while she removed her messenger bag, worn crossbody style, and set up her laptop one-handed.

All the while, she was talking animatedly to another student. She was intriguing, but had a no-nonsense air about her, efficiently setting up and accepting a syllabus and flicking to the back page to look at the assignment due dates schedule.

Uncapping a pen, she made a quick note and then photographed the page with her phone, probably to make sure she didn’t lose the information. Her friend said something, and the blonde waved her away, focusing on the reading material.

I decided it was time to introduce myself.

“Good morning. I’m Hamilton Bell, JD, Berkley alumnus, class of 2008. I’m a practicing criminal defense attorney as well as an adjunct professor of law. Trial Practices is my pet project, the course I like to use to give you practical experience in active trial argument and as a test of procedural knowledge. Due process and all its nuance should be second nature to you before you step foot in a courtroom. Hollywood may make it look like lawyer grandstanding and last-minute evidence can win a case, but I can assure you based on long experience that neither of those things is allowed in an actual courtroom. Any judge would warn you once and then find you in contempt if your closing arguments exceeded the allotted time limit, and all relevant information has to be entered in discovery weeks or months before a case goes to trial. I expect you to know this already at this point in your education. I’m just refreshing your memory in case your summer was more about margaritas in Mexico than filing depositions in an office.”

I looked around the crowded class, and the blonde met my eyes, unwavering. I turned on the projector and indicated the syllabus.

“Humor me and read over the course objectives before you leave here today, even if you only care about the due dates for your projects. We’ll be arguing actual cases in here, and these activities require extensive preparation as well as participation in class. If you think you can turn in the papers and show up for the exam and pass the class, you’re mistaken. You either commit to learning about Trial Practices or you drop the course and try to get a different instructor next semester, one who lets you off easily. In addition to the cases we’re studying, I’m also looking for an intern at my firm for the semester, and anyone who is interested should email me their application and resume by Friday to be considered. I don’t normally take on interns, but the caseload this year has been incredible. It’s a good opportunity to get your feet wet if you’re interested in criminal defense.”

I saw a couple of students perk up at the mention of the internship, and one pair of brown eyes brightened as if to challenge me. She was clearly interested in the internship, so I wasn’t surprised when, after class, she paused at my desk.

“Mr. Bell,” she said. “I’m Roxanne Park. This is my last semester before graduation, and I’m interested in your internship.”

“Read this over and submit your application by email if you decide you want to pursue it. The hours are long, and the pay is nonexistent.”

“But I would come out of it with a glowing letter of recommendation from the man who got an acquittal in the Hodges murder case.”

“She was innocent. Any fool could see that if they considered the facts of the case,” I said. “I’m surprised you know about that. It was about eight years ago.”

“I watched the trial online on my lunch period when I was in high school. It was a high-profile case, a lot of people know all about it. Bethany Hodges, nanny to a celebrity family, accused of killing the child in her care. It’s perfect tabloid fodder.”

“The prosecution made some mistakes, number one being that they charged the wrong person with the killing. The second mistake being their sensationalistic allegations about an affair with her employer.”

“It was definitely a soap opera,” she said, “all the plot twists you could want in a TV drama.”

“But it was someone’s real life. And I had death threats every day for defending her.”

“Yet here you are, a legal legend in your thirties. Teaching at a law school, and willing to take on an intern. It’s perfect timing.”

“The timing is dictated by my caseload,” I said coolly.

“You think it’s a coincidence that you mentioned the internship in the exact course I’m taking from you? When I’ve wanted to defend the innocent my whole life.” She was certainly confident and passionate, and I offered her the paperwork.

“Shoot your shot,” I said, handing it to her.

Her fingers brushed mine, just barely, but sparks flew. A sharp awareness flooded my body and heat swept through me. My pulse quickened, and I shifted away from her. That was very inconvenient.

I had no intention of having some fiery Tracy-Hepburn affair with a student, the old Hollywood kind where the feisty ingénue catches the eye of her more experienced mentor, and they banter and steal clandestine kisses. Something about the way she looked up boldly, the way she met my eyes, surprised but steady, told me that she could hold her own, and reminded me of the headstrong heroines in black and white movies, the women that risked it all.

Roxanne Park. That wasn’t a name I’d forget anytime soon. That electric jolt I felt, the one that made me jerk my hand back like I’d touched a hot burner while her gaze held steady—that would stay with me for a while.

I left the classroom for my office, wondering what the hell that was, and how I could avoid being alone with her again. Maybe there had been a few students left in the room—I hadn’t noticed them if they were there. The entire world had narrowed to include only the warmth of her fingers, the heat of her eyes, the soft scent of burnt sugar like crème brulee that clung to her. I wondered if she used some kind of caramel shampoo or if she just tasted like sweetness and fire naturally.

I was going to have to go for a run on my lunch break, I decided, and burn off some energy. Because that three-minute conversation, that single brush of hands had gotten under my skin in a way I didn’t know what to do with. I didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense. I had a business to run, classes to teach and a child to raise.

There were zero hours in my day for intrigue.

CHAPTER 4

ROXANNE

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