Page 1 of A Favor Owed

Chapter One

Angela

August 2019

I’m not who people think I am. That’s always been true, but now it’s literal as well as figurative. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a stranger to everyone who knows me. I’ve never had any real friends, and I always have something to hide. It’s exhausting.

Today I’m hiding behind my laptop screen, my eyes burning from my contact lenses and my brain swirling with unconnected facts and details. It’s only the second week of law school, and already I’m afraid I’m going to be one of the 10 percent who flunk out.

Professor Camacho paces at the front of the large lecture hall, droning on about federal civil litigation. The sound of the air conditioning is whooshing through the vents. The carbs from my daily cheap lunch of spaghetti with broccoli are weighing me down. The caffeine from my triple espresso is rapidly wearing off. I can barely keep my eyes open.

“Ms. Pines.”

Maybe I can fit in a quick nap before work tonight.

“Ms. Pines?”

Oh, no, that’s me.I’m not used to my new name yet. I look up quickly from my laptop and meet the eyes of my professor. She’s elegant, brilliant, and a first-rate kicker of law student ass. And she’s staring me down.

“What was the basis for the Supreme Court’s decision inInternational Shoe?”

Oh God.I have no idea. Valentino makes a better espadrille than Gucci? I glance down at my notes on the case. I had written a phrase in bold capital letters that means nothing to me now. Could it possibly be the right answer?

I clear my throat.

“Ms. Pines?” she prompts. She always gives one prompt before thanking the hapless law student and turning to the next victim, marking the unresponsive one “unprepared” on her attendance sheet and instantly lowering their grade.

A message pops up on my screen from someone in my class named Brady McDaniels:Minimum contacts.

It’s the phrase I had written in my notes.

“Minimum contacts,” I say, my face flushing with anger. I quickly glance over my right shoulder. Brady throws me a smirk and a wink. I roll my eyes back to Professor Camacho.

“Thank you, Ms. Pines. And how does that approach differ from the Court’s analysis inPennoyer?”

I have it from here and easily answer the questions that follow.

I sigh with relief when she moves on to another student. Well, now I’m awake. Jesus Christ, getting called on in a seventy-five-person lecture class in law school feels like a eucalyptus ice bath. My undergraduate degree is in economics and prelaw, and yet I’ve never experienced anything like this. I’m in a shark tank, and my law professors are bloodthirsty great whites.

When class is over, I stay behind until everyone has left. Everyone except Brady McDaniels. I turn to face him. He’s perched casually on the desk, all packed up, watching me. I swallow. I noticed him on the very first day of law school orientation last week, and I’ve noticed him checking me out whenever I’m working at Finnegan’s. He’s tall and lithe but powerfully built, with copper hair, a chiseled, fine-boned face made even more irresistible by a smattering of freckles across his nose, and light eyes the color of which is often obscured by his ball cap. Looking up at him now in the quiet of the empty classroom, I realize they’re a pale moss green.

“I knew the answer,” I say defensively, pulling myself together. “It was bolded in my notes.”

He shrugs. “Just helping out.”

“I don’t need help,” I say.

“I didn’t want to see you get docked.”

“I don’t want any favors.”

“Why not?” he says, smiling like he finds me mildly amusing. “What’s wrong with a favor?”

Judging from his accent, he’s straight out of a working-class Irish neighborhood in the Bronx. A wave of homesickness, probably the hundredth that day alone, hits me hard.

“A favor done is a favor owed,” I say. Un favore fatto è un favore dovuto. It’s a favorite Italian phrase of my father’s.

“Wow,” he says with a look of wide-eyed surprise. “You’re a little intense. Okay, point taken. Lesson learned. No helping the girl with the turquoise eyes.”

---