I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, giving myself a hard, critical look. I was definitely my own harshest critic, after my father, of course. And today was no exception. In fact, it was even more imperative that I look and act my best today. After the stunt I had pulled Sunday evening at the attorney convention, there was no doubt in my mind that all eyes were going to be locked on me. I needed to be on my A-game, for sure.

So, I’d asked my secretary-slash-paralegal-slash fashion consultant Penelope to assist me in picking out a sleek new suit for this new case I had taken on. I was no stranger to designer clothing, nor was I new to big, flashy, important court cases.

But this one was especially crucial to my career. The opportunity to represent the interests of a well-established and very respected institution like Southwestern First Bank was not something to take lightly. Everyone would be watching to see if I sank or swam-- including my own father, Chauncey North. I knew that because he had called me late last night to tell me so.

Very late last night. Nearly three in the morning, actually. I had been smack dab in the middle of a really good dream-- making out with an old romantic fling of mine from college-- when the shrill ring of the phone woke me up. I had answered it in a burst of confusion and panic, since usually the only calls I got that late at night were emergencies of some kind.

Generally, if someone was calling at that hour, it wasn’t going to be good news. But as it turned out, my father was calling me from a resort in the Philippines, where it was mid-afternoon and tropically sunny. I had answered in a huff, both annoyed and worried to receive a call from a strange number in the middle of a dream. But of course, he’d simply forgotten that he was in a vastly different time zone, or perhaps he had done it on purpose just to wake me up and ruin my night, with the added enjoyment of rubbing it in that he was on a gorgeous tropical island relaxing with a cocktail while I was stuck in Vegas the night before an arraignment.

Although the media liked to sensationally describe my father as reckless and impulsive, the truth was that most of the time there was a sinister plot behind every action he took, even if it looked spontaneous. That was part of how he had managed to become so successful for so long; he knew exactly how to manipulate the public, how to make them view him the way he wanted them to.

So, it was unlikely that he would actually phone me in the middle of the night by accident. He meant to do it. Just like he meant to get caught having an affair with that gorgeous young witness. Sure, he had been disbarred in disgrace, but only to pave the way for a retreat into retirement. He knew he’d be caught and kicked out. It was all contrived to let him go out with a bang. Chauncey North never missed a thing. Even at nearly seventy years old, he was just as sharp and devious as he’d ever been. Maybe the rest of the world was too blind to see that, but I had grown up with him. I knew.

And I was right. He had called to tell me, first of all, that he was proud of me for landing the Southwestern First Bank case, and to warn me that I needed to be more prudent with my public outbursts; referring, of course, to my minor assault on Rodney Barrington. I could almost hear the wink he was giving me when he gave me that last piece of advice. I was sure, deep down, he loved that his quiet, fastidious son had thrown a punch at one of the big names in the game. He probably saw it as a sign that I was finally stepping out of his shadow and making waves of my own. That I was going to carry on the North tradition for sensationalism, at long last.

Of course, I sleepily explained to him that I had everything under control, to which he replied with a loud guffaw before hanging up. That was pretty standard. Just another unfulfilling chat with my father. As usual.

And naturally, even after I hung up and slipped back down under the bedsheets, I had simply lain awake until my alarm went off at six in the morning, too anxious and frustrated to sleep. It was bad enough being woken up like that, but to be interrupted out of a rare good dream-- a sexy dream at that-- was just salt in the wound. Because although I did my very best to make my career so big and overwhelming that it left no room for a personal life, I had to admit that sometimes I was kind of lonely. Actually, I was very lonely.

I hadn’t been intimate with anyone since my college days, and even then it had all been very secretive. Furtive kisses in the back seat of a car. A sloppy hand job in the locker room. Sexting with a guy from class. All mostly anonymous.

Ever since graduating college and coming back to Vegas, however, I had been the very definition of a lone wolf. My work was my partner now, and sometimes that was rewarding, mostly in a financial sense. But most of the time? A career was a sorry surrogate for actual intimacy and dare I say it: love.

I gave myself a curt nod of approval in the mirror and turned to march downstairs to my office, where Penelope was already hard at work. She had one cell phone pressed to her ear and was rapidly texting on another. Under her arm was a stack of folders flagged with little colorful tabs. I smiled as she looked up and did a double take. With her one free hand she gave me a thumbs up and then mouthed the words, “Lookin’ good.”

“Thanks,” I chuckled as I walked into the little kitchenette area.

She covered the receiver with her fingers and stage-whispered, “I brewed a fresh pot of coffee. The old one was giving me hives just looking at it.”

“Thanks for that, too,” I said, eternally grateful for her ability to seek out and solve even the smallest and seemingly insignificant problems. Penelope was a gem, though she had been a diamond in the rough when I first hired her. Back then, she was a law school dropout who had just been dumped by her then-fiancée. She was aimless and lost. But I saw a spark in her, and I was glad to have given her a chance to shine, because now she was the multi-tasking, organized, go-getting secretary of my dreams.

I had watched her go from heartbroken and hopeless to successful and dating a wonderful girl named Meg. I expected their engagement any day now. Penelope worked almost as hard as I did, so it was amazing to me that she managed to find time for a relationship and a full-blown, functional personal life. At least one of us should get to have that, I thought to myself wryly. I poured myself a mug of coffee and topped off hers.

Finally, she finished her call and set the phone down, rolling her eyes. “Yikes. I was on hold so long I thought maybe I was getting ghosted,” she sighed. “Anyway, I finished up the charts you asked for, and I printed it all out with these color-coded tabs.”

She handed me the stack of folders with a smile. “By the way, that tie is killer,” she remarked. “I don’t care who your opponent turns out to be, you’re definitely going to upstage them with that ensemble.”

“Well, I couldn’t do it without your eye for fashion,” I said, taking a sip of coffee.

She beamed. “Actually, if you want to know the truth, Meg is the one who’s been giving me pointers about it. She’s the one with a fashion degree.”

“Ah, you’ve been outsourcing to your girlfriend,” I teased. Penelope laughed.

“Yep. You caught me. But trust me, you’d rather have her pick out your clothes than me. Why do you think my look has gotten so much better in the past year? It’s all Meg,” she gushed. Despite how lonely and overworked I was, it still warmed my heart to see her so happy.

“Pass my compliments on to the genius, then,” I said. “So, is this everything I need?”

“Yep! Should be!” she quipped cheerily. “Oh, I’m so excited. This is a big case, huh?”

“It is, indeed,” I agreed solemnly.

“You’re gonna kill it. Like you always do. No worries,” Penelope assured me.

I downed the rest of my coffee in a few big gulps and set the mug down on the desk, then noticed she was still staring at me. I frowned and asked, “What? What is it?”

She blushed and winced, realizing she’d been caught. “Oh, it’s just, um… I saw this article this morning about what happened at the convention on Sunday,” she admitted reluctantly.

I grimaced. “Ah. That. Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it or anything?” she asked, a little awkwardly.

I just looked at her blankly, as if she had asked me if I wanted to jump off a cliff with her.

Penelope waved her hand to dismiss the idea. “You know what? Pretend I didn’t even mention it. You’ve got enough on your mind with this case,” she amended quickly.

“Good plan,” I replied, giving her a wink to assure her all was well. “I’ll call you when I’m out of arraignment. You good to hold down the fort?”

“Yup. I got this. You go do your thing,” she said, giving me a little fist pump. “Oh, and I’ve got Quincy out there waiting already.”

“Thanks, Pen. See you later,” I called as I walked out the door. I walked down the steps and climbed into the back seat of the car. Quincy, as usual, was utterly silent as we rode to the court house. He knew by now that I preferred silence on the way to court, so that I could focus on my notes and get into the correct headspace. He even knew to play soft classical music on the stereo while I studied the files Penelope gave me. By the time we arrived, I felt revved up and prepared to take on whatever came my way.

Of course, what I definitely had not expected was for Rodney Barrington to come my way. But no sooner had I stepped into the hallway outside the courtroom than I saw him milling about by the door. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was causing this bizarre illusion. But as I walked closer, every step filled me with deeper dread. I was certain. It was him.

It was strange that our paths had not crossed before, seeing as we were both attorneys in the Las Vegas area. Not that I had even known that until I saw him Sunday night. Somehow, we had managed to avoid each other without even trying. And now, thanks to the worst possible timing, we were about to be locked in a room together, on opposite sides of a crucial case.

Was this my bad karma coming back to bite me in the ass after punching him?

Because although I hadn’t seen him since college, if Barrington now was anything like he was back then, I was really in for it. In fact, I had graduated second in our class at Harvard-- second only to him. That fact had only further cemented my grudge against him.

I stood staring at him, wondering how the hell this had happened, when finally, he looked up from his notes and glanced over at me. He did a triple take, his eyes getting wide at first, and then narrowing in disgust. I heaved a sigh and turned to face the door, choosing to ignore him until it was absolutely necessary to look at him.

Finally, we were allowed into the room to begin arraignment. We took up our opposing desks, and then the plaintiff and defendant were brought in. The representative from Southwestern First Bank, Bill Marriott, came marching up to me to shake my hand as the man named Mark Delaney joined with Barrington.

Judge Arthur Ramirez took his place and called the court to order. All the while, my veins were electrified with adrenaline. It was crazy to be in the same room as Barrington, and I could feel those bright blue eyes burning a hole in the side of my head as he glared at me. I was doing my best to ignore him for now. I needed to maintain composure for as long as possible.

This was not going to be a normal case for me. I needed to be both intimidating and composed, since everyone by now would have known that I punched the opposing attorney in the face less than a week ago. I couldn’t give anyone any inclination to believe I couldn’t control myself in his presence, and yet I couldn’t be cowardly or demure either. Again, a thin line to walk.

As the prosecuting attorney, it was my turn to speak first. I cleared my throat and addressed the judge. “I am representing Southwestern First Bank in the case against Mark Delaney. We are charging the defendant with bank fraud, in the form of a fraudulent loan application, and illegal forgery of documents,” I announced firmly.

Judge Ramirez nodded. “Noted. Mr. Barrington?” he prompted, turning to Rodney, who glared right at me as he spoke.

“Good morning, Your Honor. I apologize for dragging you out here just to hear this ridiculous, baseless accusation against my client, for which my opponent Mr. North clearly has no evidence,” Barrington said. I had to grit my teeth to keep from curling my hands into fists.

“With all due respect, I would like an opportunity to present my discovery before Mr. Barrington here lets his client slip out of the grasp of the law again,” I countered icily.

“Go on, then,” said the judge, stifling a yawn.

“Gladly,” I quipped, picking up my files and clearing my throat. “I present the following evidence as compiled by official police reports. The Delaney family’s finances have been in decline for quite some time now, and Mr. Mark Delaney himself has shown a penchant for circumventing the law to get what he wants. In the past eighteen months alone, Mr. Delaney has been charged with multiple felonies and misdemeanors including, but not limited to: unlicensed gambling, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, public intoxication, driving under the influence, possession of illicit substances, and a veritable menagerie of vehicular moving violations. This history indicates that Mr. Delaney has no respect for the laws of this great land and is not shy about perverting the law for his own gain. His track record combined with his financial record, there is simply no way to deny that Mr. Delaney committed fraud on his bank loan application. The executives at my client, Southwestern First Bank, a respectable and reputable financial institution, never would have willingly backed him. It’s just inconceivable.”

“Leave the adjectives to the court reporters, Mr. North,” droned the judge. “Defendant?”

“Well, Mr. North,” began Barrington coldly, “I have a question. If you are so convinced that my client’s family finances are drained, then why would you have suggested such an astronomically high bail?”

Before I could respond, he cut me off, continuing: “Your Honor, we move for a plea bargain on the condition that the plaintiff drop the forgery charge against my client.”

I snorted. “Like hell we’ll accept a plea bargain. Your client is guilty on all charges, and I intend to prove that beyond all doubt.”

“I’m sure you would relish the opportunity to further harass my client, Mr. North, but perhaps the court would prefer not to waste precious tax dollars on a frivolous vendetta. We will accept a plea bargain in exchange for a fine and an audit to verify Mr. Delaney’s finances,” he countered doggedly.

“Keep dreaming, Barrington,” I snapped. He gave me a shark-like smirk.

“Then we request a postponement of this case until--”

“No!” I barked, narrowing my eyes at him and bristling. “Your Honor, my opponent simply wishes to give his client ample time to funnel money through offshore accounts and--”

“That’s quite enough,” interrupted Judge Ramirez.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Barrington. I rolled my eyes.

“From both of you,” the judge clarified. I had to fight back a grin. “Mr. North, you are delving too far into conjecture, and you’d do well to work on the accusations you can prove. And Mr. Barrington, the court rejects your offer of a plea bargain. I am interested to hear the evidence from both sides, and hereby move to set a hearing for next week.”

“Your Honor, we respectfully request more time,” insisted Barrington.

“Oh, give it a rest,” I growled. Judge Ramirez glared at us both.

“Request denied, Mr. Barrington. And clean up your act, Mr. North. I will see you both here in court next week. Court adjourned,” he declared, pounding the gavel. I gave my client a celebratory clap on the shoulder and tossed Barrington a smug look as we left the courtroom. He glared back at me, enraged but just barely keeping it all restrained. I reminded myself not to gloat too hard or count my chickens before they hatched. As much as I despised him, I knew logically that Barrington was a dangerous enemy and a more than worthy adversary. We had won the first battle, sure, but one thing was certain: this was going to be one hell of a bumpy ride.