No.

As I walk into the courtroom and see Jensen, I can’t believe he’s the client I’ve been assigned to represent. I'd had an inkling— and sure, maybe even a fantasy— that it could be, but in reality, the thought is almost too much to bear.  Anyone but him.

I can't be attracted to my client. I can't have a crush on the guy I have to get off his criminal charges.

Flipping through his file after Tim leaves the two of us alone together, I see references to assault and battery, PTSD, history of issues in the military, and my stomach churns. There is no denying that I’m attracted to him, but I’m angry at myself for it.

He’s a criminal, Riley. Dangerous. No good for you.

Yet I barely get any time to think about my strange attraction to Jensen or start preparing to defend his case before the judge has called us up. I’m not used to things moving so quickly.

In civil court, I would have had time to write a lot of motions and briefs before I ever had to face a judge. Now I’m just supposed to stand up here and wing it, I guess.

As I walk up to the podium, I feel more nervous than I think I’ve ever felt during my legal career. I don’t know how much of it stems from the annoying hyperventilating effect that this Jensen guy has on me, and how much of it stems from having no idea what I’m doing.

“Your Honor, I’m Riley Morrell, now representing Jensen…” I flip his file over on its face so that I can see the name on top “…Bradford in this case.”

He peers at me from out from under small horn-rimmed glasses. “What happened to Dylan Trambone of Veterans’ Legal Alliance?”

His voice is gruff and demanding. Great, I must be in for a treat.

In civil court, there’s an air of mutual professional respect. I know the judges and they know me. But this criminal court seems more like an elementary school playground where everyone has to prove themselves to avoid being pummeled by the recess bullies.

“I have replaced Mr. Trambone on this case,” I inform the judge. “And I’m with Veterans’ Legal Alliance myself, at least for the time being.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at me and then turns to the Assistant District Attorney at the podium across the aisle from me, who is prosecuting the case.

“Mr. Stemple, is the State ready to proceed?”

“We are, Your Honor,” replies the ADA, and I can feel my blood rush to my toes.

“Your Honor,” I interrupt, which obviously annoys him. “I… wasn’t finished. I was about to ask for a little more time due to just being very new to this case… a continuance, or, umm….”

“Are you asking for an extension?”

The judge is grinning at me as if amused, and I sneak a glance over to the ADA, who looks like a tiger about to pounce on his prey.

“Uhh… well, I was going to ask for one, but, umm….”

Something is telling me I shouldn’t.

“You’ll have to agree to extend the rule, of course. Is that what you’re asking for and agreeing to do?”

“Uhhh. No. Not at this time, Your Honor.”

I’m not sure what he’s talking about but I can tell I was just about to do something unwise, so I retreat.

“Well then, back to ADA Stemple. Have you gotten your discovery to Ms. Morrell or her predecessor on this case?”

“Not just yet, your Honor,” says the ADA, while flipping through one of his many voluminous files. As he does that, I do a quick search of the Rules of Criminal Court on my smartphone.

Rule 02-342 says that the State has six months to prosecute a case. If it fails to do so within that time, the case must be dismissed for lack of prosecution. I want to jump up and down with happiness that I didn’t agree to extend the rule.

Apparently if the State isn’t ready for trial, that’s a good thing. It only has six months to drag its feet. But if the defense— in this case, me— isn’t ready, and agrees to an extension of the Rule, then the State gets more time to prosecute the case than would otherwise be allowed under the statute.

I guess I really do learn something new every day. And at least I didn’t mess up Jensen’s case on my first minute or two of working on it.

“We do have some materials to give to the defense,” ADA Stemple continues.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” demands the judge, and I’m glad to see that he can be equally grumpy to both sides. “Here she is. Hand it over.”

“It’s… at the office,” ADA Stemple admits, with a shrug. “I’m just covering this file today for…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s typical governmental bureaucracy once again.” The judge waves his hand at ADA Stemple to cut him off, while also rolling his eyes. “You have until the end of the day to deliver the discovery to Ms. Morrell. Do you have her office address?”

“Your Honor,” I quickly interrupt, too embarrassed to admit that I don’t actually have an office at the moment. I’ll have to figure that situation out rather quickly. “I can pick it up from ADA Stemple.”

“I like your initiative, Counsel. ADA Stemple, instruct your office to have it ready for your new opposing counsel by four thirty this afternoon, or I’ll instruct Ms. Morrell to draft a motion to compel.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“All right then, we’ll set a status conference for two weeks from now. I see that there is a motion to recognize an expert. Ms. Morrell, I expect you to be ready to present that at that time.”

“Uhh, Your Honor,” I say, looking at Jensen.

“What?”

“We are not sure we need that expert any longer. Or it may be a… different expert.”

I don’t know how I’m going to reverse Dylan’s course and figure out a new defense in only two weeks. But I’m not about to ask for more time. And I’m also not about to make my new— hot!— client mad at me for continuing the PTSD defense to which he’s so vehemently opposed . I’ll have to work it all out somehow.

“Fine, Ms. Morrell, whatever. But whatever you need to do that involves an expert, I expect you to be ready to do it in two weeks when we reconvene. Understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well then. You’re adjourned.”

Whew, I think, happy to have survived my first criminal case hearing.

“Thank you very much for not using that PTSD expert,” Jensen says, putting his hand on my arm. It feels like electricity is running through it. And I feel like a silly schoolgirl for thinking that.

“I’ll figure something else out,” I assure him. I’m trying my best to remain professional and composed even though I want to rip his shirt off and see the muscles that I know are underneath. They’re always poking out dangerously just below the surface, teasing and taunting me. “But we need to meet about your case, once I receive and review the discovery documents. I’ll call you with a time and place, but plan on it being in about a week’s time.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he says, with his now- infamous wink. “Just let me know where and when you want to get together, and I’ll be there.”

Is it just me or did he put an obvious accent on the phrase “get together”? I wonder. I’m not sure, but either way he and his amazingly in shape body walk away from me, out of the courtroom and to whatever life he leads that is undoubtedly so very different from mine.