CHAPTER 4
Emma
Five weeks later…
I enter The Pit and the sound of all those voices jabbering at once grates on my nerves.
Same as it does every day.
And just like I do every day I walk into work, I look across The Pit to my dad’s office, where he’s been since probably seven AM. My dad, the lawyer, who I’m nothing like. A man who relishes in the fact he can wear jeans to work and engage in almost a bare-knuckle brawling type of legal theatrics. He’d much rather be in a courtroom and go toe to toe with scrappy lawyers, and for cases that really don’t matter that much in the grand scheme of how the world works. I mean, they’re important to the people he’s representing, but his work doesn’t shape and mold the course of the law. It’s more about individual justice versus a service to the sanctity of the law as a whole.
Lowering my gaze, I look down at my sensible shoes with a low block heel—brown today to match my taupe suit—and make my way to my desk.
To another day grinding away at a job I just feel no affinity for. My entire legal career—that has only been in existence for less than a year now—has been nothing but one long, boring grind.
Unless you count that day many weeks ago when I got Evan Scott out of jail.
Well, I didn’t get him out of jail-jail, but I did an adequate job of walking out with him. I sat with him through a brief interrogation by the police, even managing to lodge some well-placed objections to some of their questions. They didn’t seem too bent out of shape about it, especially when they realized Evan could account for his whereabouts for the most part. And that brief period of time in my legal career was exciting and invigorating, even as much as it was terrifying.
Thinking back on that day, I can’t really say it was the case itself that got me fired up. I still want nothing more than to work in a nice, quiet office researching the law, reviewing contracts where no one bothers me or crafting appellate arguments. I want that so much that I’ve got job applications out all over Raleigh and even some of the surrounding cities. I’m not built for the stress of criminal practice or civil litigation, and nothing about what I did as a lawyer that day is what got my blood pumping.
No, it was the man Evan Scott who got me so riled up. I lost control of all my senses. He pissed me off so badly, I shrieked at him like a banshee and actually cursed at him. I was so worked up, I made to leave my client behind to rot in jail, a move that would have surely gotten me fired the minute I walked back into Knight & Payne, and that isn’t something I can afford right now. I have bills and law school debt, and as much as I loathe my current job, I need it until I can find something better.
So yes… he got me fired up in a way I’ve never been before. I won’t admit it to anyone, much less myself, that when Evan grabbed my wrist… when he halted my rapid exit, it was the touch of his hand on me that really caused my blood pressure to spike.
It was Evan Scott that made that day memorable, and I’m ashamed to say I think about it more often than not.
My most exciting moment as an attorney, and it had everything to do with the hot mega-star musician who was a douche to me, but ultimately saved my hide by insisting I stay in that room and do my job.
When I reach my desk, I sit down in my swivel chair and tuck my purse into the empty bottom drawer. I boot my computer up and immediately log onto my personal email account to see if I’ve gotten any responses to my job applications.
Sadly, my inbox is empty.
Just like my legal career.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out and try to think pleasant thoughts. I mean… Leary did just assign a huge research project to me rather than one of the paralegals, and that is the type of work that definitely is more my speed.
I busy myself with pulling up the email Leary had sent to me with the assignment and start to review her instructions. But annoyingly, and as happens at least a gazillion times a day, the conversations around me start to interfere with my concentration.
“I swear to God it was him,” Krystal says in an excited voice from her desk to the right of me. I glance at her and see she’s talking to another female attorney named Liz. She’s one of the more “sedately” dressed folks in The Pit, preferring to wear chic casual attire. Today’s ensemble includes a pair of navy wide-legged pants with four-inch heels, and a form-fitting crepe blouse in a pattern of red, blue, and gold chain links.
“How long has he been in there?” Liz asks, and I note she glances at Midge’s office across The Pit.
“About half an hour,” Krystal says.
I immediately tune them back out again, because I don’t give a fig who’s in Midge’s office. She’s had a slew of high-profile clients in and out over the months I’ve been here, and it doesn’t impress me.
After I read over Leary’s instructions, I log onto Lexis-Nexis, the legal research library the firm subscribes too. I’d much rather go over to one of the local law schools in the area and do my research the old-fashioned way, but Knight & Payne is all about convenience and expediency, so online research it is.
I punch in some search terms, review the synopses that appear on my screen, and start making note of the cases that interest me. Then I pull the first one up and start to read.
I’m about halfway through the third paragraph when I suddenly become aware that The Pit has gone almost silent. This is unheard of and is so startling to my senses that I raise my head up to make sure I haven’t lost track of time and perhaps everyone left for lunch or something.
Nope… everyone is still here, but no one seems to be speaking a word.
Instead, all faces are turned toward Midge’s office and the minute I look that way, my stomach pitches as I recognize Evan Scott standing there talking to his aunt.
And good gracious… no man should ever be that good looking. I mean, the threat to women’s ovaries exploding just by looking at him is a real and serious threat to the human race.
He wears his brown hair in a shaggy mess on top. From across the large expanse of The Pit, I can see he sports his trademark five o’clock shadow. And he totally rocks the musician look with faded jeans, a pair of black Chucks, and a ratty t-shirt. He has what looks to be several braided leather bands around one wrist, and a large, silver-looking ring on the middle finger of his other hand.
Evan’s looking at Midge as she says something to him, so I can’t see his eyes, but I can imagine them. I looked at them long and hard that day many weeks ago, the hazel so damn mesmerizing against the fringe of dark lashes.
I glance around the room. Every single female from lowly secretary right on up to even the senior associate attorney who is happily married and has three children is ogling Evan as he stands there and talks to Midge. I might be doing the same.
And then… almost as if in slow motion, Midge turns slightly and levels her gaze right at me. She raises an elegant arm and points an even more elegant finger across The Pit straight at me.
Evan turns, following her direction, and his gaze locks tight with mine.
I hear a collective gasp from the women sitting around me, and my face flushes hot.
With an almost feral smile leveled straight at me, Evan says something to Midge without even looking at her, and she chuckles in response.
Then he starts walking my way.
No… stalking my way.
A nervous, energetic vibe seems to sweep through The Pit. As Evan winds his way through the desks—each woman he passes leaning in her chair a bit to get a good look at his backside—he never once lets his gaze drop from mine.
My pulse starts an erratic flutter as he gets closer. When he stops on the other side of my desk, those hazel eyes pinning me in place, I actually get a little dizzy.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, and God… his voice sounds even better than I remember it.
I glance nervously to my right and see Krystal with her mouth hanging wide open, her tongue in danger of falling out. Pushing my hair behind my ear in a nervous gesture, I take in a ragged breath before I ask, “About what?”
“It’s private,” he says softly. “Can we go into one of the conference rooms or something?”
“Um, sure,” I say as I stand from my chair, thankful to have broken eye contact with him. I lead him through The Pit to the closest empty conference room, noting that the chatter starts back up. Even though I can’t distinguish any particular conversation, I can tell by the excited hum to it that everyone’s talking about Evan and me.
I enter the conference room and stand by the door, closing it once Evan comes in. I glance out at The Pit through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, and note almost every face staring back at us. My nerves start going into overdrive to be the subject of so much attention, and my hand slaps at the button on the wall beside the light switch. This immediately fills the double-paned glass with a dark gray smoke, completely obscuring us from everyone’s view.
Turning, I find Evan watching me like a hawk, those hazel eyes swirling with greens, and golds, and browns, and…
Shaking my head, I nod toward a chair and mumble, “Have a seat.”
I take the chair at the very end of the table closest to the door, and Evan takes the one to my left. I sit straight as an arrow, my fingers nervously clutched together and my knees pressed tight to one another so they don’t start shaking. Evan, on the other hand, pushes the rolling chair slightly away from the table and slouches down in a relaxed pose with one foot resting on the opposite knee.
And he just stares at me without saying a word.
He stares for a very awkward moment, before his gaze slides down to my legs locked tight, and his lips curve upward in a slight smirk.
Compelled to fill the silence and get his eyes back up where they belong, I ask in a slightly perky voice that doesn’t belong to me and is a desperate attempt to hide my nerves, “So what do you want to talk about?”
His lips curve higher as his eyes come to mine, and I’m pretty sure he’s amused by my overt attempt to mask my anxiety. “I wanted to thank you again for your help.”
I give a wave of my hand in dismissal. “That was just my job.”
And let’s face it… I didn’t do much.
I walked out of the police station with Evan Scott and while our investigator was easily able to locate the redhead he was with but didn’t know her name—a thought that is quite distasteful to me—this information was ultimately not even needed as they’d made an arrest in the case already. From what I’ve read, it looks like a drug deal gone bad.
“I want to hire you,” he says and my body actually jumps in surprise.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to hire you,” he repeats simply.
“For what?” I ask, still astonished to the point I don’t think I’m following along as well as I should.
“For a variety of reasons,” he says casually and with a careless shrug. “Midge agrees you’d be perfect for the job.”
I honestly can offer no intelligent response, so I just stare at him with my mouth hanging open.
He finds this humorous, and I know this because he chuckles. Then he sits up in his chair, rolls it a little closer to the table and leans in toward me. “So will you, Emma? Work for me?”
I give a swift shake of my head back and forth a few times, not as a negative response, but to clear the mud my brain seems to be mired in. “I’m sorry… but I don’t understand. What could I possibly do for you?”
Another chuckle, which actually sort of annoys me because he’s enjoying my discomfort, before he says, “There’s a few things going on. My former bandmates are suing me over the rights and royalties to some of my songs.”
Geez Louise… I don’t know anything about copyright infringement law—
“And on top of that, I’ve got three major deal offers from record labels, and I need help navigating through the contracts to make sure I’m protected, if I decide to accept one of them.”
“Evan,” I say firmly. “I can’t handle all of that.”
“And that’s not really all,” he barrels forward. “I need a publicist… someone who can fend off all the media questions regarding all of these legal issues as we battle them out, particularly because, while there’s been an arrest in Keith’s death, he would have been involved in the suit for my song rights. That’s going to be brought up. I don’t have time for it, and frankly, I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing. I don’t want to jeopardize my ability to fight that lawsuit.”
“Evan,” I say even more firmly, and then I pause to make sure he doesn’t throw anything else at me. “I’m not qualified to handle all of that.”
“Midge says you are,” he counters.
“She’s wrong,” I say with steel in my voice. “Not only can I not do it, but even if I could, I’m not interested. It’s not the type of law I want to practice.”
“That would be contract law,” Evan says with a knowing look. “Right?”
My jaw drops wide open again. “How did you know that?”
He runs his gaze over my outfit and then cocks an eyebrow at me. “Come on, Emma. You positively scream isolationist. I’m guessing you’re most at home in a cavernous library, flipping through musty books. It’s not that difficult to figure out, and that’s one of the reasons you’d be great at helping me navigate those record label deals.”
“Try again,” I say with narrowed eyes and a sneaking suspicion starting to sink in. “How do you know I want to do that type of law?”
He smirks this time, and without any apology in his voice, he says, “Midge knows you’ve applied to several firms around this area for a position where you can keep your nose buried in a book.”
An equal mixture of anger and embarrassment fills me. Anger that Midge knows of my job search, which means she must have been reading my emails somehow, and embarrassment that she’s busted me looking for another job on the sly.
“And before you even think that Midge is snooping in your business, let me tell you that a few of the firms contacted her when they received your resume,” Evan adds on with a knowing grin. “They were surprised someone from the great Knight & Payne would be making a break and they wanted to know why.”
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter under my breath. Am I going to be stuck at this job forever with no way out?
Then an equally disturbing thought crosses my mind. “Darn it all to hell,” I mutter again. “She’s probably going to fire me since I’ve been looking for another job.”
“I don’t think so,” Evan supplies, but I ignore him, my mind now working overtime.
“It’s just as well,” I say more to myself for reassurance as I look down at the glossy cherry table. “I wasn’t cut out for this and wasn’t happy here anyway.”
“She’s not going to fire you,” Evan says, but I ignore this too.
Instead, I raise my gaze back up to his and say, “Unless there’s anything else you want to talk about, I should get back to my desk. Well, assuming I have a desk when I walk out of here.”
“Emma,” Evan says sharply to get my attention. “She’s not going to fire you, and in fact, has approved you to work just on my stuff.”
I blink at Evan and shake my head again, because surely he can’t still be harping on wanting to hire me.
“I’m not qualified,” I snap back at him, still feeling completely out of sorts by all of this. “So in case I’m not making myself clear, I’m not interested.”
“And if Midge insists?” he asks me slyly.
A wave of furious heat washes through me, and I grit my teeth. “You’re seriously going to pull the aunt card on me… just to get what you want?”
His answering smile is mischievous and knowing. “I might have something else to offer you.”
“Like what?” I ask suspiciously, and then want to kick myself in the butt for even asking.
“A job at one of the firm’s you’ve applied to,” he says straightforwardly.
I jerk in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says slowly and as if he’s talking to a third grader, “you work for me on these issues and help me get past them. Then Midge pulls strings and gets you your dream job.”
My mind whirls with the possibilities.
I could get out of here?
I could work somewhere that gives me fulfillment and makes me feel like a productive member of the legal community. I could achieve my dreams.
I’m on the verge of jumping on his offer when something inside of me causes me to ask, “Wait a minute… why do you want me to work for you so badly? I passed the bar exam less than a year ago. I’ve told you I’m not qualified.”
“Midge seems to think you are,” Evan says dismissively. “Not to mention you have all the available resources here at Knight & Payne, as well as Midge’s assurances she can help you if you run into a jam on any of the issues you’re unsure about.”
“But—”
“Think about it, Emma,” Evan says softly… almost suggestively. “A few months of work on all my legal issues, some of which involves nice, long, boring contracts with I’m sure a shit pot full of fine-print details, and then a lifetime of working in your dream job.”
Oh, God.
This could be it. What I’ve desired ever since I first started law school.
My eyes bore deep into his and I ask just to make sure, “You promise… I help you out and then I get a new job.”
“Promise,” he says clearly and confidently, and I trust that he means it. I also trust Midge has the power to put me where I want to go if I do this for her nephew.
“Okay,” I say quickly before I can change my own mind. “I’ll do it.”
Evan gives me a slow smile, and there’s something wolfish about it. But I don’t let that plague my thoughts too much.
And it’s long after he’s gone, promising we would meet soon to go over the legal issues, that I realize he never did tell me why he wanted me for this job.
In fact, the more I think about it, I think he purposely steered me away from that.