Page 17 of Falling for Roxanne

“If they call asking for a recommendation, you can have Syd tell them that he had some issues with the office machines. That way, you’re saying he’s incompetent without using the actual word.”

“You should absolutely quit the law and become a politician,” he laughed, “with your double meanings. You’d be a natural.”

“I have no interest in running for office.”

“Then you could make a fortune being a press secretary or writing speeches that seem to offer everything good but really are open to vast interpretation,” he chuckled.

“I have a talent for bullshit. Law school does that to us all. We have to write so many lengthy papers that you have to find creative ways to repeat yourself and make the word count without having to do extra research. Imaginative paraphrasing saves time,” I said with a shrug.

“Imaginative paraphrasing,” he said, “that’s another good one. You could be dangerous with that talent. And no, not every law student does that well. I had a student last semester, in his final semester by the way, who was turning in work he’d copied off Wikipedia entries. It was the first hit on the Google search. He didn’t even bother to scroll to the fourth or fifth page to be sneaky. Just pure laziness.”

“Did he graduate?” I said, astounded.

“What do you think?”

“That he didn’t.”

“You’d be wrong unfortunately. He was disciplined and had to redo all of his essays for my class, but his father is a federal judge, and his grandpa donated a small fortune to smooth it over. So, he’ll go into practice with his brother and coast on the family name like so many before him.”

“That’s absolutely demoralizing,” I said. “But believable. Personally, I’d get kicked out. I’m nobody and I wouldn’t get away with anything. If I stole a pen from the financial aid office, they’d probably expel me.”

“Depends entirely on whose pen you stole,” he said, and I smiled wryly.

“It’s a byproduct of my dad being in jail. I think I grew up sort of fatalistic because of it. Like if I did anything at all, broke a single rule, I’d be dumped in prison to rot. You get this sense that you’re unlucky, born under a bad star or whatever,” I said, trying to sound more lighthearted than I felt.

“You weren’t born under a bad star,” he said, his voice softer than I expected, “but it would be hard growing up like that and trying to be hopeful. We can turn things around with this appeal, and Daniel’s kids won’t have to experience what you did. He has twins, five years old.”

“Crap,” I said, “That’s—I just wish they were babies, that they were too little to know where he is. This way, their mom has to tell them something, and it would be really hard to act like he’s on a work trip that long, you know? They’ll hear something. Kids at school will be jerks about it.” I sighed, remembering what that was like.

“Have you told your parents what you’re working on? Without going into any privileged details, you should let them know you’re righting wrongs, working on this appeal. Exposing corruption in the system. They’ll be really proud of you,” he offered.

“I haven’t said anything because of privacy restrictions. But if you think it’s fine,” I said, “I’d love to let them know that I’m trying to do some good. That everything he went through, that we all went through may help someone else out. I’d like to wait till after I talk to Pansy Lestrade. If I can convince her to come clean about her testimony, I could tell my parents that our story helped persuade a witness to tell the truth. That would be really powerful.”

“What you’re doing is really powerful, and you don’t need Pansy Lestrade to prove anything.”

“Thanks,” I said, “and thanks for dinner. I’m going to go work on some questions for her. If you’d take a look at them, I’d appreciate it.”

“Great. I’m going to finish up some emails. Just leave a copy on my desk when you’re ready. And go home. You stayed late because I asked you, but you don’t have to wait around for me to finish.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way,” he said. “If you want to work on some questions, I’ll let you know when I’m done. I can walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary, unless you don’t want me to lock up.”

“I’ll lock up, but it’s not about trusting you. I’m not leaving you at the office alone at night. We both know it’s not smart, so you can lecture me on how independent you are while I walk you to your vehicle.”

“Fine, have it your way,” I said, but I was holding back a smile.

I tried to concentrate on formulating good questions to ask Pansy Lestrade, but I was absolutely floating. The smile wouldn’t go away. I had walked into work that day with a silly crush on my boss. I would be walking out with feelings that were more serious than just attraction or admiration. I was falling for Hamilton Bell. My timing was bad, and my chances with him were worse. This was an ethical man with integrity who taught law and justice. He wasn’t going to flout the regulations about fraternizing with students, and even if he did, there were a dozen swimsuit-model-looking blondes in the undergrad program who’d be glad to offer themselves for the job.

I was a good intern. That was all he really thought of me. While I thought of him in every way possible, and all the time. He was compassionate and strong and considerate, and he was going to walk me to my car in a few minutes. I wasn’t sure my heart could take it. His being gentlemanly and protective. I might just faint. Or grab his shirtfront and start humping his leg.

I snorted at the thought, and then made myself focus on my work. Even though deep down, I was fantasizing about what would happen between us if things were different. If I weren’t his student or his intern, if he weren't the larger-than-life law professor and attorney Hamilton Bell and I weren’t just a groupie. I had to make myself breathe slowly and carefully because I was starting to pant a little, feeling my skin tingle with desire for him while I tried to ignore the tightening of my nipples, the pinch of arousal there.

“Roxanne, are you ready to go?” he called from the hallway.

“Yeah, just a second,” I said, closing out my file and grabbing my purse. He waited for me at the door and shut off the lights, keyed in a security code on the alarm panel and locked the door. He turned to face me, and I was standing too close. His sleeve brushed the front of my blouse. Just barely. In the hazy exterior light from above, I hoped he didn’t see my nipples harden to sharp points at the accidental touch. I had felt the heat of his solid, strong forearm.

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