Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“I thought I was helping those who needed help. Instead, decisions are politics, and then pregnant dead women don’t get justice served on their behalf. And innocent people end up with a stigma attached to them that they don’t deserve. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
“You underestimate me if you believe that’s how this ends.”
“You’ll have to hand over a damning case against someone else to end it differently.”
“And I will. If my client lets me keep going. He wants this to be over.” He balls up his wrapper and tosses it before taking my hand in his again. “Until tomorrow, Cat,” he says, using my little goodbye in each of my columns before standing and walking away. Leaving me with that spicy scent of him lingering in the air, and a date for lunch tomorrow.
I could no-show.
But I don’t want to.
Later that night, I am in bed with a pizza and no man. Just me. I’ve been alone like this for years, really. I mean, yes, there was the artist, but we had sex. The conversation was convoluted at best. Maybe that’s why I chose him, and stayed with him way too long. He’d never really known me. He’d never threatened my heart. But I got to have an orgasm. I got to feel a body next to mine. It had seemed like enough. Which brings me to my column, which I write carefully on this day, because I dare to talk about domestic abuse. My closing statement reads like this:
Who killed Jennifer Wright and her unborn child?
That is the question in the courtroom now, and as the defense presents their case, more and more the answer doesn’t sound as simple as who has been charged. Interestingly, I believe the defense could ask for a dismissal again at any time, and based on evidence, he should be granted that request. But I find myself wanting this trial to continue. I want to know who the killer is, and I want to see that killer brought to justice. Tomorrow is Friday. My assessment is that as much as I want this case to continue, it’s expensive financially and emotionally. If the defense plans to ask for that dismissal, Friday is the day. Until then, —Cat.
I shut my computer and stare up at the ceiling. If the trial is over, then what?
Do I dare my one night, followed by a goodbye with Reese Summer?
Or do I just say goodbye?
Or is it really hello?
No.
What am I thinking?
Day 5: The Trial of the Century
I have trouble sleeping again, and I wake up with butterflies in my stomach as if I’m the one who has a high-profile case to close today. With the potential dismissal of the case, today feels like it should be more formal. I dress in a light blue suit dress that I pair with a black jacket, tights, and stilettos again, and despite drinking coffee at home, my white mocha has to happen. I reach the coffee shop and the line is predictably out of the door, but I’ll get my white mocha and a better mood with it. I’m reading my own column on my phone while standing in line when I receive a text from my literary agent: Loving your coverage of the trial. So is your editor. She wants to contract your coverage as a new book. Are you in?
My mood is instantly better, and I type: Yes, x 1000
My agent answers with: I’ll email you the offer when I get it.
Smiling now, the rest of the line is short, and I wonder if yet another book deal will finally win my family’s support instead of their ire over my career choices. I’ll share the news once I sign the contract. I’m already thinking about how to structure a book, and how today’s happenings might impact my choices, when I finally get to the register. I head to the end of the bar and spy broad, perfect shoulders in an expensive suit: Reese. Reese is here. And I know he’s here for me. I stop walking, and that’s when everything changes. The woman next to him, a pretty blonde, is flirting with him. He looks down at her and laughs that charming laugh of his. Apparently, he likes blondes. Just how many is he pursuing? Asshole. Why did I even think all this interaction we had was about me, rather than the obvious—him getting laid?
Suddenly, Reese and the woman turn in my direction, and the woman is still looking up at Reese as his attention lands on me. The woman starts walking, and her destination is: Into me. Her iced coffee explodes all over me. I gasp with the shock of the cold beverage, and I’m pretty sure some of it just drained down my pant leg. “Holy hell,” Reese murmurs, while the woman panics.