We were sipping beers on Jameson’s patio, the air finally cool enough to tolerate being outside for more than five minutes.

I hadn’t left Jameson’s for more than a few hours since the night before, our date morphing into a night and day spent together, most of it naked. I had gone to my apartment for a little while to grab some things I needed, while Jameson went to the gym, but other than that, we had been together since he picked me up the night before. It was strange. It almost felt like we were pretending, just playing house for a few days to take our mind off the stress of the trial. But whatever it was, it was working. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this relaxed.

“How many murder trials have you done?” Jameson asked, breaking through my thoughts. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, the conversation was about work.

“This is number fifteen,” I said. “You?”

“Twenty-six,” Jameson said. “How many guilty verdicts?”

“Six,” I sighed. I still remembered every single one like it was yesterday.

“Eleven,” Jameson offered without my asking. “And they never get any easier.”

“That’s not going to happen this time,” I said. “We have a solid case prepared.”

“We, huh?” Jameson raised an eyebrow at me. “I think that’s the first time you’ve referred to this case as something other than yours.”

“Well, I hate to admit it, Mr. Beck, but I think we make a good team.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he chuckled.

“Well, that’s a first,” I laughed. “Something we agree on.” We fell back into a comfortable silence. When he spoke again, he asked a question I’d thought I had dodged.

“You never did answer the question, but why did you want to become a lawyer? You’ve avoided it or changed the subject every time I’ve asked.” Jameson took a long pull of his beer and looked at me inquisitively. There were only a handful of people still in my life who knew the truth, the whole ugly story.

“It’s a long story,” I sighed, tucking my legs under me on the chaise lounge. I didn’t want to relive the memories, but at the same time, for the first time in years, I felt compelled to tell someone my story. I didn’t know if it was the emotions of the trial, or Jameson, or just the September air, but I knew I was going to tell him the truth.

“I’ve got all night.”

I sighed and stared out across the city, taking a sip of my beer before I cleared my throat and began.

“It was the summer after I graduated from high school. My boyfriend, Jake, and I, my best friend, Amanda, and her boyfriend, Ryan, and a bunch of others were all out drinking at the swimming hole. Amanda and I had had too much to drink—we all had. We all kept daring each other to jump in. It was only June and already hot, but the water was still cold and deep.” I paused and took a long sip of my beer, a shiver running through my body at the thought of what happened next.

“Ryan was trying really hard to get Amanda to jump in with him, but she wouldn’t. She was so drunk, she could barely walk, let alone swim. She was standing on the edge of the water, and everyone was cheering for her to jump in, but she just stood there, so Ryan gave her a little push. She fell in, but she didn’t come up. I stared over the edge and kept waiting for her to surface, but she didn’t. I started screaming for someone to do something. Jake jumped in after her, but it was too late. By the time he pulled her up, she was already blue. We tried to do CPR, tried everything to save her, but we couldn’t. I sat there with my best friend’s head in my lap and sobbed until the police and ambulance came.”

A single tear rolled down my cheek. I’d cried so many tears over the years, it was amazing there were any left. Jameson didn’t say anything, just watched me and waited quietly for me to continue.

“Almost everyone was gone by the time the police arrived. Even Ryan was nowhere to be found. The police took statements from everyone, and the paramedics took Amanda’s body.

“In small town Louisiana, everybody talked...” I said.

“I thought you were from Kentucky?” Jameson interrupted.

“That was a lie,” I said. There were a lot more lies about to come to light. “It wasn’t long before there were four different versions of the story going around. One where Ryan pushed her, one where Jake pushed her, one where I pushed her, and one where she just got too drunk and fell.

“Amanda’s dad was the sheriff in town, and the prosecutor's office was determined to pin the death on someone.”

“It was just an accident,” Jameson offered.

“I know, but that didn’t matter. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so the prosecutors went after Ryan and Jake. Ryan was the mayor’s son, quarterback of the football team, and going to LSU in the fall … his family paid for the best defense attorney in the state. Jake’s single mom couldn’t afford an attorney, so he was stuck with a public defender.

“It wasn’t long before everyone who had said Ryan had pushed her was changing their story. When they called everyone who had been there as witnesses in the trial, I was the only one who said it was Ryan. I actually got thrown out of court that day because I wouldn’t stop yelling that they were all lying assholes and that Ryan did it.”

“I can see it now,” Jameson laughed. “I bet they carried you out, kicking and screaming.”

“They did. The bailiff dragged me out, screaming the whole time.” I was silent for a few minutes, thinking about those few months I had tried so hard to forget.

“So what happened?”

“Ryan got off free, and Jake was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to twenty years in prison.”

“Didn’t anyone mention the fact that Jake had tried to save her?”

“Yeah, the prosecution even turned that around, said Jake thought he might not get in as much trouble if he jumped in after her.”

“That is total horseshit.”

“I went to visit him every week. I thought he was handling it really well, but three weeks after the trial Jake hung himself with his bed sheet in the county jail.”

“Olivia, I’m sorry,” Jameson said, but I just kept going. I had broken the dam that had been holding back my words for twenty years, and now I couldn’t stop them.

“We were supposed to get married. My mama was saving up for our wedding the next spring.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I couldn’t have stopped them if I wanted. “I lost it. I stopped painting. I went crazy and spent all my time walking the streets, yelling about how it was Ryan’s fault and now he had two lives on his hands. Ryan’s dad tried to have me institutionalized, told the town newspaper I was a crazy drunk and didn’t know what I was talking about. No one would talk to me, no one would give me a job, even Mama was being ostracized. So, I left … took the little money Mama had saved for my wedding, changed my name, and moved to Connecticut to live with my aunt.”

“Your name isn’t Olivia?” Jameson asked.

I paused and drained the rest of my beer, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.

“Remember when Drew called me Stella?” I asked.

“Stella, really? I thought that was some sort of inside joke!”

“He’s probably the only other person in New York who knows this story … well, except Kate of course.”

“So, Stella Roberts?”

“Nope, Stella Anderson ... from Abita Springs, Louisiana.” I stuck my hand out like it was the first time we’d met. Jameson shook my hand and laughed.

“Nice to meet you, Stella,” Jameson said, then raised his eyebrow.

“I’m still confused what any of this has to do with you becoming a lawyer?”

“My aunt let me sulk for about three weeks before she told me I either had to go to school, get a job, or get out of her house, but she wasn’t going to let me throw my life away. She told me I owed it to Jake and Amanda to live life to the fullest.

“By the time my three weeks were up, I had decided I wasn’t going to let what had happened to Jake happen to anyone else. I got accepted to UConn, racked up $100,000 in student loan debt, and worked my ass off for four years to graduate top of my class. I got into every law school I applied to, but Columbia won out. I knew from the very beginning I was going to be a defense attorney.” Jameson opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.

“I know what you’re going to say, that I’m not helping anyone like Jake when I’m working for over $500 an hour. But I actually spend twenty percent of my time working pro bono on cases for the public defender's office.”

“So that’s where all your money goes? Pro bono cases and student loans?” Jameson asked.

“No, I paid my student loans off years ago,” I said. “I send Jake’s parents $1,000 a month. I don’t think they’ve ever spent any of it, but I feel responsible for what happened, so I send it anyway.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Olivia.”

“Maybe not, but I could’ve done more to prevent it. Should’ve done more to keep Ryan Fucking Summerfield from walking away scot-free.”

“You were seventeen, what could you have done?” Even all these years later, I still didn’t have an answer, still didn’t know what else I could have done, but I felt guilty regardless.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Did you ever paint again?”

“Never ... I couldn’t. It hurt too much. Painting was something I did when I was happy and in love, so it brought back memories I didn’t want to face.”

“I think I just got the answer to why you never got married, too.”

“I was so in love with Jake … we had plans and dreams, and we were going to build a life together. If he couldn’t have that, if Amanda couldn’t have it, why should I?”

“It was twenty years ago … you deserve to be happy.”

“I’m happy enough,” I snapped back. “I don’t need a man to make me happy. Besides, once my fairytale ending got ripped from my hands, I realized most men are idiots.”

“Aaah, there is the Olivia I know,” Jameson smirked. “Why did you change your name?”

“I told you, Mayor Summerfield ran a smear campaign against me. I wanted to move on with my life, and didn’t need that shit following me around. Thank God that all happened before the age of social media, or I’d be Crazy Stella Anderson forever.”

“I think I’m going to call you Stella now.”

“Do it and I’ll cut your dick off,” I warned.

“Where did you come up with Olivia Roberts?”

“I liked Olivia Newton-John and Julia Roberts, so I figured I’d take a little of both and make my new identity.”

“Is your hair really blonde?” Jameson asked, his eyebrow raised.

“The only part of me that’s fake is my name,” I smiled. His eyes wandered up and down my body, lingering a moment too long on my chest. It was quiet for a minute, the sounds of the city breaking up the silence, as we both thought about everything I’d just said.

“Women pay thousands of dollars for tits like that, you know,” Jameson said, and I knew the conversation about my past was over for now. That was fine by me; there had been enough talking for one night.

“So I’ve been told,” I said dryly. He stood up from his lounge chair and offered me a hand, pulling me up off mine.

“Fake tits look nice, but they feel like shit,” he said, running his hands over my breasts and giving them a squeeze. No one wants to play with two big silicone bags, or worse, suck on something that feels like a rock.

“The real thing is so much better,” he continued, pulling my tank top down, exposing my bare nipples and running his thumbs over them. He bent down and swirled his tongue around one of my nipples and then the other. I moaned at the touch.

Jameson lifted his head and pulled me in for a deep kiss—the kind that I would sell my soul to the devil for. When he pulled away, I’d forgotten all about Jake and Amanda and Ryan Summerfield and Louisiana.

He took my hand and led me to his bedroom, where he peeled off my clothes and laid me down on the bed. There was no urgency, no rush to get naked, no battle for control. For the first time, it was slow and gentle. For the first time since Jake, I felt something inside, something more than just lust and pleasure and fucking. Something terrifying. Something beautiful. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

* * *

Me: I’m in serious trouble.

Kate: You’re a kick ass defense attorney, I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t get yourself out of.

Me: I might be falling for Jameson.

Three little dots appeared indicating Kate was responding, but then they disappeared. They reappeared and disappeared three more times before her message came through.

Kate: Well it’s about time.

Me: This is really bad, Kate. I work with him. I want to be his boss one day. He could be my boss one day!

Kate: That didn’t seem to matter when you decided to keep fucking him.

Me: He’s an arrogant bastard. I never thought this would happen.

Kate: How is this any worse than just sex?

Me: You know I don’t do relationships. This will only end badly.

Kate: Maybe this is different.

Me: I’ll have to find a new job. Start completely over. Fuck.

Kate: Some things are more important than a job.

Me: Wrong.

Kate: Maybe he’s the one ;)

Me: Wrong again.

Kate: Don't dismiss your feelings so quickly. Maybe this could really be something, but you’ll never know if you keep pretending you have no emotions. It’s okay to FEEL things, Olivia. It makes you human, not weak. You don’t have to be the hard ass attorney 24/7. You can have a relationship and love, too.

Me: I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Kate: Jameson is perfect for you. He knows the job and understands the expectations. And he already puts up with your stubborn ass 12 hours a day.

Me: I’ll think about it.

Kate: Don’t think about it. FEEL it.

I was good at thinking, analyzing every aspect of every situation. I wasn’t used to letting myself feel things. I wasn’t sure I could start now.