The Bridgewater Case Read online

  I STARE AT the back of my eyelids until I can’t stand it anymore, then I reach over to grab my phone from my bedside table. It’s still plugged into the wall charger, so I can’t bring it far, but I only wish to check the time. I sigh in defeat when I notice it’s hardly a few minutes past five. Drawing in a deep breath, I discard the device and fold my hands together on top of my stomach.

  My mom always tells me that I didn’t grow into my personality’s most defining characteristics, but that I came out of the womb this way. She grins every time she tells stories about how ambitious I was as a toddler; and dad gets a kick out of reminiscing about how adamant I was that he stored his tools in the garage just right. Mom never had to tell me to clean my room. Ever. And dad never got on me about my grades. He didn’t have to. I’m a natural achiever. I get a thrill out of excelling at anything I put my mind to, and I’ve always had a thing for rules.

  I was ten years old the first time I saw Legally Blonde. I loved everything about Elle Woods. I thought she was pretty, smart, kind, and wonderfully ambitious. She also had the same name as my sister, and I adored Ellery then just as much as I do now. While I might not admit it to anyone, that silly movie is still one of my favorites. Not only that, but after seeing it for the first time, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer. For seventeen years, I’ve had my sights set on one career. There never has been a plan B. Some might think me foolish, but as my mom has always said—I was born this way. Stubborn to a fault.

  I wasn’t aware of my testing anxiety until I was sixteen. I was taking the PSAT, and I simply…froze. It was as if I was shoved out of my own mind, and there was nothing I could do about it. I saw the questions in front of me, but I couldn’t answer them. I got panicky, my heart started racing, and it took everything in me not to run from the testing room. Never before had I felt anything so crippling.

  When my results showed up in the mail, I told my parents that I’d merely been having a really bad day; I made excuses, reminding them it was only for practice; and I assured them that when it was time for the real deal, I’d be fine. Turns out, that was a lie. I ended up taking the SAT three times just to get a score that made it look like I was smart enough to attend the universities I was applying to—though, I’m sure it was my 4.3 GPA and my valedictorian honors that got me into college, not my mediocre test scores.

  During the last year of my undergrad, I was prepared to choke my first go-round with the LSAT. Accepting my inferiority to standardized tests, I planned to suck ass and registered to take the test twice without batting an eyelash. I didn’t even bother looking at the results from my first try, knowing it would be stupid of me to think I did well enough to use my scores in my law school applications. When the results from my second attempt arrived, I was devastated with my score. There was no way in hell I was getting into law school with those results.

  Taking a year off from school had been hard. It didn’t help matters that Ellery had not only graduated from law school herself, but she was also working at the District Attorney’s office, doing what had become her passion—working as part of the sex crimes division. It all felt far from fair. She didn’t even decide she wanted to be a lawyer until her sophomore year in college, years after I had decided my career goals; and there she was, married to a man she met during her summer spent abroad before law school, living out her destiny. Yet, in spite of her success and my failures, I never once thought about quitting my dream.

  It’s my dream.

  When I finally got accepted to the University of California Los Angeles School of Law, it was like I was stepping into a future that was always meant to be mine. Those three years were some of the best of my life. Law school wasn’t like any other education I’d ever received. It was so much better. I loved every minute of it. The good professors, the stick-up-their-ass professors, the genius professors—the hard days, the long days, the busy days—it didn’t matter, I enjoyed it all. I craved it. Before I graduated, I just knew that I had finally found my tribe. I had stepped into my skin, and I was home. I thought for sure that nothing, not even my testing anxiety, could hold me back.

  My anxiety got the better of me the first time I took the bar exam. While I was disappointed, I couldn’t be surprised, and I definitely wasn’t discouraged. I felt confident that my second try would take, and I’d be one step closer to being the lawyer I always dreamed I could be. I was so sure I could do it that when I didn’t—when I froze under pressure during my second attempt—my failure crushed me in ways I couldn’t see coming. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I found myself stuck in a job working as a file clerk at this totally shitty firm. It was supposed to be a temporary position, something to tide me over until I passed the bar. Somehow, it became all I had.

  I wallowed for a few months, and then Elle wouldn’t let me sulk for a second longer. She really is the best sister a girl could ask for. Without her, I wouldn’t be here. She not only insisted I start looking for work at someplace that deserved me, she also insisted I quit the job I had. At first, I was reluctant—but that’s the thing about Elle. She’s persistent. She also knows how to make a good case. I was too miserable where I was to remember that I’m Sally Salenger, and I don’t give up.

  If it wasn’t for the push from my annoyingly encouraging sister and her amazing husband, as well as the unbelievably generous financial support of my parents—who helped cover my moving costs—I wouldn’t be starting a new job at one of the most elite law firms in the state of Colorado. No, my dream isn’t to be a secretary. Not even close. Truth be told, on my not-so-great days, I fear this will be another job I find myself stuck in, and I worry that maybe I’ll never be able to attain my dreams. Yet, I can’t deny, with all the support I have from my loved ones, I usually don’t allow myself to stay in that mental space for long.

  Today, I’m feeling optimistic. Today, I’m feeling hopeful. Like Elle said—I’m going to kick ass. Besides, I’m not just any secretary. I’ll be working to support one of the partners directly while I prepare to take the bar again in a few months. Needless to say, it’s a major step up from where I was. The pay isn’t anything to scoff at, either.

  I reach for my phone again and sigh loudly when I realize it’s only been five minutes since last I checked the time. Giving up on the idea of a few more minutes of shut eye, I decide getting up and heading to the office extra early might not be a bad idea. Perhaps if I get the lay of the land before the office fills with people, I’ll feel less anxious about the whole thing.

  Sitting upright, I toss my covers and throw my legs over the side of the bed. A squeak escapes my mouth at the feel of the cold floor against my bare feet, and I lift them back into bed. Remembering that I went to sleep with socks on, I root around in my sheets until I find the pair I must have kicked off in the middle of the night. I laugh at myself as I cover my toes once more, and then I set out to get ready for my first day.

  FRIDAY MORNING, ON my failed attempt to try and run in the Mile High City, I jogged/walked to my new office building. I lucked out completely when I found an apartment to lease only a few blocks away from the firm. While it took me almost forty minutes to get here on foot, I figured it would take me no more than fifteen minutes, on an average morning, in my car—maybe twenty, if traffic got nearly as bad as it does in L.A. However, this morning, it took only ten minutes for me to drive from my parking spot at my apartment to the parking garage of the firm’s building.

  Note to self—leave for work before seven in the morning, and you’ll make it to the office in record time.

  I’ve never actually stepped foot into Croft, Sloan, & Parker, a truth I remember as I try to combat the nervous butterflies in my belly. It only took a few phone conversations and a video chat interview with one Ms. Rebecca Sloan for me to get the job. She was very impressed with my résumé; and after speaking with me, she insisted that she didn’t need to meet me in person to know that I was the perfect fit for the job. At the time, I was grateful that I didn’t have to foot the bill
for an airline ticket to Denver in order to complete a second interview, but now I kind of wish I had been given a chance to see the office.

  Pulling my phone from out of my purse, I roll my eyes when I see that I’ve still got three minutes before seven o’clock arrives. Clearly, I’m far too efficient with my time. Even when I take extra care with my appearance, like I did this morning, I can’t manage to waste an hour or two. Upon remembering that there’s a coffee shop on the corner, I devise a plan. I’ll sneak up to the office, have a look around, and then sneak out before anyone notices. Then I’ll grab a coffee and return. I’m not due to report for my first day until eight o’clock, leaving me with plenty of time to execute my idea.

  After I step out of my pearl, ’08 Chevy Malibu, I take a second to assess my appearance in the driver’s side window. With my budget the way it has been over the last couple of years, my wardrobe could use a little work—but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make-do with what I’ve got. Ellery always says I’ve made an art out of mixing and matching, keeping my look fresh and chic, no matter what the state of my wallet might be.

  This morning, I wanted to keep it simple, classy, and professional. For my top, I choose a white, collared button-up with capped sleeves and ruffle accents along the front. It’s tucked into my fitted, navy, pencil skirt, which sits high around my waist and hugs my legs until just above my knees. The slim, nude belt wrapped about my middle matches my favorite pair of heels, which I choose for good luck today. I smile, sure that if Elle was here, she’d playfully snap her fingers at me for how great my outfit makes my legs look.

  She’s always been envious of my legs. It’s how I got my nickname. However, why she’s envious of any part of my body I’ll never fully understand. She’s beautiful.

  As I hook my purse in the crook of my elbow and head toward the elevator, I wonder if I might be able to call Elle when I sneak back out to get my coffee. If I time it right, I could possibly catch her while she’s getting ready for work, and I can tell her about my scoping mission. Remembering the key card that was mailed to me with my employee tax paperwork, I slip it out of my purse as the elevator doors open on a chime. Apparently, the lifts won’t allow anyone to ascend to my desired destination without a key card before nine a.m.

  The ride to the forty-ninth floor is long but uninterrupted. Clearly, no one is as anxious as I am about getting to work the morning after Labor Day. When I step out of the elevator, my palms start to sweat as my jaw falls open slightly. Even from the elevator bay, I can tell that this office is gorgeous. Biting my lip in an effort to keep my mouth closed, I slowly make my way toward the entrance. The silence of an empty office makes the sound of my heels, clicking against the tiled floor, echo loudly in my ears—but I hardly notice.

  The reception desk is right up front, made of frosted glass and oak wood. Behind it is a partial wall, made of the same frosted glass as the desk. The sign Croft, Sloan, & Parker stands out in matte, silver letters right in the middle. Looking to my left and then my right, I see that the office space seems to be identical on either side, like a mirror image. I decide to go right on my exploratory mission—except, I don’t make it very far before I stop.

  As I round the reception desk, I take note of the small sitting area on the other side of the partial wall. Beyond that, on the opposite side of the walkway, is a large conference room. The walls are made of glass, and the window that makes up the back side of the room allows for the most spectacular view of the mountains. It almost takes my breath away, and I wonder how anyone can have a conversation in there with all of that beauty on display.

  Realizing that my mouth has fallen open again, I snap my lips shut, laughing at myself as I shake my head clear. I continue on my journey, passing the conference room, followed by a large office. The name on the door reads Cadence Remy, Attorney at Law. On the other side of her office is another, only a tad bit smaller, belonging to Avangeline Hayek, Paralegal. For reasons I can’t recall, that name sounds familiar. I don’t think on it for long as I reach the first corner suite.

  Peering through the glass walls, I can’t help but stare in awe at how beautiful it is in there. It was obviously decorated by a woman. The furniture is cream colored with lavender and mint accents. When I see that it belongs to Rebecca Sloan, esq., Partner, I find that I’m not the least bit surprised. She strikes me as a woman with exceptional taste.

  As I slowly make my way around the floor, which happens to be a huge square—the elevator bay, smaller conference rooms, and secretary desks in the middle, with more offices, larger conference rooms, and partner suites on the outskirts—I grow excited and a little extra nervous that this is where I’ll be spending my days for the foreseeable future. What’s even more amazing to me is that this is just part of the firm’s space. I’ve noticed that only the attorneys and executives occupy this floor, while the accountants, clerks, associates and the like must be housed on the other two floors owned by the firm.

  I make it almost all the way around the square layout, but I’m still unsure where I’ll be working. Rebecca informed me that I would be supporting the newest named partner—one Mr. Dane Croft. While on my journey, I came across Allen Croft’s office, and I assume there’s some relation there. Father and son? Uncle and nephew? Or perhaps even grandfather and grandson? Whatever the case might be, I’ve yet to find Dane’s office.

  After passing the corner suite belonging to Maverick Parker, esq., Partner, I know there’s only one corner of the floor left. Bypassing another conference room, I spot a large, empty desk—similar in make to all the others I’ve seen, made of oak wood with frosted glass accents. Aside from a computer, a small desk lamp, and a comfortable looking chair, there’s nothing there. Assuming this must be my new space, I set my purse down and turn toward the corner office only a few steps away.

  There’s no name on the door, solidifying my certainty that I’ve arrived at my new boss’s office. I know it’s his first day as well, and it’s apparent that the signage around this place needs to be updated. Discarding thoughts of signage, I take a step closer to his suite. What I see is a complete contrast to what I found in Rebecca’s space. As a matter of fact, it’s quite different from the décor that I’ve seen in any of the partners’ offices. It’s very dark—yet, instead of looking cold or dismal, the furniture choice actually makes it appear sleek, masculine, and modern.

  Until this very moment, I didn’t really feel like I was snooping. However, knowing that I’ll be working directly with this man, I somehow worry that I’m spying where I’ve not yet been invited. Nevertheless, that doesn’t stop me from walking right up to the glass to take a closer look at any details I might discover.

  When I spot movement out of the corner of my eye, my head snaps in its direction. I gasp softly when I see a man, wrapped in only a towel, walking across the room. He stops at his desk, and I take a small step back. Or, rather, I stumble at the sight of him. He hasn’t noticed me yet, but I’m too afraid to make a run for it. In an office made almost entirely of glass, I know there’s nowhere I can hide—so I freeze, not sure what else to do. Even worse, I don’t take my eyes off of him. My inability to look away is purely out of an innocent sense of shock and uncertainty—at first. The longer I stare, the butterflies in my belly alert me to the fact that innocent is not a word that can be ascribed to what I’m feeling.

  He’s—handsome.

  No, not handsome.

  Handsome is what he would be if he was wearing clothes; but he most definitely is not doing that.

  Hot.

  Sexy.

  Lickable?

  Oh, shit—yeah, lickable. That’s it.

  It’s hard to tell from this distance, but he’s got to be well over six feet tall.

  Six-two? Six-three, maybe?

  Doesn’t matter. He takes care of every single inch perfectly fine.

  His hair—longer on the top, but trimmed shorter on the sides—is wet. I can’t tell if it’s brown or blond or a little bit
of both. Though, if I’m to go by the manicured scruff on his face—longer than a five o’clock shadow, but shorter than a beard—I’d lean toward blond. Except, I suppose, I should also take into account the hair at his navel, trailing down and disappearing beneath his towel—which appears more brown than blond.

  Shit.

  I squeeze my eyes closed tight, willing myself to ignore the heat that seems to be washing over me in waves at the sight of the lickable man who is, probably, my new boss. I try my damnedest to think of a way out of this predicament. Ogling the man while he’s unaware isn’t exactly the first impression I want to make—but my heart is beating so fast, all I can hear is the meter of my pulse. I can’t get my brain to function properly. I can’t think—which is probably why I open my eyes again, immediately giving him a second look.

  He’s lean and ripped.

  He’s not built like a weight lifter or a wrestler or anything—but his frame makes his slim build seem broad. Broad enough for my tastes, that’s for sure.

  Oh, my god!

  My tastes? This man cannot be my taste!

  I watch as he picks up his cellphone, and I can’t silence my gasp when he lifts his left hand and runs his fingers through his hair. His body is turned just enough for me to make out his left side and the gorgeous tattoo that stretches from his ribs down to his hip.

  Lady Justice.

  She looks beautiful, regal, sexy, and powerful—the scales lifted high in one hand, and her sword held against her side in the other.

  I’m so fascinated by her that I don’t realize I’ve been caught staring until he drops his arm, obscuring my view. When my gaze collides with his, his eyes the most incredible shade of blue I’ve ever seen, I have no idea what to do or say—no idea where to look.

  I’m trapped.

  And, like an idiot, I can’t seem to keep my jaw shut.