Page 11 of The Wrong Side of the Law

I don’t say anything. After a moment, Emily’s shoulders relax and she sighs, meeting my eyes again.

“I left law school because I couldn’t afford it anymore. I need a job.”

“Really?” My eyebrows jump involuntarily. “Francis had… I mean, I know he set up trust funds. Lisa’s the one that set them up. I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. But still.”

“Yes, really.” Emily shakes her head. “And that’s okay. Yes, it’s personal business, but if I don’t explain it you’d start looking for a cheating scandal or something that got me kicked out of school, and there’s nothing like that.” She sighs again. “Okay. There’s no easy way to explain it so I might as well be blunt. My half brother and I inherited everything, but my stepmother was in charge of managing my father’s estate. She was supposed to handle everything until we either finish grad school or turn twenty-six. She managed to spend everything she could get her hands on, and she sold everything that wasn’t nailed down. And that’s why I can’t afford to finish law school.”

The poor girl’s frustration is plain to see, and I can’t blame her one bit. If I were in her shoes, I’d be raging.

“The only reason I even have a roof over my head is that I own the house. It had been in mom’s name, so when she died my father put my name on the deed in place of hers. Now that he’s gone too, it’s just mine.”

“Well, that’s something,” I say. It sounds stupid, even to me. “At least she couldn’t squander that, too.”

Emily sighs, shaking her head again.

“Thing is, even though she lives there, and even though she’s the one who’s supposed to be managing the money she just couldn’t seem to… well, y’know, plastic surgeons are expensive. And if you have to pick between looking good and paying taxes that are in someone else’s name, well?” Emily shrugs. “I guess she figures that being a pretty widow who needs a place to live is better than being an old widow who might not get to sponge off her kids for much longer.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry. That’s tough.” I do feel for her. And she’s still letting the wicket stepmother live there? In her shoes, I’d have fed her to the big bad wolf the second I figured out what she’d done. Or at least, I’d have started looking for a wolf who was hungry and desperate enough to pick around the plastic bits.

“I managed to get a loan—well, a mortgage, really—to make sure that we didn’t lose the house, but I have to pay for it.”

“What about law school?” I ask her.

“Oh, I’m still going to finish it. Someday. It won’t be anytime soon,” Emily says. “And I’ll have to look for a local school.”

In spite of everything going on, the young woman sitting across from me is confident. Her head is high, her back and shoulders straight. I have no doubt that she’ll make it back to law school, but in the meantime…

“Welcome to the SA’s office, Miss Wilson.” I stand, extending a hand across the desk to her. “When can you start? Sooner the better,” I say, eyeing the backed-up work in my office.

She shakes my hand again. Solid, firm. Professional. Her skin is soft and warm, and I’m totally imagining it, but I could swear I felt sparks when our hands touched.

“I… think I already did,” she says. Her cheeks redden slightly. “Barbara hired me already.”

“Efficiency,” I say, chuckling. “She’s big on efficiency. Okay then. Let’s get started. This calendar…”

Barbara sent me the perfect help. Highly intelligent. Competent in the things she knows already. Trainable in what she doesn’t know. That’s efficiency for you.

On the other hand, am I going to be distracted by pretty eyes, a bright smile, and flowing red hair? How’s that work into Barbara’s human resources master plan for efficiency?

Or maybe—considering that tiny hint of a smile—maybe the distractionisthe plan?

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