Page 114 of Legally Yours

“You’re ridiculous,” she retorted. “A bull-headed, stubborn, complete fucking moron if you don’t do what I tell you and let me handle this. I’m not kidding.”

The voice, obviously a man’s, said something else that made one corner of Kieran’s crimson mouth lift. She shook her head, bemused.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she scoffed. “Just keep that thing in your pants in court, all right? I don’t need a pissing contest between you and her lawyer on top of everything else. Who Miranda, uh, spends her time with is Miranda’s business, and it’s not going to matter worth a damn to the judge, especially considering how long it’s been. Besides—” She looked sharply at me and frowned. “I didn’t think you’d care about that much these days.”

The voice said one more thing, causing Kieran to laugh, a short, terse bark.

“Good to hear. Well, I have to get back to cleaning up your damn mess. Again. I’ll call you later.” She hung up the phone and turned to me. “Sorry about that. It’s been a catastrophe today, and it’s not even noon yet.”

“Everything all right?” I asked, holding up the file. “Anything I can help with?”

Kieran ground her teeth a little, as if weighing whether or not to tell me. As her underling, I was technically protected by client-attorney privilege, but it didn’t sound like the client she was speaking to was from FLS. I had never seen Kieran talk to any of the people here like that; she was usually professional to the point of robotic.

“It’s nothing,” she said finally. “Just a client from my firm. A difficult one. Anyway, can you double-check that motion for me? It needs to be filed by the end of the day. Then you can start taking clients.” Kieran waved me out of the office as she started dialing another number on her phone. “Skylar?” she called as she brought the phone to her ear.

I turned around, prepared to take another request. Maybe she had changed her mind about the other client.

“Close the door on your way out,” she said and turned back to her work.

* * *

I had seenfive separate clients by the time the ancient wall clock marked the end of my shift. As I finished packing up my things, my cell phone rang. I answered it quickly, not recognizing the number.

“Hello?” I said as I pulled on my jacket.

“Is this Skylar Crosby?”

“It is,” I replied as I checked my desk, making sure I hadn’t left anything. I grabbed my keys from the far corner.

“Ms. Crosby, this is Matthew Zola with the Brooklyn District Attorney’s office.”

“Oh!” I reached behind me for my chair and sat down immediately. “Hello. What can I do for you? And…how did you get my number?”

There was a small chuckle on the other end of the line. “It wasn’t that hard, actually. Your grandmother is very accommodating.”

I drummed my fingers on the desk. Why had Bubbe been chatting with the D.A.?

“Apparently your father requested that any inquiries into his involvement with the Messina case be directed to his lawyer—that’s you, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “That’s me. For now. But I’m not under the impression that my father has changed his mind about testifying. He’s sustained enough personal damage over the last few weeks; I’m afraid the stress of the trial would be too much for him.”

I was careful not to say anything that would directly implicate Dad, but the message was clear. He wasn’t interested in being Messina’s target yet again.

“I understand,” Zola said, unexpectedly amicable. “I hope he’ll change his decision, but I get it.”

I twisted back and forth in my chair, somewhat taken aback. Was this some sort of gambit? “Okay,” I said uncertainly. “Great.”

“I also wanted to let you know that the domestic violence bureau received your resume, and I put in a good word for you with the D.A. If I were a betting man, I’d guess you’ll be getting a phone call within the next few days.”

Eric turned from his desk and frowned when he saw my face. “What is it?” he mouthed.

I shook my head. No doubt I looked confused. Zola’s call was completely unorthodox. He had no reason to take such an active interest in my employment—unless he wanted something.

“Ms. Crosby?”

“Sorry, that’s great, thank you,” I blurted out. “Really. I don’t know if I’m looking to relocate from Boston, but it’s good to have the option.”

“Especially this late in the game,” Zola replied.

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