Overruled
Page 13
Sounded just like them, too.
I get turned on every time I think of the noises Sofia made that night, a symphony of gasps, whimpers, and growls as I made her come three times. A trifecta. And when my orgasm finally flooded me—shit—I couldn’t feel my legs for five full minutes.
Afterward, when we were sweaty and disheveled as soldiers after battle, we talked. We agreed that it was something we both wanted to do again—and again—a needed stress reliever that would fit perfectly into our mutually packed schedules.
It’s not as cold as it sounds. But it is . . . easy.
I grin. “Nah, man, Sofia’s like . . . one of the guys.”
“You’re screwing one of the guys?”
I frown. “It doesn’t sound nearly as hot when you say it like that. What I mean is—she lives for the job, like me. Trying to make partner doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for anything else. She’s convenient and fucking beautiful. I know you’re married and all, but you’d have to be half-dead not to notice. And even then, her tits would coax an erection from a corpse.”
“Oh, I noticed, believe me,” he says. “Does she know about your Mississippi booty call?”
“Jenny’s not my booty call,” I grumble. “Dick.”
“Well, she’s not your girlfriend or your wife. She’s the chick you bang when you happen to breeze into town. Hate to break it to you, but that’s the definition of a booty call.”
At times Drew’s propensity to call ’em like he sees ’em puts his nads in grave danger of getting punched.
“Sofia knows all about Jenn and Presley.”
“Interesting.” Then comes the patented advice. “I’m just saying a situation like this could get . . . complicated for you. Regret is a bite in the ass that stings like a motherfucker. I’ve been there—it’s not fun.”
“Thanks for the warning. But I can handle it.”
“Famous last words. Just remember, by the time you realize you can’t handle it, it’s too late.” He checks his phone and stands. “And on that note, I have to take off—gotta catch my train.”
I stand up and smack his arm. “Hey, why don’t you stay in DC tonight? I’ll set up a poker game with the boys—it’ll be like old times.”
He lifts his hands, weighing the options. “Let’s see . . . take Shaw’s money . . . or go home to the stunning wife who’s been sexting me all afternoon? No contest. I like you, man, but I’ll never like you that much.”
We hug briefly, slapping each other’s back, both pledging to do this again soon.
That’s when my cell phone chimes. I pick it up from the table, read the message, and curse.
As Drew retrieves his briefcase from under the table, I hold my phone out.
“Jury’s back.”
He laughs at me. “For your sake, I hope she’s as good with a stick as she claims.” He pauses, then grins. “But I guess you already know she is.”
With a final smack to my arm, he heads toward the door. “Later, man.”
“Give Kate my best,” I call after him. “And my card!”
He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t break his stride, but just raises his hand, with his middle finger extended loud and clear above his head.
4
Sofia
There’s an energy in a courtroom just before a verdict is read, a static that crackles in the air. It’s a shared, breathless tension, the same the Romans must’ve felt at the Colosseum as they waited to see what direction Caesar would point his thumb. Your pulse pounds, your blood hums, and the adrenaline surges. It’s exciting.
As addictive as really fantastic sex. The kind that leaves you marked, sore, and exhausted—and you can’t wait to do all over again.
I always knew I wanted to be an attorney. As I was growing up, I watched shows like L.A. Law, where female litigators possessed rapier wits, wore stylish suits with impeccable hairstyles, and worked in glass and chrome offices in the sky.
Education was the highest priority for my parents, because they had had such limited access to it themselves. My mother left the poverty of her home village in Pará for the relative opulence of Rio de Janeiro when she was a young girl. But she escaped illiteracy only after meeting my father, who taught her to read when she was sixteen years old. Together, they emigrated to the United States and became the very definition of the American Dream—building a thriving business, rising through the ranks of the middle class to prosperous wealth. Keenly aware of the opportunities their hard work afforded their children, they impressed upon each of us—myself and three older brothers—that education was the key to unlocking all doors. It was a treasure that could never be stolen, the most durable safety net. It’s no accident that we each went on to pursue professional fields: my eldest brother, Victor, became a doctor; the next, Lucas, a CPA, and Tomás, just a year older than me, an engineer.
“Madam Forewoman, have you reached your verdict?”
Our client Pierce Montgomery’s simmering attention is blatantly not on the woman who’s about to announce his judgment, but instead trained squarely on my chest. It makes me feel dirty in an unenjoyable way.
There’s a nice hot shower in my future—to rinse off the sleaze.
“We have, Your Honor.”
Going in to criminal defense, I knew the high probability of having to work with scumbags like Montgomery, but that didn’t deter me. Because I was the youngest in my family, and the only daughter, they were highly protective. But instead of restricting me, that protective instinct drove my parents to make sure I was capable and prepared for whatever life may throw at me.
I get turned on every time I think of the noises Sofia made that night, a symphony of gasps, whimpers, and growls as I made her come three times. A trifecta. And when my orgasm finally flooded me—shit—I couldn’t feel my legs for five full minutes.
Afterward, when we were sweaty and disheveled as soldiers after battle, we talked. We agreed that it was something we both wanted to do again—and again—a needed stress reliever that would fit perfectly into our mutually packed schedules.
It’s not as cold as it sounds. But it is . . . easy.
I grin. “Nah, man, Sofia’s like . . . one of the guys.”
“You’re screwing one of the guys?”
I frown. “It doesn’t sound nearly as hot when you say it like that. What I mean is—she lives for the job, like me. Trying to make partner doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for anything else. She’s convenient and fucking beautiful. I know you’re married and all, but you’d have to be half-dead not to notice. And even then, her tits would coax an erection from a corpse.”
“Oh, I noticed, believe me,” he says. “Does she know about your Mississippi booty call?”
“Jenny’s not my booty call,” I grumble. “Dick.”
“Well, she’s not your girlfriend or your wife. She’s the chick you bang when you happen to breeze into town. Hate to break it to you, but that’s the definition of a booty call.”
At times Drew’s propensity to call ’em like he sees ’em puts his nads in grave danger of getting punched.
“Sofia knows all about Jenn and Presley.”
“Interesting.” Then comes the patented advice. “I’m just saying a situation like this could get . . . complicated for you. Regret is a bite in the ass that stings like a motherfucker. I’ve been there—it’s not fun.”
“Thanks for the warning. But I can handle it.”
“Famous last words. Just remember, by the time you realize you can’t handle it, it’s too late.” He checks his phone and stands. “And on that note, I have to take off—gotta catch my train.”
I stand up and smack his arm. “Hey, why don’t you stay in DC tonight? I’ll set up a poker game with the boys—it’ll be like old times.”
He lifts his hands, weighing the options. “Let’s see . . . take Shaw’s money . . . or go home to the stunning wife who’s been sexting me all afternoon? No contest. I like you, man, but I’ll never like you that much.”
We hug briefly, slapping each other’s back, both pledging to do this again soon.
That’s when my cell phone chimes. I pick it up from the table, read the message, and curse.
As Drew retrieves his briefcase from under the table, I hold my phone out.
“Jury’s back.”
He laughs at me. “For your sake, I hope she’s as good with a stick as she claims.” He pauses, then grins. “But I guess you already know she is.”
With a final smack to my arm, he heads toward the door. “Later, man.”
“Give Kate my best,” I call after him. “And my card!”
He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t break his stride, but just raises his hand, with his middle finger extended loud and clear above his head.
4
Sofia
There’s an energy in a courtroom just before a verdict is read, a static that crackles in the air. It’s a shared, breathless tension, the same the Romans must’ve felt at the Colosseum as they waited to see what direction Caesar would point his thumb. Your pulse pounds, your blood hums, and the adrenaline surges. It’s exciting.
As addictive as really fantastic sex. The kind that leaves you marked, sore, and exhausted—and you can’t wait to do all over again.
I always knew I wanted to be an attorney. As I was growing up, I watched shows like L.A. Law, where female litigators possessed rapier wits, wore stylish suits with impeccable hairstyles, and worked in glass and chrome offices in the sky.
Education was the highest priority for my parents, because they had had such limited access to it themselves. My mother left the poverty of her home village in Pará for the relative opulence of Rio de Janeiro when she was a young girl. But she escaped illiteracy only after meeting my father, who taught her to read when she was sixteen years old. Together, they emigrated to the United States and became the very definition of the American Dream—building a thriving business, rising through the ranks of the middle class to prosperous wealth. Keenly aware of the opportunities their hard work afforded their children, they impressed upon each of us—myself and three older brothers—that education was the key to unlocking all doors. It was a treasure that could never be stolen, the most durable safety net. It’s no accident that we each went on to pursue professional fields: my eldest brother, Victor, became a doctor; the next, Lucas, a CPA, and Tomás, just a year older than me, an engineer.
“Madam Forewoman, have you reached your verdict?”
Our client Pierce Montgomery’s simmering attention is blatantly not on the woman who’s about to announce his judgment, but instead trained squarely on my chest. It makes me feel dirty in an unenjoyable way.
There’s a nice hot shower in my future—to rinse off the sleaze.
“We have, Your Honor.”
Going in to criminal defense, I knew the high probability of having to work with scumbags like Montgomery, but that didn’t deter me. Because I was the youngest in my family, and the only daughter, they were highly protective. But instead of restricting me, that protective instinct drove my parents to make sure I was capable and prepared for whatever life may throw at me.
